Writes..."Sonnets 81-90"

sonnet 81

“i’ve heard “you could get the draws for that one”;
‘bout a piece i’d written that’d inspired,
emotions, after my work had been done,
‘cause i pen thoughts ‘bout being desired,
being wanted, when it comes from a man,
and he says the things he feels in his heart…
nothing gets her naked like a word can…
and when “hers” read mine, undressing does start…
well, that’s what they say, to listening ears…
“if they was for me, that would get you laid”;
thing is, i’ve been writing like this for years:
romantic verse for over a decade…
victoria, here’s a secret for you:
“not seen any panties from what i do”…”

sonnet 82

“we don’t talk like we used to on the phone,
well, we talk, but just about certain things…
she only calls me when she’s all alone…
and she’s taken off her varied finger rings…
and she’s taken off her clothes of the day,
with undergarments crumpled in a pile…
she only dials my cell number to say:
“talk me through this, you know it’s been a while”…
i tell her to pretend her hand is mine,
to grant it access to all private parts…
when her words become ones i can’t define,
i’ll know for sure when her orgasm starts…
we don’t talk for real; and sad that i’ve found,
i still can’t translate an erotic sound…”

sonnet 83

"the only person to understand her;
completely; was me, she'd said at one time...
though our opinions in life do differ,
i'm not hesitant to believe that i'm...
still the only one she'd give that label...
despite everyone that has come between...
sharing this connection means i'm able,
to determine what any word might mean;
to see her in whatever mood she's in;
even when i need more layers of mail...
so to still think that nobody's more "yin",
is a thought of mine i'm sure will prevail...
i "get" her because she's a share of "us";
the other half of a partnership just..."

sonnet 84

"it's what i want before this body dies...
a simple thing; to have one thing be shown...
a woman, when she looks into these brown eyes,
makes me feel the love she professes to own,
or get her words to mean something to me...
'cause they usually don't when they're spoken...
so when she wonders why i'm not happy;
she doesn't see that my heart is broken...
i'm not heartbroken, but broken-hearted,
as if it doesn't function as it should...
sad thing is i don't know when i started...
thinking "i love you's" aimed at me weren't good,
or right, but mostly real; they don't seem real;
and i need "i love you's" that make me feel..."

sonnet 85

"the most complete day i've ever had...
occurred today, only in a past year...
and in its reflection i'm never sad;
though in that reflection i drop a tear,
two or three, wet my face 'cause i believe,
i'd experienced happiness that day;
she, having made me smile, then did receive,
a smile back; the reason i feel this way...
in dreams about the first time she and i,
told ourselves we each felt a connection...
i know i became a different guy;
i'd deemed thoughts of loving her: perfection...
nah, in its reflection i'm never blue;
i smile through perspiring eyes; i do..."

sonnet 86

"always contemplate in silence muted...
a question of the utmost importance...
the answer to which, never disputed,
if somebody is asked to take a stance...
i often wonder "who really knows me?"
not knows me, i mean, really knows "brian"...
when a person says "of course i know "b";
then of course i know a person's lyin'...
the real me's, really, a real piece of work...
i need therapy, should be popping pills...
since insanity's a personal quirk;
i'm crazy, never known how "normal" feels...
you know me, then you know help's what i need...
a desperate plea...hold on, i just peed..."

sonnet 87

"she knows i love her, the verb's understood;
contemplated; every day in her mind...
i ask myself does she wonder if she should,
think of words from one once thought left behind...
because i do, i wonder every day...
why any word from me should mean the same,
as ones had at a time my voice did say:
"my desire for you's an eternal flame",
"the passion between us will never die",
or "...feelings for you overwhelm my heart"?
my love's unchanged; though much time has gone by,
though hundreds of miles still keep us apart;
despite everything that's changed since our past...
"i love you's" from me are words that do last..."

sonnet 88

"sad, i believe in love a little less,
every day, less than prior days before;
'cause every day i breathe i bear witness,
to those who've loved but don't love anymore...
yes, i count myself among the masses,
those who've given love one hundred percent...
only to be heartbroken when it passes;
sitting around wondering where it went,
or why it left; answers which i don't know...
sometimes i wonder if love is a storm;
raging; but eventually does go,
i'm starting to think that is love's true form...
one hundred percent, yet i'm forsaken...
the feeling of which can't be mistaken..."

