Promissory

I cannot wait to hold you in my arms
Secure from anything that I could fear:
All physical and also mental harms,
And everything that is not warm and dear.
What can assail us when we two are one?
What trouble our unblemished joy of mind?
There is no happiness left unbegun
By our embrace, no bliss we cannot find
Within that circle. We are all in all,
And need not look outside for any need
Until the force of nature starts to call
So that we rise to clean ourselves and feed.
Yet even so, we need no others there:
Our combined love shall be our only care.

Tic

It seemed today I should be at my ease,
Lounging along in laziness all day,
Only exerting what effort I'd please,
Vigor a distant memory. Yet stay:
Even my old self would not have done so,
Keeping in mind the way I lived before.
At least I would have ventured out to know
The way the world was wagging at my door,
In some obscure attempt to find a meaning
Exiled from my life. So even then
Just as today, I would have been found cleaning
A bit of rust off of my life again.
Still, I must say a difference is there,
A sense that now I make a true repair.

Novelty World

So many streets whose names I never heard
Before, although so near to where I've been,
As if a new development occurred
Between my setting out and coming in.
Yet every place was there before, I know,
And when I left the place was peopled too;
The time cannot have been that long ago,
Nor is there anything I can call new.
No, it is old, and I am wrong to say
It has not been here. I should know it better.
Nothing here has sprung up in a day;
It is forgetfulness is the begetter
Of this strange thought. It must have been here. Yet
Something in me still doubts I would forget.

Charity

Annoyance often breeds humanity:
Here have these fifty cents and go away
I'll pay your ticket, only permit me
To be myself and go another way.
How often does the poor man weep and pray
And find only frustration? Which, well trained,
And cultivated by its finder, may
Exact a human moment from the pained,
And make them for a moment softer-brained,
Less stiff and stubborn, flexible indeed
Enough to, when the greatest flash has waned
Of anger, be more generous to need
Than those still unprovoked. Must we have rage
Before the human in us will engage?

Travel

I am not home yet nor am like to be
Until more hours lengthen my delay;
The will not be wasted on the way
And yet I groan it lies in front of me.
For though departed my nativity
And come where now I dwell, I cannot say
That I am home; nor could I did I stay
Were I was born, for at home I must see
Her face, and feel her arms entwining mine.
I am not home when I am not with her.
I cannot tell how much I wish I were,
Nor can I make my wayward soul resign
Itself to separation. She is home
And so some hours more I still must roam.

Beats

I count the hours, and the minutes too,
I count the very seconds in my heart,
The gaps between the beats are a tattoo
Of loneliness, inked in on every part
Of my unsilent soul. I cannot rest,
Even with the music of the time,
For if I pause, then in my waiting breast
The pressure of impatience starts to climb
And I can feel it ticking to explode.
So I keep busy, but I count it out,
Moment by moment, keeping safely stowed
My wide impatience, and the urge to shout
Soon, soon, I will be there. And it is soon.
I follow its slow, but expansive, tune.

Visibility

I know exactly what I'm doing here;
There's no illusion blearing up my eyes.
I know the course that I intend to steer,
And though I'm not immune to a surprise,
I have some confidence in what I'm doing,
Nor any hesitation in the deed.
No false delusion clings to me, imbuing
My every action with a little seed
Of dubiosity. No, I'm aware
Of all her flaws, and all that could go wrong,
And while it isn't that I do not care,
I have accepted them where they belong
And love her all the same. What else can matter?
All other topics are but idle chatter.

Wonder Much

I wonder sometimes just how much it matters
That I want so much just to be with her,
That my heart leaps and vaguely pitter-patters
When she is talking, or that I prefer
To talk with her, no matter day or night,
Above all others, if it can be done.
I wonder sometimes, when I think it might
Not matter much. Because I have begun
This way, I wonder if it could be taken for
A baseline, and for granted. Could it be
That had I been more coy and waited more,
She would note my availability?
I do not think so, and I also know
There is no other way that I could go.

