Monthly Archives: February 2015

Poetic Champions

John Donne John Donne

Today, on the Eve of St. Valentine’s Day, I want to share a new love poem of mine with you.  But first, bear with me while I tell you about a poet and a poem that played a part in shaping it.

One of my favorite love poems of all time is John Donne’s “To His Mistress Going to Bed.”

It manages to be both funny and sexy at the same time.

Donne was a complex guy. He was both a poet and a priest. His verse could be mischievous and amorous, but more often was spiritual and somber.

Even if you haven’t read his poetry, you’ve surely heard some of his lines, among the most famous in English literature: “No man is an island,” and “never send for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”

Born into a Roman Catholic…

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Make me behave on

different shades of grey…..

Float between time and space

where our first kiss meets…..

I, then became yours….

You imprinted on my skin

five words of sin….

You made me flood, and swam

every inch of me, and shadowed

parts that can never be found


You were my Sir, I, your


I bend, you take, tied

in red Valentines…..

I, your vanilla…..

You, cloudy silhouettes….

Yes, please, make me behave…..


I went to see the movie Friday, and

let’s just say I wasn’t disappointed;)


I like to paint my lips red,

sucking on cherry fizzles….

The stem travels, unravels….

Tickles, drizzles, soda pop…..


Do I please you with

the different shades of

grey I wear

A mystery contemplating

tears reflecting in sunshine

by multiple orgasmic stars….?



You make my toes curl, twirl,

becoming plural…..

Mocking Bird Down

His lips were slightly parted,
and his body had sighed its last full stop.
The punctuation that marked the end.
He had strong, beautiful hands, which I had held before;
just minutes before.

Open the window, he asked.
My soul needs to be able to leave this place.
This forsaken body.
And forsaken, it was. His oxygen mask
had become his suffocating companion.

Tom? I spoke softly.
My wife is here, he said. He smiled,
and he shook my hand, as though we
had just concluded a business deal.
Hello Mrs. Hampstead, I said.

Tom left the room. His body stayed.
The nurses waiting anxiously at the door
watched me with morbid curiosity as I straightened
the tie that Tom had insisted on wearing.
I want my Helen to dance with me when I die. He had asked.

Safe travels Tom, I neatened his wild grey hair as best I…

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