sonnet 89

"not writing in a past or a future tense;
no words for what i have done or will do...
somebody told me that it's common sense,
to write what i'm presently going through...
and presently i'm a bit of a mess,
though "bit" is an understatement i know...
i'm unhappy, my life's so full of stress,
but i'm not really clear on the why's though...
all i know is that changes are needed;
inevitably inevitable;
that the results of good advice heeded,
will ensure that one day i'll be able...
to say i made myself happy somehow...
future words in a past tense towards now..."

sonnet 90

"i feel a part of myself is missing...
and right now i am somewhat incomplete...
it's less than excellence that i'm pissing;
i'm leaving urine droplets on my feet...
oops, what i meant is my work seems lacking,
and certainly not that i can't pee straight...
i can't pee straight 'cause of what i'm packing:
an underfed dick somehow overweight...
ha ha, i've digressed, point is what i write...
comes from a place that's currently without;
i can't figure out how to get me "right";
thus, no inspiration to write about...
anything really than my streams of gold...
and even that's getting a liitle old..."

Writes..."Sonnets 71-80"

sonnet 71

"just how many women have owned my heart;
possessed one hundred percent of my love?
hmmm...perhaps a better question might start:
just how many women have i thought of,
when i'd professed to be "head over heels",
"completely smitten", or some other phrase?
more than a few, and thus it often feels:
"the love of my life"'s loved me only days...
but what if you just get one love in life...
and if you fuck up, there aren't any more?
bet that belief's in someone with a knife;
slit wrists mean they've got no one to live for...
truth's i've come to realize that's what i think...
only i bleed myself with writer's ink..."

sonnet 72

"she found my thoughts as black as my nails were;
decided that she couldn't continue...
a life built with me just wasn't for her...
to go her own way would be what she'd do...
she left 'cause i keep a "rock star" right hand...
a sign reflecting the darkness inside...
having realized she wouldn't understand,
it; the way she had once felt for me died...
she walks away from me with tearful eyes...
you can't walk away from love without them...
i had them too, despite knowing the "why's"...
"your view's bleak; nobody's outlook's as dim"...
she's right, i look at my hand and believe;
i've found black nails rarely look to deceive..."

sonnet 73

"she wants to know what i want in this life;
if there's anything she can do for me;
anything except for being my wife...
she'd already turned down a marriage plea...
the truth is i don't want things for myself...
that would cause others to think me a fool...
not a fame or an abundance of wealth;
certainly not my own kingdom to rule...
i tell her that all i want is a hand...
a hand in my own; to not walk alone...
for the supply to equal my demand;
a 1 to 1 ratio carved in stone...
our fingers touch as i express my heart...
for my want, does that constitute a start?"

sonnet 74

""i've moved on brian"; said in such a tone...
that with my first name, told me what it was...
when it'd been good, it was "b" on the phone;
now, she was done using nicknames because;
she'd moved on, just like she said that she had...
and a love no longer dwelled in her heart...
feelings for me had proved a passing fad;
the trend o'er the moment our paths did part...
then added, "perhaps you should do the same";
which sounded a lot like: "blah blah, fuck you"...
words that scorch released from a verbal flame;
they singe even though they're probably true...
can't make someone love you; ask bonnie raitt...
even when you thought loving them was fate..."

sonnet 75

"written in a past thought, her heart had said...
that she would always be in love with me...
and even today, every time they're read,
those words bring tears that make my eyes blurry...
but that was before, are they now less true;
then when she had expressed them in a note?
in time we'd each moved on to others who,
echoed the same feelings from lines we wrote...
when her hand left mine, someone else grasped it;
and another took my hand then without...
has our "always" survived those ones who get,
or got, to know what "always" is about?
but in writing her, "forever" was used;
so why should her "always" have me confused?"

sonnet 76

"my life's incomplete, so full of regret...
i fill in its blanks, only to erase...
the pencil marks of things i can't forget;
a mental sketch of a beautiful face...
met her on a "space that was not my own"…
loved her ever since the very first days...
but presently i'm in my bed alone...
a space not my own's next to where she lays...
yet there's nothing i can do to change that;
thus i spend time penning a hidden thought...
the one in which she wonders where i'm at;
and questions why the one that's there is not;
an unfinished man, in unfinished life...
who'd also wanted to make her his wife..."

sonnet 77

"why say i'm the best when it's done for me?
i've never been one for wasting my breath...
don't care saying this shit makes me cocky;
know they'll chant "g.o.a.t." at my death...
that's right, what i said, all ten people there,
will say, "no one was better, pen to page;
he wrote of the feelings his soul did bare:
his words were profound, his thoughts did engage...
we'd only assumed it was just a name,
but there's excellence in his number one...
without the fortune, without any fame;
he had died without even being done"...
so i'll say a thing now, before i pass:
"i've spilled more urine than r. kelly has"..."

sonnet 78

“i don’t give a shit ‘bout what people say…
i don’t give a fuck ‘bout what people think…
like frank sinatra, i do things “my way”…
maybe placed one day ‘cross my back in ink…
march to the beat, well, i’m my own drummer;
which means that i “keith moon” along life’s path…
people don’t understand this up-and-comer,
citing “keith moon”’s will incur someone’s wrath…
because those not like me are not like me…
talented, see what i did with that line?
took a phrase, turned it two ways, easily…
provoking envy through gifts that are mine…
i do what i do, despite those that hate,
arguably the thing that makes me great…”

sonnet 79

“how many times can one truly dream of,
seeing actions behind something they’ve heard?
how many times can one experience love,
a real love with meaning beyond the word?
not sure, but my thinking’s only one time…
do you encounter that “love of your life”;
you see, my heart has me convinced that i’m,
a fool for not making that love my wife…
i met a woman a long time ago…
quickly found myself enamored with her…
but made the mistake of letting her go,
now, wanting to return to what we were…
so i’m positive once is all you get…
when gone, gone forever, having lost it…”

sonnet 80

“smedley once said, “all’s fair in love and war”;
so who’s to say when one crosses the line?
i’ve dealt in areas of gray before…
what is black or white in making her mine?
truth is, love is war; a soldier am i;
and my arsenal’s a paper and pen…
with the objective of making her cry,
from reading something that i have written…
‘cause i use my words to step out of place;
without a care, like i don’t even care…
so she sees our past in front of her face,
does that tactic mean i’m fighting unfair?
wrong to have her remember how things were?
then wrong i’ll be, since i can’t forget her…”

Presents...Two Years Of Blogging

"as much as i tried to get on yesterday and post, celebrating the two-year anniversary of my blog, i had too many other things i needed to get accomplished and unfortunately was unable to. wah!!! anyway, march 20, 2010, i started peeing onto paper and then leaving the mess all over the monitor and i continue to do so today; and i'm not ashamed to say, there's a teensy-weensy bit of pride i'm feeling in writing that."

(from last year..."i've done the impossible...2 years of continuous blogging. yay me!!!")

Writes..."Sonnets 61-70"

sonnet 61

“i don’t know why i don’t tell her what’s real…
if i did, would my thoughts do any harm?
why wouldn’t she rather know how i feel?
i ponder that, taking her by the arm…
leading her away, in an effort to,
relay the burning desire within…
what means more than the words “i love you” do?
used in the past, they hadn’t matured then…
“i care for you”; more than any before,
or after her came, from a voice broken…
to echo my heart in words anymore;
can’t be done; so the rest’s left unspoken…
yet she still remains, therein lies the proof;
through exposure there can dwell hidden truth…”

sonnet 62

“i write about death, thoughts of suicide…
not my own, though that’s what some may figure…
when i pass on, i’ll have naturally died…
‘cause i’ll have naturally pulled the trigger…
wait, that’s not funny! where’s the lol?
where’s the indication this isn’t real?
i guess only those that know me can tell…
but i never bullshit ‘bout how i feel…
and i feel only a bullet will end…
“…thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to…”
when i quote shakespeare is when i descend;
into a place where i’ll “juliet” you…
to know the story; a verb from a name…
i’ll “romeo” me when you do the same…”

sonnet 63

“her “occhi sono sudato”; quote…
with each line read, the thought becomes wetter…
i’ve exposed my heart in a written note…
every penned word leaves a tear-stained letter…
“siamo sempre”’s the most famous line…
in more italian; it makes “us” profound…
“forever”’s the word we use to define;
the tie that keeps two kindred spirits bound…
yet as if seeking some treasure covered…
she continues on, sans hesitation…
to tell her my feelings, i’ve discovered…
a skilled hand’s best for that conversation…
and when she’s finished, teardrops will remain…
from two pairs of eyes capable of rain…”