Symptoms

There's something wrenches when I cannot see
Your face, or hold you deep within my arms.
Something is wrong if you are not with me:
I am addicted to your many charms.
My heart will palpitate, my fingers itch,
Each muscle in my face is slightly tense,
My face will tingle, and my leg will twitch,
And something else is off with every sense
Whenever I am far from you too long.
Therefore I cannot help but miss you, dear,
Because the only place where I belong
Is with you, and I need to keep you near
To be myself. So let me be with you
Because it's what I want - and need - to do.

Bookish

I'd like to curl up with you like a book
Cozy and warm, within a common bed,
Resting my arm around your nestled head,
Making our little heaven in that nook,
Seeing you smile warmly in my crook
As I pull you in tighter. Love is fed
By just such moments. And if I have read
Your mind correctly, such desires hook
Your will as well as mine. So come with me
And let us lie together so, and touch,
Feeling each other nestle joyously
And lest the time should pass too quickly, clutch
The bliss from every moment. Let us lie
And let the boring world pass our bed by.

Infinitude

I can't describe the way she fills my heart;
After all, it should be full already
With blood and such, and every other part
Belonging to a heart. But such a heady
Feeling's inside me, that it seems I
Am bursting with desire and affection.
Therefore I cannot help but sit and sigh
My love out of my heart in each direction
Because the spring of deep infinity
From which it bubbles gives me so much love
I spew it all around, yet it fills me,
And makes my organs saturate thereof.
My heart is full, and double-filled, by her
And more leaks out of me each time I stir.

Silence

I do not often speak in company
Of how I feel about you, even now;
For though I write this, pseudonymously
But publicly, I do not quite allow
My tongue the free range over how I feel
That I would give my fingers. After all,
It's tedious to hear how you can steal
All my bad moods away if you but call,
To hear rehearsed again, and yet again,
How much each smile means, to have to hear
About your lingering kisses, and to, when
You've heard all this, and learned it all by ear,
Listen to the echo one more time.
And that's why I confine myself to rhyme.

Bent

The time I have is precious, and when spent
Without her here, it seems so useless. I
Am at my best when I am with her. Why?
Because it's then my acts meet my intent.
I am efficient, for my soul is bent
Towards where it is, and therefore I can ply
My efforts in productive ways, and lie
Precisely in the place I always meant
To be. There is no wasted effort then;
My every act is what it ought to be.
And so when fate and fortune smile on me
Letting me see my dearest one again,
The time I have feels right, and well worthwhile
Just because I get to see her smile.

WhyWhy

The reason for my love
Is very short to say
A combination of
The so bewitching way
She looks at me when we
Are sitting side by side,
And how it used to be
Before we were. I tried
To let it go before
But now I know I should
Be honest, and therefore
I say I found it good
To love, and so I do;
For reasons good and true.

Benefit

It doesn't seem that rational to be
As mad as I am for her love. And yet
Unless someone could teach me to forget
The way I know she always looks at me,
The places that we wandered just to see
What might be there, and also just to let
Us be together, or the times we met
For no good reason but to joyously
Experience each other's presence, I
Cannot believe it is unreasoned. Though
I see the madness in it, even so
It is a craziness with reasons why:
I would not be so happy without her
And so her love is what I must secure.

Simplex

I never was much good at metaphors;
I usually just say the things I mean
(Albeit sometimes hidden behind scores
Of pronouns that can obfuscate what is seen).
So when I write these poems, I don't say
There is a rose that grows in fertile ground
But I, alas, fear for a blasted May
After which the rose will not be found
Because it wilted with the sudden cold,
But rather that I sometimes fear (sometimes)
That though we love, I have been overbold
And you will realize that these poor rhymes
And my true love are insufficient pay
For what you give to me, and go away.

