“Twins”–Another Poem About a Love Quandary

My readers must be thinking by all the poems about love’s fixations, problems, joys, and et cetera that one should perhaps after all give it a miss.  Naw, I think it’s probably still worth it.  But this is possibly one of the more unusual statements of a common problem; that is, when the lover seems divided in his responses.  As most often occurs, a somewhat humorous solution is the one that comes most easily to mind for me.

Twins

When I see you divided from yourself
And have to wonder which it is I love,
The neat man, or the man who moves my heart,
Manipulator, or the sad-eyed dove,

Then I begin to wonder "Who am I?"
"Shall I divide myself likewise in twain?
Love both, or choose one, and pursue the goal
Of gaining all his heart, his mind in train?"

Then think I that it must be you have cause
To look opposed thus to yourself and praise
The objectivity you say you have;
Perplexity, though, runs throughout my days.

I wonder, could it be you have a twin,
Or bear a double soul in one, like mine?
For I too have my moments of divide
When I with half myself do fret and pine.

So let's have forth the man with eyes of dolor
Who yet knows how to merry-make sometimes,
And I will love him; if th'other appear
We'll wind up all his stratagems in rhymes.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/13/17

 

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“The Acting of Love”–Taking a Page from Ovid

In his work The Art of Love, the author Ovid advises a lover who wishes to seem sincere in his tearfulness with his mistress momentarily to turn his head aside and stick a finger in his own eye hard to make himself tear up.  Such stratagems are in the rhetorical tricks book both physical and verbal, and not only of lovers who would be proclaimed lovers but of potential lovers who want to deny love.  That’s what this poem is tangentially about.

The Acting of Love

Oh, why do you persist in saying me "Nay"
When you could say "Oh yes, my love" so well?
Persuasions cunning and so bright arise
In your ingenious mind, your lie to tell.

Yet I dispute it not; I must respect
The limits you have set about to guard
Your evidently sovereign right to judge
And your true self to countenance and ward.

But grant me just a right to criticize
The quality of your performance, nor
Think I debate your knowledge; I am wise
And have seen this conundrum posed before.

And thus betwixt your show and my critique
We may somehow find love a thing less bleak.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/12/17

Love as a topic is a difficult thing to discuss sometimes!  Shadowoperator

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When Lovers Are Made But Not Fated–“Half and Half”

This is a poem for all the lovers in the world who have to work at love and who feel that it’s worth it, even if they weren’t “fated” to be in love.

Half and Half

My love, we were not meant for one another
In spite of innate sympathies arising
And we have struggled, argued, joyed, and fought
To such degree our harmony's surprising.

For Fate has dealt with us awry, you see,
And made me love while you play off your tricks,
Your ploys, dishonesties, though you seek truth,
And left me thus to sort love from the mix.

For I feel sure you are not without love
Though you may say it is not meant for me,
And yet you show both passion and concern
In what seems more than my due lot, truly.

So, ask you for what you most want from love,
Whether or not you think it in my range,
For lovers true even shake the mighty halls
Of heaven with their cries, nor count it strange.

Perhaps, then, we may pass for lovers true,
My weakness, your denial passing muster
And for half-this, half-that we garner praise
As to the ill-assorted adding luster.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/7/17

 

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Yet Another Lovers’ Dilemma–A Poem Called “Just Where Do I Fit In”?

I was tempted at first to say that this poem delineates a modern lovers’ dilemma, yet further thought convinced me that this has probably always to some extent been a problem for the ages, even if hidden, repressed, or occurring behind the scenes.  It’s a poem about finding one’s true place in the scheme of things.

Just Where Do I Fit In?

She then she then she
Attempted
To woo me
Whereupon I hastily flee
She and she and she,
Repulsed.
Understanding, but
Repulsed, nevertheless.
He then he then he,
Seemingly
Attracted to me,
Clutch desperately
To he and he and he
Insisting they don't love me.
What?  Then why the pretense?
Why the games, why the pain,
No gain
In any case for me.
Perplexedly,
I try to puzzle it out.
What do I do
To get just we two
Of he and me?
Or grammatically,
He and I?
Oh, sigh.
God and the devil may know,
But I don't, so I go
Alone.  Oh, woe.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/2/17

That’s all for now.  Just a little something to think about!  Shadowoperator

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A Haiku for Winter

Here’s a haiku (an Asian verse form having 3 lines of 5 syllables, 7 syllables, then 5 syllables).  This one occurred to me to due to personal inspiration, as you may imagine.

