Anaesthetic

The pain of separation does not fade;
No, no, it lingers, 'til, in self-defense
The body robs the soul of every sense
And shuts the heart in an eternal shade;
The very means by which the soul is made
Aware of its surroundings is turned hence,
Made subject to some terrible immense
Division, and indeed sent retrograde
So that the heart can feel itself alone
And thereby be, perhaps, left unaware
Of what it lacks, lifting the heavy care
That otherwise would make it only groan.
But even this proves lesser than its task
For pain like this drills through the thickest mask.

Extension School

Some things cannot be done by distance learners:
It takes a presence to achieve those ends.
Even when other put on afterburners
Their extra speed can never make amends
For what they lack. You cannot, through hard work
Alone, achieve the same from far away;
I know I may come off here like a jerk
But it's just something that I have to say:
Being there matters. Nothing you can do
Can imitate or replicate the feel
Of being present, and it's always true
That something's lost out of what should be real
By absence. In some cases, that's not bad
But in some ways, it's permanently sad.

Far Far Away

A constant distance is a dreadful thing
Frustrating at best, at worse a crime
Robbing the heart of its accustomed time
And forcing loving thoughts to take to wing.
Love should be intimate; therefore, to bring
A barrier between which love must climb
While not insuperable, nor rigged with lime
To catch at love, is still disheartening
And therefore villainous. It is enough
That love must falter into human words
Harsh, half-thought-out, untempered, rough
Unmusical, antithesis of birds
But to insist on distance too is vile
Though love can flourish still across the stile.

Godhead

The great and mighty god, Desire,
Strikes all who do not bow down
With purple coruscating fire
From his blood-red ruby crown.
Those who bow instead of fly
Whatever might have been their reason
Kiss the ground and on it lie
'Til he chooses them in season
And then he raises them by hand
(Hands of pure electric charge)
And gives them his stern command:
Want, and to it wide and large.
But the least felicity
Comes to those he does not see.

Older

Just because it isn't yesterday
Doesn't mean I do not care as much;
Time slips and slides, it always goes away,
But some things feel beyond even its touch.
Time wears and sands at everything he grips,
And tries to make it all come back with him,
But sometimes that ambitious grasp still slips
Leaving some feelings with a fate less grim:
I love you, and I will still love you, dear
When time has let his icy fingers slide
Off many years - and I have little fear
He will wear off much more than our outside.
Age withers, but the mind alone grows old
And I, with you, refuse to feel time's cold.

Valentine's

I used to write long allegorical poems
Full of well-researched if apocryphal facts
That needed also long, expansionist proems
To have explained the reasons for all of their acts.
I did this when I had no reason to cease it
And all I did, I did because it seemed right.
But now I see no reason I should increase it
And after all for me, it has become trite.
So I'll just write a poem saying I love you
(As if I hadn't written so many before)
And that I'll be enamoured and loving of you
Far after this short poem has said I adore.
I love you, and I wish you weren't far away
But even so, have a Happy Valentine's Day.

Monday Snow

On days like this the sun may calmly shine
But it's a lie, because the snow is coming
Much like the quiet that I, by design,
Spread over lazy days to hide the humming
Of future plans turned over in my mind.
I always think ahead, even when I
Should really have slowed down and kept behind;
Like the false impression from the sky,
It's natural, and natural to hide.
Snowfall comes on warmer, open days,
Just as my plans must gestate deep inside
On lazy ones, in a pretended haze.
The best ideas I have will come and go
In sudden showers like an unwarned snow.

BNL

It wouldn't matter where I was
If I could simply be with you
But handsome is as handsome does
As my old Gaffer said - it's true.
Since I'm not with you anyhow
And you are very far away
It's best that I am here right now.
Though that might change another day,
I can but work with circumstance,
And make the best of what I can
Despite unlucky happenstance
That separates us with the span
Of miles and days. Therefore, for me,
A second-best will have to be.

Laze

You ought to be here now, I'm pretty sure;
It would feel right, and that's enough for me.
Instead I have to awkwardly endure
The weeks of separation, when to be
Apart from you is boredom, emptiness,
A path to utter laze, where nothing matters,
And what should matter seems to matter less
Than nothing, where the void self-chatters
Chirping away unheard and unregarded.
The progress that I make when you are here
Is, when you leave, decisively retarded,
And all that once was bright seems dark and drear.
But soon I'll be with you, if not now, then,
And when I am, purpose will come again.

SImiles

It's strange that I could never know it's snowing
Given the fact that everything outside
Is white. But there's no earthly way of knowing
Without a line of sight; and I can hide
Within my chamber with the blinds drawn down
Until I feel the need to venture out
Which is so seldom. If the world should drown
In white, white snow, I would, there is no doubt
Have no idea of it. I happy in my room,
If ignorant; but sometimes that's a danger:
I must, as children do, exit the womb,
And find what I discover there is stranger
Than I imagined. All is wet with snow
And like a baby, I don't want to go.