Condemned For Loving Too Much


Condemned for Loving Too Much

Poetry Palace Award

Loving (TV series)
Image via Wikipedia

“Condemned for Loving too Much”

All was quiet in this forgotten town,

Because of the record snow tumbling down,

Yet in the plaza crowds were shopping still,

Looking for entertainment to get their fill,

There were walkers, and talkers, shops all ablaze,

Restaurants still open but countless delays,

Marge was waiting patiently and talking to a friend,

This day had been perfect, she didn’t want it to end,

Somehow, she noticed him, standing off from the crowd,

His gray eyes fixed on her, haughty and proud,

His brown coat, his lean frame, the thin twisted nose,

Why she alone could see him, she could only suppose,

His eyes asked questions, the answers she didn’t dare,

What kind of man was he? One that didn’t care?

Was he an angry ghost or a demon of some kind?

Why were his thoughts penetrating her mind?

Somehow in his hands he held her new fate,

She thought, “Is it possible to love someone you hate?”

As this thought surfaced, Marge pushed it away,

She had never seen him before, not until today,

“He is not attractive,” she thought, “not in the least,”

But he continued to stare at her like she was a feast,

Her face flushed, and deep within the heat began,

Rising in waves until perspiration ran,

She was uncomfortable, she needed time to think,

But he watched her diligently, not once did he blink,

“Is it possible to love your enemy?” she thought,

“What is it about me that’s so eagerly sought?”

She was thirty-three years old for goodness sake,

And ten pounds too heavy, give or take,

Yet she was flattered by his attention even more,

Unlike her friends, all her faults he chose to ignore,

He willed her to move forward, but he didn’t insist,

Although she closed her eyes, she was helpless to resist,

Silently Marge turned, her demon she faced,

When he smiled, her legs trembled, her heart raced,

She took one step forward, two, then three,

She unbuttoned her blouse, letting him see,

She hated him and yet she was offering her kind,

Melting into love, her body yielding to his mind,

Seeking his hatred, demands, contempt to slay,

Doing what she could, loving his hate away,

An act of love determined Marge’s fate,

Is it possible to love, someone you hate?

All is quiet again in this forgotten town,

But there is one less demon standing around,

No one wants to question or be out of touch,

Should Marge be condemned for loving too much?

SACRED TO ME


My parents lived in an old house,

filled with cats, dogs, children,

memories of relatives,

worn tattered furniture.

It didn’t take much to evoke the past,

Pull up the shadowy images of

children who climbed trees,

Played kick the can together

Times that went by too fast.

Those memories are sacred,

Often I dredge them up

and clean them until they shine.

They may not mean anything to others

But they are sacred to me,

And they will always be.

SHE OWES ME A KISS


Shivering at the edge of the abyss

I shouted, “She owes me a kiss!”

I glared at the jagged rocks below,

Accusing the storm, screaming against the wind.

“You’re the one who ought to know!

Why did you bring me here?

She was my darling, my sweet dear.

“Why?” I yelled again.

The storm roared on and on,

Oblivious to me, convinced it had won.

“My sweetheart lies cold and now she’s gone,

And I’m chilled to the bone.”

I took another swig from my flask.

“Is there no one who loves me, if I dare ask?”

I was ready to leap, but something held me back.

Was it courage that I lacked?

Should I follow her to a watery tomb,

Was I ready to meet my doom?

An unknown voice pierced my inner storm.

“Can I hold you and keep you warm?”

I was sure I heard an angel’s voice.

In the midst of chaos I made a choice.

I  chose a stranger whose kind eyes and sweet smile

Made me love her. (We’ve been married quite awhile).

You ask if I’m happy, I’ll tell you before I go,

My heart loves both, if you want to know.

I come here, and I always will,

To pay respects to my first wife, I love her still.

I’d be lying if I denied all this.

But it seems like yesterday,

And she owes me a kiss.

 

 

 

I WON!


Often I have bought tickets to win a big prize,

Cash or a trip to a faraway place.