sonnet 64

“sure, i’ve been profound since i was a child…
written poignant things that displayed talent…
but sometimes i like to cite oscar wilde…
he thinks like me, with an irish accent…
it’s “fuck humility” in softer verse…
a direct quote would simply be too long…
he said what i wrote, just without the curse…
but if he had, would it have made him wrong?
people that can, inspire jealousy…
from people that can’t, cannot, or can not…
i want to write so well the best envy…
and my best is giving them all i got…
like turning my thoughts into something noted…
so one day i’ll be the one who’s quoted…”

sonnet 65

“when i die, i’ll look myself in the face…
to reprimand with a finger waving…
the fact that i’d only lived to displace…
images of good men she’d been saving…
simply put, i’d altered her perception…
of what a loving companion should be…
i, having dealt in lies and deception…
meant the person she wanted wasn’t me…
i, having dealt in manipulation…
and plans to confuse her with my mind’s thoughts…
she met each and every stipulation…
just to chase me to death with whiskey shots…
when i die, she’ll look at me and wonder…
whose deeds really put me six feet under?”

sonnet 66

“i don’t want to hear “i love you” again;
anymore; like they’re words you’re supposed to…
say; now those words spoken almost akin…
to; the equivalent of verbal poo…
her doctor diagnosed “shit mouth disease”;
the last time she said “i love you” to me…
his opinion’s in order to appease;
she tosses around the phrase casually…
so it’s no surprise when it comes from moi…
it’s dismissed like i’d just let loose a fart…
sometimes i think loving’s my only flaw…
and that this body’s too small for my heart…
my doc pronounced i’ve “s.m.d.” as well…
“fuck, shit, ass, bitch, cunt; you can go to hell…”

sonnet 67

“everybody lauds the work that’s written…
my hand is brilliant, though not my genius…
i may create masterpieces by pen;
but i craft symphonies with my penis…
my “baton”, a tool to get her to sing…
a three-part harmony, it’ll conduct…
not that a choral term means anything;
merely an euphemism for “we fucked”
or maybe the phrase means more than it seems…
an expression to voice the “oohs” and “aahs”
from low guttural moans to high-pitched screams…
the noises she makes: a ménage-a-trois…
guess it actually does say more than that:
“i may not like pets but i own that cat…”

sonnet 68

“the two clichéd ships passing in the night…
metaphor for what we turned out to be…
my eyes trained on her ‘til she’s out of sight…
gone, and then there was nothing else to see…
sometimes i stare into the darkest black…
hoping one day she’ll return to my side…
if watching the night sky will bring her back…
i’m steadfast, for fear of being denied…
the thoughts of a man that she’d left behind,
are ones remembered; i can’t forget her…
every experience etched in my mind;
the shared moments of our time together…
i gaze into the heavens for a star,
wondering if she is any less far…”

sonnet 69

“a goddess to all, in egypt or rome,
or greece; she’s beauty: her face and her heart…
like the famous “aphrodite” in foam…
she’s a masterpiece; a real work of art…
poets write of her, those greater than me…
skilled with the use of a quill and a word;
penning lovely prose of what they doth see…
one that inspires; a title conferred…
a muse to me, my feelings of passion…
in describing her essence; all she is…
i “armani” words, that means i fashion…
thoughts of loving; dido and aeneus”…
i “versace” words, in the latest trend…
with praise for her on my lips 'til the end…”

sonnet 70

“five years ago when we made first contact...
eighteen hundred twenty-six days away...
i don't think i realized then the impact,
her presence would have on my life today...
on march twenty-third, two thousand and then...
the past; her words at a rant i'd posted...
funny how a mere comment can begin...
a bond of which i've actually boasted...
we've not shared a lifetime, but gladly spend;
the time in our lives sorting through the "mess"...
the truth is i love her more than a friend;
she's more than a friend, should i love her less?
"best i ever had"; "have", in terms of hearts...
sixty months later, still "drake" on the charts...”

