Love and beer cans

I don’t write anymore. I mean, yes, I write emails and letters and snarky comments on Facebook. But I don’t WRITE, write. I need to get back into that. It used to make me feel good, free, balanced.

The other day I found a little book of poems that I hand wrote when I was in college. The date on the pages was seven years ago. It’s hard to believe it’s been that long since I wrote for no reason. Here are a couple excerpts.
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I wanted to write a verse poem.

ONLY LOVE

Put on the finger twenty years ago,
Perfectly polished, brilliantly gold.
Forever was the word, now let it bind,
This symbol round and full of shine.
This ring was said to hold these hearts,
To join them so they never part.

Time wanders by, and that was long ago,
Scratched the ring, and fading the gold.
Losing the feeling, releasing the bind,
Their smiles no longer full of shine.
Roaming lonely are now the hearts,
The ones the ring said would never part.

Put into the drawer just two weeks ago,
Dull with age and barely gold.
For this ring failed and just could not bind,
These souls who only apart could shine.
No piece of metal can restrain hearts,
No ceremony can vow to never part –

Only love.

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The notes preceding this one say, “someone asked me today what I think the meaning of life is…”

BEER CAN

I relate to that beer can
Bouncing down the stream -
Though I think I know who I am,
I’m still inclined to dream.

The can is pulled out of sight,
Held down by the water’s great force
Then resurfaces with great might;
I knew it would, of course.

It sails along in tranquility,
Unaffected now by the flow
It is all as it should be,
Along with the can I go.

Up ahead there is a stone
That the can cannot escape;
I think I heard the moan
When the can against it scraped.

The can continues to pass
All that it must face,
It knows that it will last,
It must complete the race.

I relate to that beer can
Bouncing down the stream -
Because I know who I am,
And I pursue the dream.

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Written in response to: “tell me about love.”

MAKING IT

There is an art to making love,
It must be done just right.
You must be an artist
With beauty in your sight.

The caresses must be gentle,
The gazes unwavering.
You must know why and how
You give this sacred thing.

For sex is such a simple task,
Mosquitoes procreate.
To make it love, to make love,
You must know its fate.

You must feel it deep within,
And know it without doubt.
The fire is from the heart,
The love, from the inside out.

It happens very rarely now
That people understand
That making love takes more
Than just a woman and a man.

It takes two hearts, two souls,
Two lives completely unified.
It takes perfect love and perfect trust
To make love and keep it tied.

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It’s been seven years since I sat around and thought about love, the meaning of life, friendship, what gets and holds people together in relationships. I got too busy… work, client demands, a mortgage, homeowners associations and neighborhood watch meetings. Somewhere I lost focus. I lost… perspective.

I have a vacation coming up. It’s about time I dive back into sunshine, good wine, friends, self-realizations, and metaphysical poetry.