The pity of/
being a morning person, love,/
is when U miss a chance/
4 nocturnal romance./

4 oft when/
darkness descends,/
and stars r uncovered,/
then/
speak lovers.

It is strangely weird/
how you can have a broken/
heart when you’re adored.

A friend recently asked “Why would you want to hang around with downer people with recently broken hearts?” I answered:

Why hang around?
Because you can talk about it with me.
Because I’m a nice guy.
Because sometimes it’s just fun to have fun,
to take ourselves out of the moments
of wallowing in self-pity,
to recognize we are NOT
who some others might think we are.

We are not controlled
by what others think
of us,
or want to do with
or to
or about
or without us.

We control our own destiny,
and when we step out
of the wallow
and the muck
and take control
of who we are,
then we shine
and illuminate
and wow those around us.

And the heart discovers
it’s merely bruised,
not broken,
and that it,
like a good, dry martini,
must be shaken
before it is again stirred.

Muse appeared, surprised me/
that she was chatting. To whom?/
I’m, sadly, breathless.

OR

I’m, sadly, gut-punched.

Why do women often make the choice,/
when they decide to go boating,/
to seek cabana boys/
before they go floating?/

Why do they forget the romance/
that penned words inspire?/
Why do they neglect the chance/
to, more deeply, feel the fire/

not of wood burning,/
(a mere throwing off flames),/
but setting their souls yearning/
for desires they won’t tame./

These women should be wise enough to know it:/
For inspirational revelry, they must bring the poet!

If U call/
and want to share/
about tough days,/
just to clear the air,/
I hope you remember/
and are clear:/
It’s not griping,/
because i care.

Elder L. Tom Perry, a Mormon Apostle, spoke at a General Priesthood meeting probably around April, 2011, about rescuing members who aren’t coming to Church any more, or who aren’t “active” in the Church. He talked about how every person is important, and that we need to fellowship them and love them. At the time, I was not in full fellowship in the Church. It was amazing (and painful) to me that I was basically ignored, especially since I’d been such a big part of the local congregation for so long. These poems came out of that presentation:
19:45 p.m.
If I’m so vital/
and important, why doesn’t/
someone come for me?

20:05
Just because I make/
it hard for you to love me,/
why stop trying to?
OR
why are you quitting?
OR
Why should you not try?

20:10
What happened to me?/
I worried about others./
Why am I ignored?

I hate
that some
are so critical.
Criticism is dumb.

But is my criticism
and being critical
of them
being critical,
hypocritical?

You move so quickly/
from romantic/
evenings/
to practical/
mornings./
My writing/
is pressing/
to match/
where you’re going!

You asked me to wait/
by the Amsterdam gate/
but I fear/
you weren’t near/
and I was too late!