Writes..."Hello, My Name Is E'BoNick"

"dear future wife, or baby momma, or whatever title i've given to that someone i've mixed dna and created a life with,

this letter right here is just to inform you that i will be naming any offspring you have conceived with me. sorry, i hate to have to serve you a written letter but the truth is, i don't trust any of y'all with the responsibility anymore. so i gotta do it, gotta take the privilege away from you; i've seen too many monikers that made me think a person had been named after a rare strand of bacteria only located in central america; too many people named after hard liquors or fruity tropical beverages that are only served with umbrellas, and i can't allow that for any children i may become the father of.

i like pretentious names, err, names that seem to command a level of respect from their mere utterance; names that dignify; names that say "i'm a somebody", even if you aren't shit. my son's name will be a little showy, even if he is a bum; my daughter's name will be a little pompous, even if she is working the pole. and honestly, apostrophes and creative spellings don't tend to do that, isn't that right d'anthony? younique? somebody agree with me.

in conclusion, i'll be giving my children their names: three-name names; first, middle and last labels of importance.

sincerely,

brian alan wilson (that's pretty pretentious right?)"

Writes..."Another Epiphany"

"i just had an epiphany. while contemplating my purpose here on earth, i came to the conclusion that i'm a lover, and as such i exist only to love another person as hard as i can, for as long as i breathe. that's why i'm alive."

Writes..."Sonnets 51-60"

sonnet 51

"i'll spend valentine's day seeking out truth...
that my present state's not a future me...
searching for evidence, some kind of proof...
me loving a woman's my destiny...
with her loving me equally as much...
is a treasure i'm desperate to find...
we're a love more than a passionate touch;
a love more than thoughts of her on my mind...
it's more than what we feel deep in our heart...
more than what we say, or our actions show...
sure our love began when we both did start...
to look at ourselves and already know...
loving is knowing; i strongly contend...
and knowing's what means that love will transcend..."

sonnet 52

“i think the word of the day is “closure”…
quandary; why my relationships end?
when love’s so hot, i burned from exposure;
what the hell happened to thinking i’d spend;
the rest of my life with one that consumed,
especially when she'd echoed my thoughts?
yet i’d be the asshole if i assumed,
that the words she’d said, were words she’d said lots…
of times; to lots of men she’d left smitten;
never real feelings, just imitating...
sentiment offered: verbal or written…
hedging her actions; equivocating…
thus, “closure” seems a concept that shrewdly…
fucks me after love’s already screwed me…”

sonnet 53

“in writing about the future i want…
it’s been suggested i forget the past…
starting with my being more nonchalant…
towards relationships that didn’t last…
‘cause a “fuck her” written smacks of despair,
or pain, or sorrow; words that say i hurt…
and that i'm not mature enough to care…
not to hurt her back in penned thoughts overt…
the opinion of letting lovers go,
seems the best way for me to love better…
when i write the next, and my feelings show;
new passions should inspire the letter…
if a present "me" wants a future "you",
i guess that means to bid the past “adieu”…”

sonnet 54

“line: ‘even though i tried i can’t let go’;
the truth is i don’t even attempt it…
love’s gone away but i already know,
she’ll return to me because i dreamt it…
thus, i can’t allow myself the thoughts of…
everything said and done’s strictly the past…
when all that occurred made us fall in love…
i figure us feeling that way should last…
we share something that defines perfection…
two people coupled by a tie that binds…
to let go is to lose a connection;
a bond formed from similar hearts and minds…
i can’t let go; love simply won’t allow,
me to cede these feelings i’m feeling now…”

sonnet 55

“i’m digging in, i have tunnel vision…
so focused; peripherals stay blurry…
ideas complicated like cold fission;
cold fusion; fuck it, ‘bout it, don’t worry…
just know i’m a cadaver on my grind…
they’ll take this pencil from my cold, dead hand…
quixotic thoughts from a quixotic mind…
the power to transcribe them i command…
“everyday i’m hustling”, that's from rick ross…
glossed a “word hustler”; so i’ll use the line…
not springsteen or danza; who’s the real “boss”?
a voice of the people sounds just like mine…
write ’til i die and in the time between;
get famous faces on paper that’s green…”

sonnet 56

“she smiled a lot for a life pretended;
a mask meant to keep those who cared at bay…
‘cause her broken heart couldn’t be mended,
with anything that they could do or say…
so she kept up a happy face; showing…
a beautiful smile she displayed for all…
and everyone smiled back; never knowing…
her true feelings hidden behind the wall…
a liar; as her visage did deceive…
it never let on to a secret pain…
and the words she spoke, we all did believe..
unaware of the emotional stain,
one who smiled at her had left on her heart;
forced her to turn acting into an art…”

