Revising Poetry for the collection: a peek.

The Breakup Poem

Like a surge of emotion as I felt tears in my eyes 

every time I see her, hearing her heartache in her voice

as she tells me no.

Truths that cannot be told only secretly whispered to my heart.

In denial of emotion, that cries out in time with the drumbeat

thundering in my chest as I try to remember to breathe each

time I see her.

Like the sorrow at the distance between my hands and her touch,

the gulf of thoughtlessness, the ideas of what love should be 

or might be but is.

Lies untold never should have been mentioned, emotions take hold

screaming out in the whine of a steel guitar stroking out in the

pain that I feel in my stomach as she walks away.

Originally Love Song

published Friday, April 26, 2012.

revised July 31, 2016.

I have been going through the last 4-5 years of blog poetry (which actually contain poetry I wrote many years before) and revising as needed. I find myself cringing all over again at some of the things I wrote back then also finding that I have published 168 poems with the word love in them. 

Yep, for someone who has never been in love- it's kind of scary.

What's worse is the abundance of basic grammatical errors that run amok throughout all that work.

Yikes.

On Love.

Stop trying to define it.
It won't work, even when you think you've
got it down, the meanings will slip away
like mists in the morning light
leaving you feeling empty
out of mind, out of sight.
If you have got it, then let it go
love dies in captivity, nothing survives
if it cannot grow, you want to
remember the rain, you want to see him
smile, you want to feel her skin
once again.
If you don't have it, you play the loneliness
game, you look out the windows
or sit in the doorway to your
room asking the walls to remember her
name.
When giving up seems to best thing to do,
quit searching for the one thing that
makes you smile whenever the world
slides out of view. The hint of a giggle
the curling of toes, the scent of cookies,
butterflies tickling at your nose, the way
he makes me feel, the look in her eyes
when you are sure she's real, the moment
when you both understand that love is
all that matters in this world, throw away
the conventions, forget the limitations
let your imagination unfurl.
Question everything, accept nothing
live in the second, looking forward to the next
the secrets to it's mysteries have just been
written here in this text.

Untitled or whatever else you could call it.

It was as if I had just heard a song on the radio,
although it was just a dream, spent some time
asleep with the memories that aren't my own
riding all night listening to Christina singing
her all her songs, we stayed up all night
watching the ghosts come and go, Da Vinci
at the Quickie Mart, arguing about carrots
with Michelangelo.
Times spent counting stars, naming planets
after former lovers and idols, like Marius
and Janet. Working up an appetite while
walking back to our cars whistling riffs
comparing funny gifs, idly hinting that
what really matters in life is more fun
when it is who you're with. Listening to
Sam Jackson rant at Sly Stallone on the
philosophical equivalence of sensual
verse or the legs of Sharon Stone.
It was one night, the distance in between
falling into sleep and the ever present
wakefulness of the omnipresent dream
a hallowed moment when all the
world is in the sheets, sharing a cup
of coffee at the donut shack
comparing notes on what to wear
with Elianora and Zoolander
confidences without tack,
dunking frosted chunks as the
sun rises over the platitudes
of Major Tom and Theolonius
Monk.

Just a note or two. Then Poetry!

1. I do a silly facebook poem about 2-3 times a week.
you can find it here.
According to Mike on Facebook.

2. I do a daily Social Media Poem on Twitter, the facebook page and google+
my twitter is @mikemumbled
it's written within the 150 character limit.

3. Then Poetry!

When I was young.
Pop songs were written for everyone;
those days are in the past, the interest
in being general didn't last.
Now people believe that pop is an elite
kind of thing, after all- we can't all
dance and sing. some things are for the
few, just pretend to like everything
as if it were Facebook, it's the internet
so it must be true.
Now I am older,
the music is confusing, not nearly as
amusing, everyone is ready to be offended
this song is awful, that genre has ended.
I wish I could say the world grew colder
but the climate continues to smolder.

That was one crazy storm to be out driving in!

That was one crazy storm to be out driving in!
She said, turning to me, a mad look in her eyes
like a spark of electricity misfiring within.
The trepidation at war with then need to conform
had driven me to come to here through this storm.

What drove you to do such a foolish kind of thing?
She whispered over her coffee, giddy with caffeine 
I long for her smile, the repartee that she brings.
I feel warm and churlish, wet and chilled to the skin
I would brave any obstacle just to be here again.

I wanted to be with you in the mad summer rages
I answer, shivering like an overexcited hound
to be daring, her hero from out of a book's pages.
She laughs at me, the thunder rolls in her voice
She knows now that I never really made the choice.


a little bit of credit to my pal, Stefanie Brock Stanford
for a tiny bit of inspiration.