Country

I feel like I could write a country song
The sort you hear with just a soft guitar
That tells of what is right and what seems wrong
And just how close those two things often are.
I feel like I could sing of how my love
Is far from me, and how that hurts my heart
And say how when a push comes to a shove
It feels so wrong that we should ever part.
But then I'd have to sing about her dreams
And how she should achieve them while she's young
How that makes the wrong that always seems
To come with separating and that stung
Seem less because she's doing what she should
And how although it's hard, I know it's good.

Fargo

I ought to be with you. That's what my soul
Insists upon; and I can't say it's wrong.
In fact it states my purpose and my goal,
The ultimate for which all wishes long.
Yet I am not with you, my sense insists,
And I in right cannot deny the same.
So what's the reason, reason then persists,
Why we are far? And who can be to blame?
No one I reply; no blame at all.
Merely misfortune, and soon rectified.
I will come running shortly to your call,
And ere I notice it be by your side.
Yet heart and soul repeat: this may be true,
But now I'm not and I should be with you.

On

I realize it must feel like I drone on
And on and on about how I love you;
But as a mayfly marvels at the dawn
He will not see again, just so much do
I value every moment of our love.
I am contented only by your face,
And like the mated swan or turtledove
My home in natural in your embrace.
Therefore I cannot but exclaim of this
Outstanding love, which makes my days excel;
Nor can I see why such ecstatic bliss
Should be a thing I hesitate to tell.
So pardon if I am too tedious
Because I am so happy to be thus.

Mad Bad and Dangerous to Know

I know you think I'm daft for what I do
And I can hardly blame you for the thought.
But if you knew how carefully it grew
Within my heart, and just how dearly sought
The very state I'm in has been of me,
How much I pondered what I wanted, how
Deeply I considered what I'd be,
And what I could become, you might allow
That I had reason in my choosing this.
Of course you think I'm biased, but admit
The claim I make to think that I have bliss
Does not inherently impugn my wit,
And every sign shows that my love for you
Has made me happy, which is why I woo.

Sufficing

To blandly just repeat that I love you
Seems insufficient; yet what can I say
Besides? That phrase condenses me into
My basic element. Yet there's a way
In which it cannot reach into my heart
And in three little words pluck out the soul
Of how I feel. Of course, it is a start,
But without more it does not quite feel whole.
I love you, yes, but more than that I feel
For love is far too easy to declare.
It slips out quickly, and so lacks the steel
That hardens how I feel, and how I care
Into the strength that stiffens up my spine:
My joy is joy simply because you're mine.

Debit

Time spent away from her is time ill-spent,
And hours are but wasted when left so.
In that small space of life which heaven lent
To me, which I a reckoning will owe
For every moment of when I am dead,
To have set down "I was not with her then"
Will be to no account. Each moment bled
Out of my tally with her far again
Is as a credit turned across the sheet,
Reddening even in my very sight.
I cannot wait until the time we meet,
And that time lags in my irate despite.
So fill my credits up, put me in black:
I long for her, and soon I will come back.

Bright

I find my joys are slightly muted by
Her absence; every moment that I spend
Apart from her, my soul emits a sigh
For lack of such a love and such a friend.
It does not mean I do not like to be
The place I am, or that I cannot find
A shred of happiness; but that, to me,
The pleasure that I have comes to a mind
That is in shadow: what is there is seen
Only at the edges, not in light.
It does not make my pleasure small, or mean,
But merely darker, as in constant night.
She is my sun, and lacking her, light fails
And without that, what lamp of joy prevails?

Delayed

The hour may be late, and yet I know
That there are more important things than sleep;
Yet I can't have them. Pacing to and fro
Inside my mind, I try so hard to keep
My brain from self-combustion, but alas
It seems too bent on wearing itself out.
I cannot bid it let my troubles pass,
Nor leave off foolish quantities of doubt:
It will, despite me, think of missing you
And how that missing translates into pain
Which undermines the better things I do
Making it impossible to gain
Traction on my troubles. Yet know this:
Compared to other options, this is bliss.

