Subtitle: In which I explore the tension between corporal love and artistic love. This is a poem of Aristotelian mimicry and postmodernist intertextuality.
Those who like a handkerchief drop
And fall in love,
I envy you.
And those who for their coy mistresses
Have world enough,
I envy you.
My feet don't fit in Romeo boots,
A sighing furnace I scarce be.
So though you may walk in beauty,
Don't hold your tongue in hope of love -
For when you think I am loving,
I am not drowning but waving.
Though in the past, many a once
A phantom of delight I met,
A red, red rose,
A summer's day,
A lover to me could have been -
Then what can ail me? But,
The ice was all between.
The moment froze,
And she stayed fair:
And no lovers gone in the storm.
When I arise from dreams of you,
All passion spent,
Exacting love;
A hollow head, my muse is fled.
Now what verses compose I can?
Diction-less I raid the treasures -
Stoic lover turned marauder -
The realms of gold,
The Gods above,
Until in words from Amareh
My love's consummation I saw.
My muse! My love!
"I'll hide within my poems as I write them,
Hoping to kiss your lips as you recite them."
An interesting analysis. While lovers tend to think we can be swayed by other loves, more often than not it's our vocations or avocations that get in the way of corporal love.
I wrote this novel several years ago, I self published and never had it to sell. I have decided to rewrite it and hope to get it published within a few months for people to be able to buy. I had a few copies and gave them to a few family members and
An empathic young nurse driven to help and heal others since childhood after watching her mother languish for months before finally succumbing to cancer, Aziza Lopez abhors cruelty and suffering in any form. When she is assigned comatose patient Davi
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Amit
Well written and challenging to understand.
Ron