Poet Sharing Her Soul (A late-night Diner Poem)

A late night musing about how much I love reading my poetry to one person at a time.
For this piece, I played with multiple rhyme schemes, in a sonata-like format. The first few stanzas are structured ABA, followed by AAA, jumping back to ABA, and continuing the pattern. The rhyme schemes are elongated and cut short again to bring the flow back to a structured pattern at the end of piece. Using assonance, the lines within the stanzas are AA,BB, ABA, schemes as well. Almost as if the entire poem is a ballroom, full of dancing words.

No carrot cake tonight folks, just poetry and diner coffee. Happy 2.2.22 day!

You, me, a silent room, dimly lit and engrossed in the moment
Entwined in the lines that pervade my mind
The body and soul of a poet.

You, me, the slightest breeze
On a bench in Central Park…
The day passes by, we’ve lost track of time
Hardly aware that it’s dark

You, me, two cups of a tea
The polyester booths at a diner.
 A melodic conversation that traps us
We’re completely entranced by each other 

A busy city, concrete street, nothing exists except you and me
and the steady beat of our feet  
As I repeat
My simple and sweet
Poetic release

 We steady our paces
Entangled in an atmosphere of words and praises
An intimate exchange of sentences and phrases
You and me, passing all of the places

A dark room in the still of night
Our shadows cast on the moonlit ceiling
Twisted blankets and annunciations
Proclamations of pain and healing

 Poetry is feeling….
A soul’s essence
A loving caress
A soft kiss
Exuberant bliss
Obliviousness 
Blasphemous sadness
Madness
A painful reminisce
Diving into oblivion
Begging God not to miss
To get lost in the abyss
To grovel in regrets
To be in love or obsessed
Or chased by unrest
To be self-possessed
More or less….

Poetry is it as good as it gets

When spoken in a soft, even breaths
A whisper traveling distance
Barely escaping the lips

So, I must confess how it pains me to say this
I simply can’t stand to recite it on stages
To an audience of ears, where no one engages
Hundreds of eyes, blank expressions and faces 

No, poetry is profound
Yet disgraced by the masses
A passionate fire… 
reducing to ashes
Words are much better served in tall fancy glasses
At a diner,
A coffee shop
or a park bench in piazzas

Poetry belongs during sunset blush
Spoken while propped against a tree

It longs for the ears of only two people

Read only to you by me.