…and i’m lost without you
time means nothing
the moments stand still
and blend in and in to
waves gently slupping
displacing grains of sand
yes
just like you put me here
and then you move me to there
and then the world
shifts
on its axis
and your water
your soft salty water
slips away
from my flesh
…and I’m lost without you
I will love you
Just a little
From a distance
Is that okay?
Because you’re special
and I like you
you seemed to like me
the other day
I will see you
through the window
of my ‘puter
and here I say
I will love you
Just a little
’cause you’re special
in your own way
This poem isn’t about anyone in particular, but rather a reflection on how our perceptions of people we meet on the internet can sometimes be skewed by first (and possibly false) impressions. It’s childish on purpose.
I have observed the subject
As he sits in the centre of the room
Peering around the slouched, cotton-clad backs
Of the distracted,
And past the ramrod twill
Of the zealous
And I see he yearns
he craves
he screams out heartily
in his own placid way
with his naked, childish hunger
and his polyester trash-can-hand-me-downs
to fit.
my smile refracts the glimmer of your heart
and radiates, shining amongst all I meet
my love for you cannot be contained
the sunshine that warms me from within
and brightens my universe
begins with your adoring eyes
Music as timeless as the earth
A breath taken and released as a single drop of sunlight
Absorbed by my soul is my gift from you.
What shall I promise you now?
That a new forever will we live
In each other’s hearts?
You dress yourself now as an angel
But I know you as a man
Who shits and creates love like the whisper of a baby’s sigh.
Are we the product of our own past creations?
The children of our children’s children?
Or are we the result of a vow, a pact, a fiery ember, crushed and smoldered in a watery grave?
I shall offer you a word
A syllable of dust and of hope
A chalice of ashes and a flask of life.
I shall offer you
me
May you treat me with care this time around.
L.G. Hill
July 1, 2005
Love is a roller coaster, isn’t it?
Clunking up that first hill, speculating, is the feeling mutual?
And when we reach the top we breathe, for only a second
because the rush, the onslaught, the weightlessness
the centrifugal force unites us in the curves and we are thunderstruck.
Then worry sinks in as we rise and fall and rise and fall
– will we stay on the tracks?
If we come loose, it’s over…
Before we know it, our car has come gliding back to reality.
Do we hold hands after the Love Coaster stops?
Do we endure, content in remembering how our wild ride began?
Or do we relinquish this titillation for the next?
Pitterpatter raindrops
Fall upward from the roof
My high in the air chases my dreams away
Wine is heavier and heavenly
than ice when it’s red
Browbeaten muscles forgotten – relaxed
hand me down pictures burned in memory
but never toucherling the raindrops
my head ain’t wet
coz your umbrella loves me
L.G. Hill
December 2, 2006
My pillow beckons
soft feather whispers
and dreams of places
I knew once before
Between my fragrant sheets
should I chance to find peace
and settle upon a cloud
of silent repose
I shall ponder my destiny
and the path that I tread
which leads naturally onward
begins tonight in my bed.
Linda G. Hill
May 11, 2005
It hangs down hairy and warm
The sac between his legs
with which he scares the girls
in their twenty-something business suits
as they rush home on the train
He sits in his window and smiles
as the faces flash by
up level with the el
his beard drips
honeycoffeesnot
What he has and what he has not
are in essence the same
For his penile futility
once celebrated in slithering porn
is backdropped only by the sac
with which he scares the girls.
The quiet that lives
inside my brain
The void of thought
The lightless
airless vacuum
into which I struggle not to fall
Always there
Always there
You’re always here
and yet
sometimes you leave me
to fend off the external madness
alone
As the clock ticks by
the seconds, the minutes the hours
the days weeks months years to my death
even the device itself
leaves me sitting
in technologically faulted
muteness
This blessed silence
for which I pray daily
and loathe nightly
leaves me with the yen
for a human heart
beat
L.G.Hill
August 23, 2005
Linda G. Hill 