sonnet 57

“she once said we’re skeptics because we think,
rather than live the lives we’re destined for…
she’s right; we share more than a common link;
we share thinkers’ dna at our core…
unhappy; we play things out in the head…
then let fear determine which path to take…
with usually doing nothing instead,
of something that risks another heartbreak…
love or life, we keep inside of one mind…
despite knowing that reality's better;
or should be, with thoughts desperate to find…
an escape from a brain that does fetter…
she said “think about good things”, and i try;
to reveal a future of she and i…”

sonnet 58

“i'll give some advice to a future son…
from having lived, a bit of knowledge gained…
“just make sure you don't allow anyone…
to keep the best parts of yourself contained…
or take away from the things that you do”
“oh yeah, anything that makes you stand out…
will cause someone to be jealous of you…
but don't let them decide what you're about”
he'll know what ‘to thine own self be true’ means…
i'll impress upon him that hamlet line…
“want to be the man that makes up your genes…
and the ones you possess are mostly mine”
my most important words, maybe, will be…
“be yourself; a better version of me””

sonnet 59

“i'll die; a note next to me expressing…
heartfelt sentiment in my last thought penned…
a written letter, with words confessing,
i'd lived the life of a sinner who sinned…
as proof that i'd realized i'd live no more,
yet known i'd merely loved through lovely text;
devoting beautiful words conceived for…
one deserving woman, and then the next…
then another yearned to know how i felt…
she'd read my heart with some satisfaction…
having cried out words i'd scribed as she knelt;
she still let writing be my sole action…
no, never truly found love off the page;
lived scared, to die alone; a coward's wage…”

sonnet 60

“when i’ve time to think, i often wonder…
how just a few months became a lifetime?
can’t seem to grasp what the over/under…
of days for us should’ve been; she and i’m…
something different i don’t understand…
the truth is we’ve been more since we first met;
more since the first time that i clutched her hand…
knew then our bond’d be as strong as one’d get…
but those aren’t just words to say; that i “knew”,
or that i continue to know it now…
when we talk, we do what we always do:
renew a relationship that somehow,
some way, for better or worse, proves to be…
the most intimate connection for me…”

Quotes...Oscar Wilde...III

"i don't write to please cliques. i write to please myself."

"what one really wants is not to be either blamed or praised, but to be understood."

"whatever my life may have been ethically, it has always been romantic."

"i have the simplest tastes. i am always satisfied with the best."

"between me and life there is a mist of words always."

"where will it all end? half the world does not believe in god, and the other half does not believe in me."

Writes..."Sonnet 41-50"

sonnet 41

“when all is black, what i see is your face…
every detail of it’s etched in my mind…
even though i should, i still can’t erase…
fair eyes that are of a different kind…
‘cause i’ve observed women with gorgeous eyes…
in emerald green or sapphire blue…
but once pretty brown ones held hidden lies…
the way that pretty brown ones sometimes do…
a woman’s eyes are her prize possession…
in every hue, they’re all colors of love…
and though one pair left a bad impression…
i’m sure that god sent yours from up above…
now i close my eyes in order to see…
how beautiful eyes look looking at me…”

sonnet 42

“wrote: “roses are red; a deep crimson hue…”…
which started a thought for a valentine…
never use “violets…”; they’re not really blue…
so i chose to “borrow” another line…
to say: “life’s like a box of chocolates…”…
as simile to describe the unknown…
when descriptions beneath tell what one gets;
why do people bite ones they hate then moan?
all the love contained in my heart-shaped box…
it is a sweetness of only one kind…
that's only released when someone unlocks…
a passion that real lovers seek to find…
if penned notes could do what candy hearts say…
then i want you to be mine every day…”

sonnet 43

“one similarly remarkable pair…
a boy and a girl connected by fate…
what happened to conclude life isn’t fair;
and caused it to become something to hate?
recalling the first “i love you” spoken…
its effect on a lover without love…
yet those remarkable words have broken…
the heart belonging to one she’d thought of…
to read past dialogue’s to know the script…
how what they’d been had become so much more…
he sees every penned line as feelings dripped…
his hand no longer has her to bleed for…
it’s easy to loathe a life without her…
still remarkable, just not what they were…”

sonnet 44

“i always keep her pic on my person…
despite the months having not talked to her…
sometimes seeing it i feel like cursin’…
or breaking shit ‘cause we aren’t what we were…
but four-letter bombs or trashing my stuff…
won’t get her to love me more thn she did…
i wanted her but that wasn’t enough…
exposed myself through thoughts usually hid…
still, though she’s gone i can’t help but reflect…
on times i caused the smile her photo shows…
something specific or more indirect…
i contend in that shot only she knows…
because of her being away from “us”…
i keep her picture, i feel that i must…”

