Love Poem #53

I have had a hell of an afternoon. Sometimes I think I will never really understand people at all.. I will never understand what drives some people other than utter selfishness and vengeance, their minds driven by a wilted charioteer who tells them they can have whatever they want, at any expense. I used to be a very egotistical person, a selfish person who took too much, and cared not for the people he took from. I have tried very hard to get away from that person, to consider myself lucky, so very lucky to have what I have got. I want for very little other than for the love I project to be reflected back at me. I am trying very hard, and I am happy through trying. I am sick of people lying, I am sick of people deliberately trying to make me feel inadequate, guilty, useless or that I should continue to suffer for mistakes I made in the past. I am sick of people who believe that their character and the characters of others can be summarised and judged by the pettiest facets, such as the books they have read, or worse, the music they listen to. I am sick of people projecting their politics as a badge of pride. I am sick of people who wish to see me miserable, broken, even after all these years. I am sick of complaining.

Another love poem for you all to speculate over.


Winter isn’t much more to me than

Nostalgic warmth and endless hands.

The biting cold reminds me now

Of frailty; my human faults.

Seeing you again,

Ever blossom’d beauty wrapped

In furs, and water-touched

(it’s cold, but we’re growing tighter).

Your summer with my season mixes,

Tears leaves from trees with sighing winds.

Remember, petals, fragrant ground,

As the sun last spring looked down on us.

(It seems to say)

‘Each season of your unity

Had a gentle tidal change,

Each one cleansing, dashing slow

Through sleeping in her arms.’

Your summer with my season mixes,

Brings us here today.

Cold stone steps and slate grey sky

As we look, uneased, towards the year.

(If what remains of us is love)

I say my love is spring again.

New, reborn in different shapes

Although ochre’s never far away.

I say again, my love is green

Break this bark and look.

Kick aside the dust, and see the birth at last.


Stop, and look again, now know

The warmth of summer’s coming fast.

About Benjamin Norris

Published writer of short stories, long stories, poems. Well received art critic and cultural commentator for Berlin magazines. Collaborator with operatic societies. Co-writer of fictional historic psycholinguistic journals. Lecturer of architecture and art history at a Budapest University. View all posts by Benjamin Norris

One response to “Love Poem #53

Leave a Reply

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

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

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google 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: