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.

Photo: weheartit.com
Photo: weheartit.com

 

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

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    1. Thank you. I have always liked the naked-ness in this poem, the offering up of the ‘me’ as is, no frills. It still speaks to me after nearly 20 years. Thanks for reading–I know poetry isn’t for everyone, I appreciate the comments!

      Liked by 2 people

    1. And thus why writers never make any money… ;-). My mother used to say “If I had a nickel for every time you kids…(fill in the blank). Perhaps we’re on to something here.

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    1. Thanks. Part of my ‘writing’ whether it’s poetry (which I haven’t dabbled in for a long time) or more recently creative non-fiction, is putting words and phrases that you don’t associate with each other together, along with alliteration. The comparison to jazz is spot on–it’s definitely more of a ‘beat’ poem than a traditional sonnet or rhyme. I’m glad you found some stuff in there that stood out to you.

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    1. Thank you very much. I haven’t written poetry in years, though that is how I got my start. I hope that my prose touches people too, but in longer form! Thank you for the very kind words, and especially for the luck in this journey.

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  1. Amazing how much has been written about love and yet we know so little about it. For all the words we are as mixed up about the concept as Adam and Eve. Did he really love her or just used her for she was around. And since she was made up of his rib, was he just loving himself. What did he see in her? Did she nag him to take out the garbage? Was there garbage in Eden or just recyclables? Did she control the remote? What television programs did they watch? Okay no television, wait they would have to talk to each other. OMG! How quaint? No wonder he ate that apple.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I like to think we know so little about it because we all experience it differently. But probably not. I would take a much more feminist bend on the Adam and Eve story though 😉

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    1. Thank you! If there is anything I’ve learned, especially in the past 2 years of blogging, it is to trust your own instincts in terms of your writing. It’s what YOU think that matters!

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  2. What a golden treasure, thanks for allowing us to read this. ‘Talent’ is such a small word compared to the extraordinary ability you have at writing poetry.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Ah, thanks! I’m sure I did perform this at an open mic at some point! Most of my writing, even my nonfiction, is written in cadence, meant to be read aloud. I’m glad you spotted that in the poem.

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    1. Thanks. I am happy the starkness stands out. I think at the time I wrote this the last thing I wanted was to write a poem of ‘silk and syrup’ or doves and balloon hearts. Love can be stark–so I”m really pleased to know that the imagery came through in the poem.

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  3. You had me at prozac.
    Loved this a lot…equally approachable to poetry and non-poetry lovers alike.
    Always happy to see poetry get Freshly Pressed. Even happier when it excites others about poetry. And happier still when it excites me too.
    Congrats Dina! -Christy
    (Love the new title.)

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you–on all counts! It was another blogger I follow here who was FP’ed that made me rediscover my own love of poetry–reading, if not writing. I haven’t written poetry in a long time–perhaps I’ve become too wordy in my old age ;-). But it makes me happy that it is appealing to those who may not ‘like’ poetry as well. Thank you again (I like the title so much I’m now using it as a category heading on my blog)

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    1. Funny, I just found another old poem about how I wished I was a drummer because people ‘get’ drumming–poetry…not so much. I am glad I have these though, they definitely captured a time and place and mood of my life. It’s been a really wonderful experience reading them again at this different juncture in life.

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    1. Your words are too kind! Your comment about reading it aloud was interesting to me, because a lot of my poetry was written to be performed. I’m glad you could hear that in the words. Thank you again!

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    1. Poetry is a hard one, isn’t it? It seems to fall in either the sticky sweet, over sentimental camp or the esoteric “what the hell are they saying” camp. I think it’s probably why I stopped writing it–it seemed that there wasn’t a real market for it beyond poetry slams. But I still love to read it.

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    1. Thank you. I have a feeling, going backward, that my heart had been stomped on a few times by this point, but it was still looking for something–which is what life is, right?

      Like

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