Criminal Behavior

To linger on you too much is a crime
Against my heart, which feels this separation
Too cruelly to permit another rhyme
To make it recollect its past elation.
The trouble that I put my poor heart to
By thinking of you every single minute
Is magnified by its lacking of you
For at the same time you are present in it
You are so far away it feels the strain
Between what ought to be and what is now,
And it expresses that in barbing pain
And it is that I ought not to allow:
I should not let your memory become
A pain to which in time I might grow numb.

"Trying to Meet Your Poetry Needs Since 1995"

There's needs I have I know you cannot meet.
You just can't do it; please don't get me wrong.
You ought to know, I think it's very sweet
That you've been trying to meet them so long,
But you can stop. It isn't going to happen.
I'd say you lost that battle long ago.
But don't be sad: it was no little tap-in:
It was a long-shot from the first, you know.
If my needs had been really meetable
I doubt I would now write so very often;
And if this malady were treatable
At some point my hard line on this would soften.
But neither is quite true: and so believe
You cannot meet my needs. But do not grieve.

Puede

How could I not miss you?
What would that even mean,
When everything I do
Shines with a subtle sheen
Of love for you? How could
My mind turn otherwise,
And even if it should
To my severe surprise,
What would that do to me?
To change my self so much
Could never help but be
Too painful. I won't touch
That thought; it hurts. For I
Am yours, and you know why.

Ages

Were I a poet with a golden tongue
I could paint better pictures with my words:
Telling of love, when everything feels young,
All sounds are like the music of the birds,
Fleeting, yet delirious with joy,
And every moment lingers in the heart
Free from all suspicion of annoy.
But as I am, I cannot even start
To draw such pictures; I am forced to toll
A different tune, carreled on iron bells,
With heavy accent of unwished-for dole
And passage through dim internal hells,
For I am no light poet, and you are
My inspiration, and flung from me far.

Zonal

It's so much easier to miss you when
We're somewhere near each other, even though
You still aren't here with me, since at least then
The times line up when we will come and go.
These different time zones muddle everything
And make a simple exercise a farce:
At least when we were closer I could cling
To sleeping at an instant. Now I parse
The differences, and see so many hours
In which we cannot share a waking mind;
And when for you the deepest nighttime lours
I am awake, and still-clear day I find.
So I would rather, though apart from you
Feel the same process of the day you do.

Elijah

I cannot tell her just how much I care
And really, if I could, who'd think I told
Only the truth? Indeed, I must despair
Of ever being sufficiently bold
To simply say it; though but subtle means
I have I think conveyed my purpose. Still
It's best to speak out loud, and, making scenes,
Be obvious about the thing one will:
Therefore I ought to simply say I love.
Yet this is so unlikely I must laugh
To think that I would make a tender of
My love on my own open, plain behalf.
Rather I duck behind my words again
And do not speak yet: and if not now, when?

Return

Seattle has a lovely cityscape
Framed with its famous trees of evergreen;
It seems a fitting scene for an escape
From harsh reality, so crude and mean.
Into a milder fantasy of life.
The air is balmy in a Northwest way,
The wind and rain do not cut like a knife,
But gently tumble in a light sashay
On half-expectant heads. Yet in this place
Some faults can be discerned, though all manmade:
The transportation system's a disgrace,
And on the hills sometimes too steep is laid
A potholed street. But in the main the city
Performs the promise of appearing pretty.

Fits

It's difficult for me to think of being
Without you, given how my life is going;
That doesn't mean, of course, that I'm forseeing
A chance of that, nor that the wind is blowing
In that direction: no, the opposite.
But still sometimes the mind can wander oddly
Trying to make a different pattern fit
The present data. Now, in some ungodly
Capricious fit of mine, I find I'm thinking
Of what the world would be were I alone,
And almost into a depression sinking
To contemplate a life all on my own.
But only almost, for I know you're mine,
And so it's just a fiction makes me pine.