sonnet 45

“wonder if my life’s as good as it gets…
every day i breathe, i hope that’s not true…
i exist only for solemn regrets…
o’er things i didn’t say or didn’t do…
reflections of an opportunity;
a chance to get to know a girl better…
got her to roll through my community…
to show her my thoughts in a penned letter…
here’s the thing, the moment passed that i missed…
we talked; “big lips” were an attribute claimed…
did that mean that she wanted to be kissed,
and if we’d touched mouths then would she have blamed;
me for misconstruing sarcastic speak,
or would we’d kept on ‘til her knees grew weak?”

sonnet 46

“women describe me with various words…
they’ve used “romantic”, passionate”; much more…
my favorite’s “quixotic”; that’s for nerds…
got that from me, never used it before…
but twice in my life females have written…
“where was i from?”; like i was, well, unique…
some difference’s what had them smitten…
when they’d looked back at others in critique…
i’m nothing special; was born of this earth…
a common man; not majestic, royal…
i was just raised sentimental from birth…
“me” ‘til i shuffle off this mortal coil”…
where am i from? it’s now the 3-3-0…
why i’m me’s what they really want to know…”

sonnet 47

“i once met a girl at a bus station…
well, encountered, seems a more fitting word…
while we both waited for transportation…
bulletins o’er the speaker could be heard…
we didn’t meet as much as our paths crossed…
noticed that she was on a bench staring…
i nodded; she stood up, asked of the cost…
if making the first move’d proved too daring…
said that'd take a boldness level higher…
words destined to promote a reaction…
in a crowded place; passion, desire…
my lips on her own, our tongues in action…
a horn announcing my bus was to blame…
for my leaving without getting her name…”

sonnet 48

“she’s singing: “brian loves me, this i know…”
“no, he didn’t”; yeah, i’m a blasphemer…
next line: “for it’s his touch that tells me so…”
i close my eyes, but only to dream her…
somewhere angels are permitted to love…
devote themselves to the pursuits of men…
in the dark of night, she’s what i think of…
memories of caressing her again…
she takes off her wings, stepping towards hell…
removes the golden halo from her head…
the last time she’d seen heaven’s when she fell…
i only know it when she’s in my bed…
“yes, brian loves me; yes, brian loves me…”
yes, loves her; even more than piety…”

sonnet 49

“a friend once said that i “overstand” love…
i’ve found it’s people i don’t understand…
exposing my heart in written thoughts of…
one worthy of prose penned by my own hand…
how can one truly believe that of me;
i grasp the concept of loving someone?
used as a verb; inspiration did flee…
used in a phrase; and the muses did run…
the truth is i’m over understanding…
over hearing ones speak love as they do…
problem is, if my love were demanding,
then it’d ideally be lost on me too…
and that would mean the best part of me died…
i’m a lover ‘cause i have love inside…”

sonnet 50

“i’m dismissed because i only have words…
literally; merely the things i cite…
if one were to divide me into thirds…
i’m one part: nouns; one part: verbs; one part: write…
when i seek out the hand of another…
i must do it with beautiful thoughts penned…
choice lines dedicated to a mother…
exquisite verses addressed to a friend…
can only conclude words make up my genes…
though who i am’s not helped get what i want…
seems a mastery of them only means…
irony is: it’s their master they taunt…
"i only have words", which is the right one;
that’ll cause the mockery to be done?”

Quotes...Bob Dylan

author: van morrison said that you are our greatest living poet. do you think of yourself in those terms?

dylan: [pause] sometimes. it’s within me. it’s within me to put myself up and be a poet. but it’s dedication. [softly] it’s a big dedication.
[pause] poets don’t drive cars. [laughs] poets don’t go to the supermarket. poets don’t empty the garbage. poets aren’t on the pta. poets, you know, they don’t go to picket the better housing bureau, or whatever. poets don’t… they don’t even speak on the telephone. poets don’t ever talk to anybody. poets do a lot of listening… and usually they know why they’re poets!

…poets live on the land. they behave in a gentlemanly way. and live by their own gentlemanly code.

[pause] and die broke. or drown in lakes. poets usually have very unhappy endings. look at keats’ life.

this quote made me think about myself...