Winter Suspense Pulp Fiction
A Haiku

Tissue paper tale--
How will it continue, end?
One Nostril Running.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/10/11

Good for a small chuckle, I hope.   More another post.  Shadowoperator

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A Memorial Poem–“To a Friend, On the Death of a Brother”

This is a tribute poem for a friend of mine, who recently lost a brother.

To a Friend, On the Death of a Brother

Pebbles and shells
On the beach
Beneath the feet
Of some boys,
Just some boys,
Chilly, perhaps, the day,
Accounting for their hoverings
Near the rocks
With their toes dug into the sand.
And then one day
Caught in the web of time
One dead, the other two mourning,
Loss of young life even at sixty
Or so.
Time with its merciless strings
Of stuff
First holding us in place
To develop,
Next supporting us
As we grasp purchase
Slow step by slow step,
Finally frustrating our attempts
To fly free and be bold,
Like the spirits we once were
And are soon to be again,
A part of the air,
A grace,
And all we know is that once
It seemed our sempiturnal friend,
The web,
As if having flown into it
By the accident of birth,
We might negotiate our circumstances.
Our minds themselves
Have hovered in the mist
Of coincidence bedewing it,
And how we are,
Who and why we are,
Have all been part of our self-portrait
Starting with ourselves,
A dawn picture,
And then beach and city scenes,
And forests and days and evenings
All shared,
Or sometimes endured alone,
Or perhaps even humming
Along the sticky wire
Which holds us in suspense
AS to what the next step
Must be.
And yet, we knew all along
It must come to this,
But hoped
For more daylight,
One more sunset,
One more moonlit night
To sing for each other
Our song of enchantment
And entrapment,
And being together still.
For you, dear friend,
I wish no narrowing of the way,
Feet held down by inanition,
But a broad stroke
Of the hovering fate
Like to one of the boys
Cutting a swathe impatiently
Through the web
That's in his way,
At your own time
Stepping forth to follow
The one gone before,
In joy and gladness
At some remembered afternoon
In the sand, casting stones,
And yelling blithely at others
To hold up for you,
As you are sure and strong,
And they cannot outrun you,
All being free.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/3/17

 

 

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What’s out there? A Poem About “It”–“What Is It”?

This is just a short poem, made more to start to investigate a compositional problem than to propose a final answer, though the ending might seem final.  I’ve found that I often end a poem with a reference to God, and though in each case the reference was sincere and thought out, I don’t want it to get to be too easy and automatic, because that’s not what faith is about.  So, I’m sort of thinking now about what it means to turn at least to the Infinite for explanations of things, even if you don’t believe in a specific god or gods or goddesses.  This brief ditty–and really, it can’t be called more than that–was the result.  Not one of my best poems, but useful, at any rate.

What Is It?

What is that something out there
That other folk deny
Is it the being I call "God"
Or is it just "I'm I"?
For Popeye with his spinach
And God, out of iams,
The both of them are known to say
Just "I am what I am."
And though the foot and rhyme are true
I fear I have to say
That other people doubt me more
Because I "God" display
In many poems; in many rhymes
"God" seems the answer true
For what I simply can't explain,
With mystery endued.
And I find often it helps me
To think someone's in charge
Though even I dispute results
Which in my life loom large.
So leave me my illusions,
Let me think amorphously
That I perceive a bit of truth
And that it perceives me.

©Victoria Leigh Bennett, 2/3/17

Though I’ve had this problem particularly  this time round this year in writing poetry, I always wrote around it before when I was younger, because people seemed to disapprove so very much of the idea of God, and they were and are people I respect for their other qualities and abilities, certainly many of them intellectual.  But now, I’ve come to a time in my life which is sufficiently trying and difficult (though it was so before as well) that it makes me feel better to let the truth of my feelings out, be damned and full speed ahead!  I hope, though, that whatever your own beliefs, you feel welcome to express them with people who care about you, or just with people you know–it’s hard to feel that you can’t express freely what you truly feel, whatever that may be.  Shadowoperator

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