Darkness Falls

Let the sunlight linger on the hills
And give me just one moment more of day;
Do not allow the sun to go away.
The light upon the dappled trees quite fills
My heart, and makes me long for something more:
More hours in the day, less night to pass
Until the next bright morning wakes the grass
And makes it lovely as it was before.
Oh, do not make me wait another night
To see the sparkle of the crashing waves
Where green Lake Michigan obliquely laves
The angled coast of Illinois. That sight
Is far too precious to permit the clouds
To smother with the moon in angry crowds.

Immobility

My mind will not move on from where it lies.
It thinks of but one thing and will not change.
It causes me such mental aches and sighs
Because it is too still and will not range
Among the massed distractions I provide
To move it from its solitary vigil;
It does not reck the salves I have applied,
But like an imp stuck by a wizard's sigil
Within a ring, it paces its own ground
And will not, or it cannot, leave that place.
I do not think this makes my mind unsound,
And yet it still will linger on her grace,
Her smile and her kiss. Oh, it will ponder
Only her love, and has refused to wander.

CTA

I counted on a bus to get me there.
Such foolish words; so youthfully naïve.
Don't trust a bus to get you anywhere
And never, never should your heart believe
The lies the transit agency will tell.
A bus is unreliable and slow,
And easily delayed - a transit hell
On far more than four wheels. It cannot go
By traffic jams or accidents, but must
Slog through them like the cars that curse them too.
A bus is blown about by every gust
Of transit luck, and detours are like glue:
They stick the buses all together, so
They come in massive packs when they do show.

Tidings

My mistress and my love is like the sea
To which I am, despite my wish, the shore:
She flows forever far away from me
So that sometimes I fear I shall no more
Behold her; her horizon lies beyond
My farthest ken, and I am without cheer.
Yet with the tides I find that I am fond:
For she will wax again and grow so near
That I can touch her. Then no intertidal
Stands between our loves, and I am sure
Though there are times the sand may still divide all
Our love, there will be others that can cure
This sadness, and return her to my coast
Where I can clasp the one I love the most.

Though

I have seen beauty not within your face,
And loveliness that you did not possess;
I have observed desirable, sweet grace
In others, even to a hot excess.
I can't deny but I have looked upon
Such bodies clad in wonder that my eyes
Lingered after that sexiness was gone,
For yes, there is attractiveness that lies
Outside of you. Yet though this I will admit,
I cannot help but say I would not trade
You - or your body - for the utmost fit
Delight that could be seen. For you are made
Of that which has enchanted me. You are
That I desire, and the best by far.

Parts

If there were some slight trick by which I might
Beguile you to still remain with me,
I would not hesitate. Should I alight
Upon a way, whatever it might be,
To charm your sense and self so you would stay,
I would not be denied from using it,
Though all the world opposed should say me nay.
I blankly stare at where you used to sit
And know that you are leaving, and have left,
But every fiber of me cries out to
Restrain you from it, lest I be bereft;
Yet there is nothing at all I can do.
You are your own decider; I can't change
The order of the world that you arrange.

Doing and Undoing

Doing the things we used to do together
Or even those you used to talk about
Is sad now. That which once was such a tether
Tying us together, now, without
You here, is only painful, since
Your absence is more felt the more I think
Of how you ought to be here. Not to mince
My words: I find I very often sink
Into a little melancholy when
I do a thing we once did jointly, though
I think it's only fair you ought to know
I do recover when I think again
And recognize that when you have come back
I'll do these things again without the lack.

Fondness

I am too fond. I cannot but be so
Whilst you are still before me to adore.
The love within me ever seems to grow
'Til it has vaulted past the common store
And thrown it down, crying "out, out, too weak,
Too insubstantial to be thought enough!
There are far higher purposes I seek;
I tarry not among such lowly stuff."
So does my love, beyond all normalcy,
Exult within itself, and still increase,
While I, the proof-text of its potency,
Enjoy its wonders and declare it peace
To be so busied with such loving thought:
Which comes unbidden, and remains unsought.

