I might write for a living but I know nuts about poetry. That doesn’t mean I don’t like it. Once in a while, I do read poems and I love how they make me feel even though I don’t exactly know the prose structure or why some rhyme and some don’t. So I will never attempt to write one.
But I do have a few favourites like Robert Frost, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, T.S. Eliot, and now, e.e. cummings. I know. I am a sucker for love poems. Laugh at me all you want but if you can tell me a better way to express how I feel for this special person than dedicating a beautiful poem to her and quite possibly, climbing into bed with her afterwards, I would love to hear it.
Ok, I will just go right ahead and recite this poem to her. I will update you again. That is if she hasn’t laughed to her death at my cheesiness.
Oh, and remember, I might talk about poetry tonight but tomorrow I could blog about really mushy scenes of us kissing.
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)