To quantify love

Tangible love:

Through the slow movement of time
A heart beats next to my own
It’s thumping drifts slowly to my ears.

Sometimes, the sound becomes like all that which surrounds it
Lost in the drown of daily turmoil, grind and goals
That little sound, so perfect and persistent gets washed away with the waves that are ever pulling us apart.

You following your path, finding things that inspire the tiny sound to beat faster
Moving you onwards to the greater things that lie in wait
Your hands ever reaching for something, but it’s the sound of that heart that gets you there
Yet it never receives the recognition of its efforts.

In the dark, I listen to it, as the rest of you get’s a well deserved sleep.
But persistently, the sound beats on,
Spurring your dreams, healing the hands that are so eager to reach without consequence
It never stops working for you, cheering silently behind the scenes
Watching you share your triumphs with that which is easily recognized.

Alone, it celebrates you, rejoicing for all that you have done
Happy, just to have been beside you, even if unnoticed.

In this life, the tangible things are so praised,
We want to see, touch and feel, to acknowledge their impact on our lives
What use do we have for a persistent kind of sound.

How do we quantify this love, that works for us, but we never see it doing so
It’s praise goes to others, eager to take recognition for themselves
But they often come and go with the wind
And many won’t commit to watching you reach that finish line
Gratification is taken and they move onto the next place their eager hands reach for.

Our hands follow these tangible dreams that tug them through life
Until wrinkles line their soft skin, and they no longer have the energy to keep trying
They have accomplished many great things
And that sound inside of you, it continuously praises their efforts, even in their old age.

This tiny sound, you never noticed when the world was loud around you.
A world that keeps moving with or without you, people coming and going from your life.
How many stopped, their hands reaching for you.
Did they smile, only to have it fade away through the years
You looking back, wondering where they went?

The ebbing of time pushes and pulls the waves of people
Tugging at them like the gravity of the moon.
We wash into each others shores
Sharing time, before that moon tugs them away again
How long does it take to see the anchor buried next to yours
A steady beat laying next to you when your shores remain empty
And you look to the stars, dreaming what would come next

On the bed you made with your life, you lay
That tiny sound, all that remains next to you
In the ever moving expanse of time, What has been tangible
What do you have to show for your great efforts?
When the grave swallows you up, what is it all worth?

Into that grave, that beat is faithful
Following beside you as it always has
Whether you notice it or not
It’s unfailing love has brought you all the joys you sought

Listen now, before it fades away
At the end of this life, Do you see the anchor now?
My own heart beating next to yours.

A wrinkled hand, reaching for yours.
In the noise, you forgot they remained
But they’re faithful, picking you up when you fell
Rubbing your tired head as you slept.

That tiny sound in you is my companion
So grateful I am, for all it has done
I spend much time whispering to it
Letting it know, it will never be alone and I see it’s hard work.

In return, it’s melody eases me to sleep when the night is late
And I miss the sound of your voice
A voice that often has no words left, after such a long day
But I persist, because of that little sound.

On this bed, I have made my place next to yours
And when the moon pulls you away
I make sure it’s warm when you return
So your tired feet can rest
And your tireless heart can be assured

It is never alone, and together we have loved you
Watched you, and cheered you along
Giving our recognition to the tangible things.

But the grave calls, and this love, at the end of time
Is the only tangible thing that remains
Our wrinkled hands intertwined
We begin to understand that we reached our finish line
Because that little heart within us brought us here
And my love for that tiny sound
Gave that heart the encouragement it needed to get you there.

I have loved you silently, passionately and loyally
The sea never uprooting the anchor I placed next to yours
And into the grave, I am placed next to you.

Both these hearts, easing us on to the next great adventure.
Even as they stop,
There is no fear,
Only the contentment of a life well lived.

friendship between the lines

Friendship is the theme for today’s poem. I often find that the emotions shared in friendship can mimic that of a love story. Sometimes we end up with broken hearts and people we miss.
This poem is about a friend, somewhere along the way we messed up and in our once upon a time we might find each other again and do it better next time.

What do you think, is this a love poem, or does friendship show through? 

Once upon a friendship

Within a fantasy

you have left me

come hither

let us daydream

a hand so close

with a love to boast

our story to tell

left only, almost

If love is the end

how does this heart bend

looking at you,

my longing friend

lets tell a tale

of these hearts ail

walking blindly

of course we fail

here left waiting

for the melody you sing

left reaching

only to grasp nothing

abandonment, no truer pain

left broken, here be lain

I love you still,

for you, i could never blame

lets meet again, on green tint slopes

taking a hand, into a boat

sailing away for a friend

gone forever my lonely motes.

Through the sea of data, poetry’s next step

As a person who writes fiction and poetry I often find myself thinking of what if’s, how will the future look and imagining all sorts of things.

For a while I’ve had an idea for a novel (noo more novels, it takes so long to write them!!!) that looks far into the future of our world.

In a world of evolving technology that makes material things obsolete. How long will it be before books are no longer published? No dusty pages to smell? Spine to abuse. I think it’s inevitable. As far as resources go, it makes more sense for the planet and sellers to move their sales to digital format.

It’s one of the reasons I started Millennials for Poetry.  I support the idea of digital content and getting things straight to readers. I am not a person who supports big business and in many ways that’s what publishers are. They are looking for what sells, but as writers I think we just want to share. To write and let people experience what is there.

I know many need to make a living, but honestly I think free media can produce an income with some work, without the hassles and politics of publishers and deadlines.
This is why I love Tumblr, I honestly think Tumblr has the right idea for content production! Anyways, away from my rambling.

The internet is an endless expanse of content and information, it holds our cultural tendencies, trends, likes, dislikes ect. The experiences of our entire generation is cemented into Facebook and Reddit and Twitter. Will someone one day delete it?

OR will there come a day, as I imagine in my story, where digging through the internet archives becomes akin to archaeology?  People paid to sift through our Twitter feeds, trying to understand our weird slang.

It seems pretty realistic to me.

So that’s why I will add my share, may poetry find it’s way across the sea of data into the hands of someone in a distant future. Bringing us back from the dead and letting our experiences traverse time…


Prompt time

Sometimes writing is hard because you don’t know what to write about.
Sure, the super talented folks like to go with the flow and somehow produce cohesive work, the rest of us humans need actual ideas.

Writing for prompts also allows an artist to own their skill. Having the ability to write outside of “inspiration” is a valuable tool. Sometimes thing’s won’t move us, but that doesn’t mean the topic isn’t relevant to somebody else.

Being a poet means claiming the ability to move someone else. This should not rely on our emotions, but unique understanding of language and love for language.

You will be surprised what ‘boring’ topics can be made interesting if you try.

So today, let’s write a poem on going to the laundromat ! ( I say this because my broken machine has been taken away and I now must venture into the great unknown to wash a family of four’s week of laundry. Pray for me.)

I will post mine in the comments, add yours. GOOD LUCK.


Name: wynniewhite

As I look into his eyes
I can feel him telling lies
Sounding out false syllables

I nod as though I do not know
his fictional words flow
Things have changed

I remember our first kiss
How it was utter bliss
He promised me then

That he would never lie
Our love would never die
I walk away

I lay my ring down
I think of that long gone gown
It’s all over now

It was after a fight
He took flight
He found a girl

I saw them kissing
He had told me something was missing
I will never love again


Author: Gen. L my best friend and writing buddy 😀


          On fear

I do not fear death
But I do fear time
Not the moving of hands
But that it takes what’s mine

I fear the loss
Of your words, your smile
Of death taking your hand
Of a distance beyond miles

If I were turned to dust
I smile and think of peace
But should you go before I do
My heart would surely cease

So I don’t fear time
Nor the arrival of death
But I do fear loss
The loss of your breath