Dubious

If you should ever doubt that I love you
Just read these few shorts lines and you will know
Exactly how I feel. You make me glow
With happiness whenever you're in view,
And when we chat, as we so often do,
I cannot find the will to ever go.
Whichever way the winds of life may blow
I'll tack back to you, and begin anew
My course to take your love. I cannot be
Without you for a day without remorse,
And if I'm taken from you, it's by force,
And not my volition. When I'm free
I come to you, and always will return
To you, whom I adore, for whom I burn.

Webcam

I wish you weren't a phantom on my screen
But rather flesh and blood for me to hold.
I know you're somewhere else, and only seen
Because of this - but still you seem so cold
Set far from me. I want you warm and near,
But even half of that would still be better
Than what it is we both know I have here
The imitation of you in a fetter,
For it is false and far, and both in one,
And so imprisoned are you from my sight
I cannot have you. If you are the sun
This is a single mirror lit at night
By doubled down reflection. Were you by
It would be dark as midnight makes the sky.

Tunnel

That point which I can see may be the light
Of some not far off but too distant train,
Sliding across the track just in my sight
But not yet close enough that without strain
I can discern it. Or it may not be,
But I must choose a point here of belief,
And so I choose to rather say I see
Than that I fail to find the kind relief
I seek in sight. For truly, I prefer
To see a train there, even far away
Than nothingness in which my eyes place stir
Where none exists. For with a train there may
Be somewhere I can go; if not, I'm stayed
Useless on the platform, and dismayed.

Stare

To see you is a pleasure all its own
Apart from others reason that come by;
Even when I know I'm still alone
And you are far, still it's a joy to spy
Your photograph, or via webcam see
Your smiling face. It hardly matters where
We both may be; there is an ecstasy
In every sight of you. I simply stare
Until you laugh at me for staring so,
But you must realize, if you don't know,
I love to look at you, no matter how,
Especially when it has been so long;
And if that's all the present will allow
I cannot think my staring is too wrong.

Linden

It's not so much another place as time;
The bridges, very much pre-First World War,
The cobbled streets, which oaks still overclimb,
Their mossy sides too wrinkléd and hoar
To be a modern imposition, are
Both undeniably present and rare
Seeming to brave each passing car
To drive across their beauty if it dare
At risk of being quite transformed - as all
The land around (so quiet and so still)
Has seemingly been changed: forever fall,
Forever set upon a distant hill
To be admired. It cannot be here,
Much less with all Chicago still so near.

Pinochle

The ways your people have become my people
Are fascinating to observe; by slow
Degrees - the careful placement of a meeple,
A cabled light, a swing dance and a show,
The jibber-jabber of ecstatic voices
Discussing something ancient and obscure -
We meld together, not by conscious choices
But by some secret, strong, internal stir
That slides together what was separate
Making a common of enclosure. We
Shall shortly find it far beyond our wit
To see how this began, for it shall be
Inevitable as are tidal bores
That every friend of mine's a friend of yours.

Firmness

I know my purpose well, and I will hold
Close to its meaning in all things I do;
It is no ware to be bartered or sold
Nor a chameleon to change its hue,
But rather a fixed rock, strong through and through,
Against which waves may crash, but which they may
Despite the strength of tide and trade wind too
Never remove an inch out of the bay,
Nor even scratch despite their harsh assay.
So let all come; my purpose shall not falter
Nor crumble into wet amorphous clay,
But remain strong and solid. If it alter
It is from inner and volcanic fires
Which like to magma melt my past desires.

Basking

Had I my pick of women, I
Would choose again the one I chose;
For in my heart she's lodged, to lie
Until the body 'round it goes.
And so until I come to die
Passing beyond these mortal throes
I only choose to sit and sigh
For her, and count it in my woes
That she is far from me. To be
With her is all I want or need
And there is nothing else I ask
Save to enjoy her love and bask
In it. With her love guaranteed
All life is joy and strength to me.

