Outside of the Ring

I spread warmth and affection,
And spend minutes and minutes
And minutes floating my gentle touch
All over her body. She’s warm, but she
Might as well be dead. There is no reaction.
Affection’s butterflies are not
Her style. Charging bull is her style,
But I cannot join her in the ring.

Suddenly, I wish it were you. You would
Come back at me with your electric, warm,
Gentle breath. You would moan
Just to show that you were fully present.
You would shower me with the convulsive blanket
Of your love.

And then she leaves in the morning,
Says have a nice day, but there is no intention
Behind the frail words.
There is no action, no hug, no kiss.
I am left with a tight chest and
A frightened heart.  She gores with her
Horns, and I wonder amongst the planets,
Looking for you, not able to join you.

You freeze me out because
You have a million lovers,
And I am a child. For moments
I am a nice child for you.  I join you at
The feast of tragedies, but mostly
You want to send me to my room.
My heart tears at my ribs, but
There is no flesh left.  My room
Is a blue prison.  You have discarded
Me with your pile of broken toys.
You are too good for those old toys,
And you can always find new toys.
I am torn plastic and my heart
Freezes in the melting ooze of
Your dismissal.

, ,

  1. #1 by dustus on December 1, 2010 - 2:25 pm

    “Affection’s butterflies are not / Her style…” Glad you wrote that in the poem, which I enjoyed very much, I think that’s a sure sign I look for to build a mutual relationship… otherwise, as you explain, the alternative is not always fun (if at all). Excellent poem!

    • #2 by Carl on December 1, 2010 - 11:36 pm

      Dustus, I am flattered by your remarks. I feel very lucky that you took the time to comment, and it helps me in my learning efforts. I visited your blog, and I love it. I have a lot of exploring to do there. Thank you for taking the time to comment and thank you for your kind remarks.

  2. #3 by Reflections on December 1, 2010 - 11:48 pm

    Ooh… painful piece, yet comparisons always make these things rather strained.

  3. #4 by Shashi on December 3, 2010 - 1:49 am

    Very poignant and you have touched a very raw nerve in me…
    ‘My heart tears at my ribs, but
    There is no flesh left. My room
    Is a blue prison. You have discarded
    Me with your pile of broken toys.’
    I relate to this so much… and your last lines are so perfect…
    Thanks for sharing…

    ॐ नमः शिवाय
    Om Namah Shivaya
    Twitter: @VerseEveryDay
    Blog: http://shadowdancingwithmind.blogspot.com

    • #5 by Carl on December 3, 2010 - 6:38 am

      Thank you for your kind feedback. This helps me learn and I appreciate it.

  4. #6 by Steve Isaak on December 3, 2010 - 4:35 pm

    Emotionally lush and effective work, with a strong flow and great/short line breaks. (I’m okay with long, extended work, but too many ‘poets’ confuse convoluted/penned ‘diarrhea of the mouth’ pieces with actual artistry — this last word is a word I rarely use for writers, and you, my friend, seem to possess that artistry.


    • #7 by Carl on December 3, 2010 - 8:32 pm

      Steve, Thank you so much for your comments. I appreciate them and you are very kind.

  5. #8 by Evelyn on May 17, 2013 - 8:57 pm

    Lucid and honest. Vulnerable and tactile, the heat, the cold, the tight, the floating…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: