The Inspirers of my "love Poems"

Thought of today:

If I am impatient to experience the results of my efforts, it is like trying to eat unripe fruit”

Posted by Hello

I have been asked a lot of times if I have meant any individual in my “love poems”, some might even think that I’m writing about them. And although being in love adds that extra special zing in the words, in my personal experience, I do not have to be in actual love to express its emotions, I experience this love through inspiration, and it could be a very private love that even the inspirer does not know about it. In a nutshell: I’m always in love with love.

The important thing in the end is the piece I write, and the reader who can relate to it.

To all those who inspired me, to those who identified themselves through my “love poems”, and to my readers I dedicate this.

And Happy Eid to all.

Poet’s love

 

Hey you, don’t cite my verse out laud

 

Thinking it’s all about you

 

Your dazzling eyes in a crowd

 

Single out like diamonds do

 

Although to you my words I vowed

 

To your zest and meek virtue

 

But not because of you I bowed

 

Through my lyrics to a mythical statue

 

**

 

And you; my honey dew sweetheart

 

Amid your chin carved a dimple

 

Sitting proudly as a piece of art

 

So arrogant, yet so simple

 

To your path my soul would dart

 

A load of passion so ample

 

But still beat not for you my heart

 

Although there has been a couple

 

**

 

Now you, my awesome sculpture

 

Flawless; in a total perfection

 

Your body seals a signature

 

Of god’s quote: “Limited selection”

 

Michelangelo is an amateur

 

In grasping your bronze reflection

 

But still, it’s your shadow I capture

 

And alight in my own perception

 

**

 

So cite my lyrics with confidence

 

Identify yourself an’ up soar

 

If it brings you happiness

 

Then you can ask me for more

 

If emptiness is what you feel

 

I’d forsake my art in dour

 

In my poem, you’re the deal

 

That inspires the metaphor

 

**

 

My statement to all is this

 

“Up heave your expectation,

 

Dive in my art and bless

 

In your unique identification

 

But my Scribbles are not to press

 

On me a binding resignation

 

For all this passion is, nonetheless;

 

A figment of my imagination”

 

 

16 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. nazzal
    Jan 19, 2005 @ 14:59:00

    Hi Ruby
    EIDICH MUBARAK

    help needed !! can u figure the
    meaning of the last 3 lines ….

    i presented
    my feminine side
    with flowers

    she cut the stems
    and placed them gently
    down my throught

    and these tu lips
    might soon eclipse
    your brightest hopes

    SAUL WILLIAMS

    Reply

  2. AyyA
    Jan 19, 2005 @ 15:57:00

    Hi Nazal and welcome in my humble quarter;
    To understand the last stanza(last three lines) in the poem, you have to read the whole poem; the poet has seen a fortune teller to read his future using tarot cards, and in the third stanza she told him sad things that made him loose hope in his destiny.
    Here is the whole poem, and although it’s very sad, it’s beautiful:

    She
    I presented
    my feminine side
    with flowers
    She cut the stems
    and placed them gently
    down my throat
    And these tulips
    might soon eclipse
    your brightest hopes
    She had nothing
    but time on her hands:
    silver rings, turquoise stones
    and purple nails
    I rubbed my thumb
    across her palm:
    a featherbed
    where slept a psalm
    Yea, though I walk
    I used to fly
    and now we dance
    i watched
    my toenails blacken
    and walked a deadened trance
    Until she woke me
    with the knife edge
    of her glance
    i have the scars to prove
    the clock strikes
    with her hands
    I have seen the truth
    many times
    but for the first time
    she saw me
    I wore suspenders
    for the judgment
    in my pants
    I laced my shoes with sorrow
    and walked a weary road
    dead end streets
    don’t come undone
    with double knots
    Wing tipped shoes
    that walk on air
    through vacant lots
    She kept her deck
    beneath her pillow
    and had promised
    me a reading
    She stuck a bookmark
    in my heart
    and walked away
    It was autumn then
    The leaves
    suddenly flames
    the sidewalk
    burning cinders
    i walked the streets
    as if the sun
    had called me boy
    mad at the world
    on aging feet
    Shuffling
    her cards
    Shuffling
    my feet
    Head
    to the sky
    blue
    The clouds
    her cards
    The clouds:
    her cards
    Shuffling
    the skies
    A storm passes
    new clouds appear:
    the chariot
    the priestess
    The moon
    in broad daylight:
    an omen
    Love is an unbridled horse
    with one wing out-stretched
    the other tucked and folded
    on the right side
    The horse galloping
    towards a cliff
    knowingly
    panting just enough
    for you to think
    he’s laughing
    he?
    love is male?
    Love is a dumb horse
    with silver streaks
    and a sometimes penis
    A sometimes penis?
    On Thursdays
    the rest of the week
    she grazes
    and paints her hooves
    with red mud
    making tracks
    Through the fields
    which disappear
    soon after they appear
    Because nature has a way
    of changing
    the same way
    it remains

    Reply

  3. AyyA
    Jan 19, 2005 @ 17:18:00

    btw, Nazal, thanx for the nice comment on Abal-7akam’s blog, I juse saw it🙂

    Reply

  4. مبتدئ
    Jan 19, 2005 @ 17:51:00

    Rabab ..

    I like the part about you being in love with love. It is so, however, I strongly beleive writers love for their own reasons, it is to please thier Ibda3 3efreet, if u know what i mean.

    Writers love to write
    Now read it again:
    Writers love, to write.

    “Amid your chin carved a dimple”

    I just double checked… Dont have such a thing😦

    Nice post

    Reply

  5. AyyA
    Jan 20, 2005 @ 00:17:00

    مبتدئ

    I know exactly what you mean, I can be in deep love so long there is an inspiration, and once this inspiration is gone, I’m normal again. It’s like nothing moves me. And mind you, if you don’t have the dimple, you might have other things that have inspired someone somewhere and may be you don’t know about it😉 , writers see detailed things that can’t be seen with the naked eye.
    So don’t give me the sad face I’m sure you are beautiful.

    Reply

  6. مبتدئ
    Jan 20, 2005 @ 03:15:00

    Rabab .. how sweeet :-]

    Yah, and thank you for adding me to your blog list! ..

    You are the first one to add me🙂

    Reply

  7. nazzal
    Jan 20, 2005 @ 09:36:00

    Thanks Ruby
    have a good hollyday
    and BON FET

    Reply

  8. AyyA
    Jan 21, 2005 @ 01:17:00

    مبتدئ
    I added you to my links coz I think your blog is cool and the link is my easy access to yours so no need to thank me buddy, and don’t forget shankoo7’s promise to me😉

    نزال
    Sure, any time, I love poetry, the more the merrier🙂

    Reply

  9. Purgatory
    Jan 21, 2005 @ 19:24:00

    Its nice to know that I inspire you although you are not willing to admit that in public🙂

    Reply

  10. AyyA
    Jan 21, 2005 @ 20:03:00

    Oh Purgy, now you know that I have this thingy for you, why do you have to publicize it🙂

    Reply

  11. Purgatory
    Jan 22, 2005 @ 02:00:00

    Rabab,

    well it was obvious for everyone, so what can we do :)?

    Reply

  12. DJ
    Jan 23, 2005 @ 10:20:00

    Good post, Rabab. I know exactly what you mean. We don’t have to be in morning, in love, etc… etc… but only to “know” the emotion, in order to write of it with conviction. I think of it as “method writing”, as like Method Actors we rely on past experiences (our own and others) that stir the emotions to a point in which they can be useful in our writing.

    Reply

  13. AyyA
    Jan 23, 2005 @ 11:37:00

    Yes DJ, I think writers are more sensitive than others and therefore their senses are magnified, they observe and experience little things that others miss, that’s why you see most of them always carrying a small pad around so that when something comes to mind, they write it down before it’s lost. My friends call me spacey; because I could be in a middle of a serious discussion and you’d see me spacing out. Crisp imagination is what it is for method writing. Sometimes is mixed with reality, but down deep we all know that it’s only a passing phase.

    Reply

  14. Peach
    Jan 25, 2005 @ 15:01:00

    It’s true .. when u have such passion that can not be quenched without a pen (or a keyboard ;P) u don’t have to be in love to write about it. I remember when I was younger my uncle was in love with the woman who is now his wife .. I was so touched by their(got the spelling right this time ;)) story that I wrote a poem for her speaking in his tongue. I didn’t write it to give it to anyone .. I simply felt what he and she must have felt and I couldn’t help but put it in words .. I even couldn’t sleep till I finished writing it. Needless to say when I showed my uncle the poem the next day he took it and gave it to his love as his own asking me not to breath a word lol ..
    I love the figments of ur imagination Ruby .. they are always deep sweet and bitter sweet even😉 I can relate.

    Reply

  15. AyyA
    Jan 26, 2005 @ 01:30:00

    Thanx sweetie, you can post your poem here and I won’t tell on you;)

    Reply

  16. Peach
    Jan 26, 2005 @ 23:20:00

    I wish I could but unfortunatly we were travling at the time and I was too young to have the fore sight of keeping a second copy .. the sole copy is now the property of mrs.uncle😉

    Reply

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