Sam Carter

I should have been on that first Stargate team
I should've; after all, I made it work,
And although saying that outright may seem
Egotistical, I'm not a jerk.
It's simply true. Astrophysically
I ought to be a basebound specialist
But that won't happen, since I'm practically
The only person who's known to exist
That can convince O'Neill he could be wrong;
And I can fight above my weight to boot.
So I'll never be basebound very long
Since no one else can both do math and shoot.
Someday I think I'll likely run this place
For now it's better than a job in space.

Jack O'Neill

I am not here to talk about my past.
I'm here to do a job that must be done.
In certain situations I think fast
In others, I leave that to everyone
That I command; I know my people well,
I like them, more than I would like to say,
And since I don't have to, I'll never tell,
Except when I'm afraid one of them may
Be gone forever. Even then I speak
In monosyllables I clip and grunt
For fear of seeming somehow soft or weak.
As part of that, my colleagues bear the brunt
Of deep sarcasm, hiding warmth inside,
But they all know I care. I cannot hide.

Owe

If as you say you think you might owe me
What could I ask of you? All that I need
You give in its required quantity
If not in surplus; and whatever greed
I have, whatever wants beyond what's needed
You have supplied before I thought to ask
In ways whose quality has far exceeded
What could have been expected. No, I bask
In marvelous and magical excess
Of anything that I could ask of you;
Nor is there anything I would wish less
Or that you're doing I'd not have you do.
So even if you owe me, let it go
For you already do all you could owe.

Around

Sometimes I half-forget what life is like
For those whose ways are not only my own.
Not everyone has seen their hormones spike;
Not everyone's wild oats are tamely sown.
Nor does the mass around me really care
Where you have gone and what you choose to do;
And though it seems absurd to me, I dare
Assume they may not even care for you.
How can this foreignness surroundine me
Be made sense of? Or is it all a sham?
For it is hard to think that there might be
Those not in love with you the way I am.
I might prefer to think they all figments
Of my mad mind, dyed with its wilder pigments.

Moses

I could claim I was lame of tongue
And therefore could not speak to you;
Or that the words themselves just hung
Too heavy on my lips to do
What I should have, and tell you true
The way I felt. But that would be
(As even then I think you knew)
A bit too much chicanery;
For I can, between you and me,
Speak just as well as you believe
And showing such mendacity
Would show intention to deceive.
No, I spoke not because I doubted
If you would stay were my love outed.

Potential States

If I were everything that I should be
I would not be the thing I really am;
And if I changed my personality
Then that new person might just give a damn.
But I am happy as I am right now
No matter what the failings I possess,
No matter what the faults they may allow,
I think of what I am as a success.
And I can't help but think that you do too
Although perhaps it's selfishness that thinks
That you are happy how much I love you
And we are joined in joy that deeply links
Our souls together, and so makes you glad
To have me, even if I may be bad.

Daniel Jackson

By some impossibility
I am a specialist in all
The fields of anthropology
And have them at my beck and call.
You want to know what language group
Some ancient text is written in?
It never throw me for a loop;
I always know where to begin.
And even more, no matter what,
I hear a word and can derive
Its origins; I have a glut
Of knowledge. But I can't survive
Without my comrades - I can't fight
Nor do I know when to take flight.

Partial Joys

My days are far from empty when you're gone;
I do not linger in an endless void,
Nor am I drawn out, sickly, pale, or wan.
But even on those days when I am joyed
There is an absent center to that joy
Which joins itself unto each moment's bliss
And makes of it a fragile, weak alloy
Not bad, but far less purely pleasant. This
Is your departure - thinking how much more
I would be happy if my joy were shared,
And how it was when we were one before.
So is my wheat of happiness part-tared,
My joy though joy still lessened. You aren't here
And so all happiness is partly queer.

Teal'c

I have heard many say to me before
"I can save these people. Help me," but
None that I believed could win the war
Against the foe I bear within my gut.
Yet once I heard the man whom I believed
I gave him succor and I joined his band;
I left my home and family, and I grieved
But never crossed my duty's stern command
To free my people from their false gods, whom
I knew to be but vile foreign creatures
Raised by technology, not by the doom
Of fate. And so across my oft-impassive features
I let a smile pass now and again
To think of how my life has changed since then.