I never won even in my dreams,

Just one of the crowd waiting with expectant face.

What were the odds of winning the pot,

Raking in millions, and sharing all I got?

I was lying to myself,

Justifying the easy way to pay bills,

When it was for the thrill.

So how did I win?

Was it in the shark tank I learned to swim?

Contrary to what you might believe,

I quit trying to deceive.

I spent time being a friend,

Helped others begin again,

Loved openly with all my heart,

And became the man I should have been

Right from the start.

I won self-respect, honor, and trust,

And that, my friends, is something

That can’t be stolen, tarnished, or rust.

As you can see, I’m proud of me.

But I have also widened my view.

You remained my friend and I’m proud of you.

by Dan Roberson     Oct. 12, 2016

 

Voting


Voting is a chance to choose who will represent us throughout the world.  Imagine that person smiling, offering our country’s support and aid, and putting our best image forward. We can march in step or drag our feet.  We can choose to move our country to a higher realm and share wisdom of all ages. We can follow the leader or help lead the leader.  Whatever we choose, voting is the first step in setting the direction we want the country to go.  We can choose to be heard or we can be silent. The next step is up to each of us.

BUZZARDS ARE GATHERING


BUZZARDS ARE GATHERING

I’m moving slowly this morning.

My back hurts as I do the Parkinson’s shuffle.

One foot, now the next,

Not too fast, I warn myself.

This dance is not for the weak.

The buzzards are gathering.

I’m not dead, but I haven’t had my coffee.

Usually I pour the hot steaming liquid

With finesse and flair.

But today the smell of death hangs in the air.

I’m too tired to put the little container

Into the coffee maker and push start.

I’ve lost mastery over that art.

My muscles have been cramping,

My hands have been shaking,

Neurons and glial cells shrinking,

Nothing I can see, yet it’s happening to me.

I continue to function

Learning and memory gain as my goal.

Regeneration of brain cells.

I search for some research

That offers me a cure,

Or a reason for hope

Or a reason to laugh

Or a reason to live and love.

I look around.

The buzzards are still gathering.

 

April 20, 2016

Dan Roberson

 

 

BUT I DIDN’T


I never told you I loved you.

It would have been so simple

To make it very clear.

But I didn’t.

If I had called you dear,

You might have known.

But I didn’t.

I kept my feelings inside

Wrapped in my foolish pride.

Because I loved you.

I didn’t dream your love was so big

That you could love me too.

When I was examined

The doctor implied I was almost dead.

There was nothing he could do.

I thought I was hanging by a thread.

I wanted to tell you I loved you.

But I didn’t.

I underestimated your heart.

Before I died I wanted to be sure

You would be happy with life,

Somebody’s precious wife.

I introduced you to my best friend.

I wish I hadn’t.

The doctor was wrong,

My heart is strong.

And my friend looks very content

With the woman who was meant

For me.

If I had loved you for one fleeting moment

My dreams would be full,

But I didn’t.

 

4/22/2016

Dan Roberson

 

 

 

HE LOVED HER MOODS


He loved the ocean’s many moods,

From red skies in the morning with all alarms,

He warily observed the smooth horizon

But prepared for her oncoming storms.

Beginning with majestic swells,

The ship rode waves from trough to crest.

Inside the cabin he felt content and safe,

Like being at his mother’s breast.

 

There were also quiet clear nights,

Electric nights filled with glowing fish,

That darted alongside the ship’s hull,

Ready to grant him his favorite wish.

He wished he could be one of them,

Leaping and flying from wave to wave.

But as he watched he felt great despair.

He would never be quite so brave.

The sea could lure him from time to time,

Her beauty had him under her spell.

He would return and walk that rolling gait,

She knew his heart too well.

Seascapes were surreal but always a delight.

Harbors were protection during perilous night.

The ocean was his mother, his wife, his lifeboat,

And from the crow’s nest, his world was afloat.

 

4/20/2016

Dan Roberson