Love Poems are a Dime a Dozen

i write this
blind no experience
no background. write without
the benefit of stanza
verse or prozac. i

write to you:
a thousand words of
poetic translation ultimate
frustration. without bending
or melting myself into
color sound or feeling. without
hiding behind pretty metaphors
or white and glossy symbols. this

is not a poem of bread crumbs:
it will not does not can not
lead you anywhere beyond a now;
beyond a you, beyond an i.

it would be easy to
give you a treasure map that
would lead you along red veins
until you reached the gold X
of memory or to describe the hiss
of steam from your fingerprints
splaying across skin. it would be
simple to fill a page with
silk and syrup…..but

this poem is blind deaf dumb to
that: passionless but slow steady
dripping with want of understanding. it
lacks the juice of early morning kisses
the sunburn of midnight penetration but
it has a carefully folded piece of
myself in it opened
for a you to read. consider

this a love poem.
consider this an invitation to
tea with my soul. consider it
a hundred words dedicated to a raw
you and a naked i. nothing
no one nowhere else
beyond this now.



Poetry was my first foray into creative writing. Lately, I’ve been excavating poems, carefully dusting off the build up of time from their bones to see what I can piece together. Some of them stand alone, skeletons intact. There are others that may prove to be just as sturdy with a little glue here and there. And of course there are many more which deserve nothing more than the respect to die peacefully, chained by the ankle to the time and place in which they were written.

Two older poems, Pinpricks and Creation, Saturday 5PM, which did a circuit of NYC poetry slams back in the 1990s were published today at Purple Pig Lit.

The poem above was published in The Olivetree Review way back in 1996 and remains one of my favorites. It was published as Untitled, but now, this many years later, I prefer Love Poems are a Dime a Dozen.


135 thoughts on “Love Poems are a Dime a Dozen

    • dhonour October 23, 2014 / 9:13 am

      Thank you. I’m not sure the intended recipient ever read it to be honest, but I can pretend it was to myself 😉


  1. W E Patterson October 23, 2014 / 1:43 pm

    Really a good poem. I am bookmarking your blog so I can come back to read more.

    Liked by 1 person

    • dhonour October 25, 2014 / 11:30 am

      Thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed it.


  2. sarahthespaz October 23, 2014 / 8:41 pm

    This poem is very raw with emotions…almost melancholy, but that might be the me that I put into it when I read it. Love it just the same!

    Liked by 1 person

    • dhonour October 23, 2014 / 8:52 pm

      Thank you. It is very raw, I think the structure of the poem as well as the language makes it feel that way as well–when I wrote it there was an intention of nakedness, but certainly a hint of resignation–it seems you picked up on the hint ;-). I’m glad you like it.


  3. rsvendsen07 October 31, 2014 / 12:56 am

    The flow of this is perfect. It just pulls you forward until the end. The words are so open and real. I love it.

    Liked by 1 person

    • dhonour December 11, 2014 / 8:52 pm

      You should. It’s good for the soul.


  4. Anonymous May 4, 2015 / 3:57 am

    This is a good example of why poetry is regarded so cheaply. Personally I think you over price your efforts.


    • Dina Honour May 4, 2015 / 7:35 am

      I would be more apt to take your comment seriously if you had the decency to leave a name so that I could respond directly. That said, I’m sorry you didn’t like the poem. It’s the wonderful thing about art and subjectivity, one size never fits all.


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