Guitar

The frequency with which I talk to you
Is pleasure in itself; were it decreased
Or, God forbid, should I find it had ceased
I do not rightly know what I would do.
I might cajole or flatter, beg and sue
To see our commerce once again increased,
But that requires chances to at least
Mention my insistent need, and to
Hear what you might think of it. So I
Cannot be sure what I would do if we
Were, as I'll say I hope we'll never be,
Out of touch. I might as well just cry
For all that I can think to do. And yet
I don't think this is something I should fret.

Joys

It's wonderful to know how much you care;
To see the way you look at me and smile;
To glimpse your face, and know that, under there
There is a love makes everything worthwhile.
How can I choose but joy in your delight
And search for comfort in your times of need?
How can I not long for you every night
Writing these sonnets that I know you read
To tell you how much I reciprocate
All of the love that I receive from you,
In quantities to great to calculate
And quality beyond accounting, too.
I love you past the point I can express
Nor do I wish to ever love you less.

Confiding

I think there's something that you ought to know,
Or that at least I ought to say to you;
I doubt that it is really something new.
But every time I do not speak, I go
Away dissatisfied, and feeling low.
So I'll feel better if I simply do
Tell this to you, because it's very true,
And so it's best to let it clearly show:
I love you very much, and I desire
That everything you want should be achieved;
I love you past what I would have believed
Before it happened, like a wildfire
That burns out everything that's in its path
Except with love and softness, and no wrath.

R4TG

Explore to find out what is in the deck
Either aggressively or greedily;
Develop to improve your empire's tech;
Settle to expand citizenry;
Trade to garner more for what you grow;
Consume to use your products for yourself;
Produce to reap the seedlings that you sow
And take your canned goods down off of the shelf.
In all of this, you either gain VP
By building up and making synergy
With great developments, or simply size
Which can itself provide the greater prize,
Or build a VP chip machine and then
Turn the crank and turn the crank again.

Altered States

When was I social? How did this begin?
Where is the awkward teenager I was
Full of, if anything, such uhms and uhs
That conversation with him might have been
A surefire damnable and mortal sin
For all that people did it. Memory does
Play tricks, but even so, (I know because
I lived it) he still gave an awkward spin
To all he did, and though he still had friends
And good close ones, they were a rarity,
Not necessarily from charity,
But certainly those isolation sends
Each to the other. Now, what has become
Of me, and where'd this social life come from?

Seasonality

Why do seasons always feel so long?
We long for summer when the winter's cold
Rattles our teeth in unharmonious song,
But when the summer's humid waves unfold
Onto our skins, we wish again for ice,
And claim we hardly mind the freezing blasts
That tickle us in winter. They felt nice,
We say, and weep that endless summer lasts
As if it meant to boil us away.
Spring and fall, by contrast, do not linger,
But seem to hide, and let the others play,
So that the tip of winter's freezing finger
Touches the back of summer in mid-May
And in October, it's the other way.

Reproduction

Whatever I might try to write will fail
For all that I can say's already said
In one gigantic half-ecstatic wail
Which you, I must suspect, already read.
So why will I continue to persever
In writing what I know you know too well?
Why am I so obsessed with this endeavor
To put us both through such repeated hell?
I cannot cease because I cannot stay
The well of my emotion which upswells
And therefore I'm compelled to say and say
No matter if there's meaning in my tells.
So listen once again to this tale of
The way I feel, and how I miss and love.

Why or Wherefore

My inner monologue addresses you
And has for longer than I care to say;
I yearn for you whenever you're away,
And linger when our time together's through.
There's nothing I would ever rather do
Than spend an afternoon out of the way
Clinging to you, and letting slip the day
Until the morning wetted us with dew.
So why should I be sad? Although you go,
You're still here in my heart, and so you'll be
Until the sun sinks down into the sea
Not for the night, or for apparent show,
But in some alternate reality
And so extinguishes its lively glow.