Monthly Archives: November 2013

Spoiler alert: the book series “Youth in Revolt” is mentioned in the afterword and contains key spoilers, so avoid the bottom of the page if you haven’t read the book yet! 

Driving down an open road, the usual route

The sun-roof open, the sun still out

a woman’s smoky voice swims through

Airwaves as she sways and croons

Of love, far gone, still warm and true

I’ll park my car, in a familiar shadow

Under the willow, letting down

Autumn’s gold and amber hair

In piles I’d joyously dance around, but for

Who I see in this small cafe, I’m ill-prepared

I stop, I stutter, breathing shallow, rapid

Only moments left to run, before

My curious eyes are left raptured

By her angelic gaze, in a perfumed haze

Her captivating voice; oh! How I’m still amazed

The fading nail polish, the sandy hair,

Eyes of the purest sapphire,

That genuine smile so rare!

She returned from a journey afar

From exotic lands and sights to share.

She traveled with another, more divine than I

For she saw in him, a true believer; devout

Pure, free of sin, worthy of His watchful eye

And I, simply an underling, in endless drought

Struggled to dim the light I couldn’t live without

And now, face to face, I stand terrified,

Blinded by luminescent resurgence

Emotions I thought to be long efaced, resurface

My mouth moves, though little sound escapes

What brought me here? Why this cafe? Why today?!

I thought I’d never see her again, I guess

hoped I’d never see her again.

Because I know that my offering is no match

For the love she has, and her pious ways.

She is meant for heaven. And I; Purgatory’s maze.

Afterword: I know this poem has had several alternate versions recently, but for me, when a poem of mine has intense personal meaning (Which is usually something I’ve experienced rather than dreamt or imagined), I often come back to it and add bits and pieces to give the story more context for the reader and for my future self. For example; when writing the more personable lines, my mind turns to chaos, and the details in my mind’s eye don’t always make it down on paper the first time around –or possibly even the second or third time– because my mind is not a quick one and easily affected. These small, sometimes grand details slip through the cracks and are only found once again as the dust settles. It’s safe to say I lose a lot of good material, but I love what I do 🙂 Also, the title is in French because I associate cafe’s and dumb love most often with the book “Youth In Revolt”. And how can I forget the way Nick lost everything in France, as Sheeni soon found herself shacking up with a noble Frenchman in a foreign and exotic land, while Nick had to find a way to purge her psychological presence. He never does… but he lives, and lives well

PS: I’m terribly sorry for the spoilers book!

This poem was greatly inspired by the late poet/author, Anne Sexton, and her poem, Red Roses.

beg of you, fair Goddess, expatriate this vagabond soul!

Expel the wayward ways, the self-destruction, the tired eye

Lick the festered wounds and kiss the roses planted by

This Blue Lady in studded heels, dancing atop my heart to and fro


Lay to waste her Demonic presence in bright atomic clouds

Take away the key she was given, by the damned devil himself

Force free her desperate grip and send her back to hell!

Then bless my blackened heart, oh please fair Goddess,

To live free of ghoulish shrouds.

Let me fall in love, deep, into the stars which are her eyes

Where she ensnares my wandering heart as azure currents

Describe a vibrant path toward lustful insurgence.

Unleash the delicate, aromatic kiss of Aphrodite’s sigh.


Of wine and myrrh, pungent and sweet, inebriates and invades!

The soul of the damned and even the Gods’ holiest angel

She will rapt either, with a tender smile and limp wrist dangled

In her majestic strut, closing  in on helpless prey!


I say, let me be helpless! Let her come softly

Or pounce as I gaze, in frightened amazement!

Let her tear into my chest, find a most torturous lament

Silence its negating pall! Let life swim through my veins, swiftly.

Ask me why I ignore your knocks on my door. I wont be played like a drum anymore. Beat on another lifeless body you call a friend. And leave mine to defend whats left.

Of the soul you have tattered and torn. In the fields of lost dreams and unicorns. My fate towers over love in these skyline reveries; And when I awake the pain it follows me

It hurts more every day girl, Yeah it hurts more in every way. If you could just feel this pain… I can change, I have changed Just to hear you say yes, but its gone. Back to booze and cigarettes; I digress.

And no I wont help you anymore, no. Because I’m done with you girl, done. I’ve sacrificed my time and sanity, Just to hear the voice of serenity. But no I cant do this anymore. Make up your mind or get out of mine

No I don’t want your love, not anymore. It can’t be worth the pain, the remorse. All you have brought me was a cold soul. My family looks at me like I’m a damn ghost. I’m so empty you can see my heart strain. So leave me be, consider yourself free From the heart that would bleed eternally If you stayed in its life

His mind’s a broken metronome.

Ennui in troughs, prevent clarity

Its timing blurred and incoherent.

A diabolic pairing.

When one has nothing but time to kill

And misadventures in love and lust,

deplete his Pride and Will.

How does one rise above

What holds his mind so still?

In vaults of fathomless obscurity

Where Destiny has sentenced me for life;

Where cheerful rosy beams may never shine;

Where, living with that sullen hostess, Night,


I am an artist that a mocking God

Condemns, alas! to paint the gloom itself;

Where like a cook with ghoulish appetite

I boil and devour my own heart,


Sometimes there sprawls, and stretches out, and glows

A splendid ghost, or a surpassing charm,

And when this vision growing in my sight


In oriental languor, like a dream,

Is fully formed, I know the phantom’s name:

Yes, it is She! though black, yet full of light.


Written by Charles P. Baudelaire

You’ve never known any form of love.

Yet you claim to be fluent and wise.

The only “deep connection” you know,

Occurs between your thighs!


So don’t tell me about passion.

As far as I can tell,

Your “love” has been more mythical

Than Charon’s ferry ride to Hell!


I will falter and I will fall, but

I’ve never needed your asinine drawl

To brag about your harpy’s strut

And the men whom beckon at your call!


Then claim a broken heart, when

One of your specimens devolve

Beyond your visual standards, and

The mirage begins to dissolve!