I wonder if Columbus felt this way,
with the dawn of every bright new day.
Did he rejoice at something new to be uncovered?
Some virgin, uncharted territory to be discovered?
Or I wonder if he got tired of waiting;
grew weary of antici…

She said that the beauty
of my poetry
touched uncharted territories
of innocence
with no defense…

So, with a sigh
replied I and I:

“Then I shant write any more poetry
for thee!
I reject the type of violence
that takes advantage of the innocence
by opening up uncharted, defenseless territories.”

“Quite dangerous,
your poetry!”
is what she one day
said to me!

My poetry, dangerous?
Why? and how?
Tell me, please!
Tell me, NOW!

Reveal to me
Regardless if you be
Catholic, Agnostic, Lutheran!
Tell me, quickly!

Speak in prose,
or verse Seussian*!

(*It’s his birthday today,
by the way!)

She seemed romantic,energetic,
and yet
a few lines of tempting emails
was all I could ever get.

She stayed distant, aloof,
yet was fully aware
that there was safety and protection
so long as she stayed “out there”.

She would honestly open her soul
and let me peer inside
but only for a fleeting glimpse;
then she’d close up and hide.

Promising that more would come; smiling at my persistance.
Staying, still, safe inside her home, protected by distance.

An empty spot/

in my mail box./

A blank way/

to start my day./

A void where u/
didn’t say/
nada/
today.

A blank sheet/
with hope u didn’t meet/
Zilch on it./
An empty sonnet.

(Dave, 3/01/09, 11:10
am)