A poet's love..

Great song and a question. When a poet, when a writer loved you. Do you become immortal?

"As long as the poet's words live, the beloved will be, in a way, still alive too."

Shakespeare

“If a writer falls in love with you, you can never die.”― Mike  Everett

"If a writer loves you, you will always exist. Your name will be permanently etched into paper, your physical descriptions printed in ink. You will flourish in their writing; their articles, their journals, their short stories, their poems. You will always be frozen in time." Unknown

A poet's love..

The oldest poet at Port Austin wrote to journal. Did I find Hemingway "Agnes"? Did I learn the suffering, like Salinger, because of " Oona O'Neil"?

Us poets and writer, we adore love and we seek love. Do we seek forever or to create a new chapter in a life seeking adventure?

The ancient poets told us. When we write. We make our lover names, forever. We make beautiful places, more wonderful and we accept war as norm. 

Us, who love the books. Us, who adore the dance of love. Us, who seek war over kisses, we shall learn. Maybe we didn't want enough?

In a sweet dream in Germany. I told the pretty German girl. If a poet loved you. You will live forever in poetry of wishes, betrayal and nightmares. Poets love to write more than life.

Now the old poet see flashes of beautiful faces, he remember dancing and drinking in London. He remembered he promised a beautiful Scottish girl, a wedding and forever. Now just words, he had written. They became.

Now his exhausted mind needs a whirlwind of hope to excite his soul. He don't seek voices no-more. He is content with Lake Huron and the Port Austin pier. He told the night. I do remember her. My beautiful Sheena.

She told me on a warm Spring day. If we kiss with the night sky above us, if we dance till midnight. Will you promise me forever?

He made the poet's promises and now dear Sheena, is the poet's lasting dream, she is his lasting sadness. In his words.

Now like Hemingway. He drink the whiskey alone and he write alone. Now like Salinger. He had damn the need of love.

Bukowski told me many years ago. Us, who love to write. We must suffer to write and love isn't our wealth. Cigars and whiskey, never broke my heart.

The old poet take off his shoes and he walked part-way into the Lake Huron and he told the stars. Please tell the kind ladies. Never love a poet, never love a writer. His true love are words.

Dancing Coyote

Author's Note

Thank you for reading.

Reviews

[1809 Black Plague Decem..]

Dear, Cayote Poetry, oh, how it breaks my heart to hear such,
happening, but it's an experience, a dreadful one, must add,
forgive me, but it shall too pass, and it so penetrated me
each culminating word of shattering, and it caused me to
have nothing but pulsating, vibrations of dread and hope that
you find comfort,

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear friend for reading and the comment. In old age. Memories become less painful and more kinder.

[1809 Black Plague December]

Yes, dear, I send you a hug, and hope those feelings fade away, we are in those times where it affects our inner selft, :)

[John the Baptist]

The last line tells the real story of the poem. Poets love words above all. Sorry, Lenore. Sorry, Annabelle Lee. Mr. Poe was in love with the feelings you aroused in him, and the words to which they gave birth. You were always secondary.

[Coyote Poetry]

You could be right my friend. Mr. Poe was a odd man. He saw too much. But he could write.

[Ladysue]

You have captured the heart of a poet. A love affair with words. A language of dreams and heartache that connects us all. Your words do all that and more as you are a wonderful story teller.

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear Ladysue. Us, who love to write. We must learn to live first.

[Ladysue]

A very true statement my friend..:)

[Patricia Wedel]

When Poets share their Emotions, they become One… romance dances and Seagulls fly above like Angels … Celebrate … Love is Immortal forever. tenderly, Pat

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear Pat. I appreciate the wonderful comment.

[Dave Brown]

I have never thought much about what really defines a poet
Personally, I just enjoy playing with rhymes, which falls short of the real thing, and has even got me blocked by Divya
I think a Poet is at least a wordsmith, but there must also be emotion of some sort accompanying those words, with more emotion making for a more meaningful result.
What you consistently do has you firmly fitting well within the poet's realm and this is yet another fine example

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you Dave. In my lifetime. I wanted to travel and write. Took me 40 years of life to stop moving. I like the word "Wordsmith."

[Soren]

Coyote you are uncovering the depths of a poet's soul. They are just words. Poets are romantics, they sail on winds of emotion that are fickle and changing. I loved the term "Poet's promises" yes they are not always followed by actions. I think you have hit the core of what is a writer. Love of words. But then someone wrote the verse in John "In the beginning was the word, and the word was with God and the word was God"

[Coyote Poetry]

Good morning Soren and thank you for reading. In my lifetime. I traveled alone for 12 years. Only friend, I had, was my books and writing.

[Kelly Scheppers]

Writing for me is a passion, it defines me more than any one thing in this life. I believe it was Hemingway who lost his ability to write, due to declining health. Can you imagine not being able to breathe? It must have been a staggering truth to deal with. Much enjoyed the beauty of this, John.

[Coyote Poetry]

It would of been terrible for Hemingway. I would love to read his and Salinger. Unpublish work dear Kelly. Salinger work will be release 40 years after his death. I hope I am still alive and thank you for reading and the comment.

[Kelly Scheppers]

My pleasure!

[~Sarah~ Idríel T..]

Greatly written, as usual.

"The Poet's a dreamer and a dreamer sees the world with loving eyes."

[Coyote Poetry]

Yes we do dear Sarah. Thank you for reading and the comment my dear friend.

[Chris Shaw]

I think there is much wisdom in these words Coyote. A poet loves his words first and foremost. Anything or anyone else is secondary. A poet is always searching for the next poem. I enjoyed the read and the wisdom very much.

Chris

[Coyote Poetry]

You are right dear Chris. Hemingway was a soldier in WW1 and and reporter in WW2. I wondered, what did he learn. Thank you for reading and the comment.

[emmajoygreen]

John, this post is mesmerising inasmuch you have melded thought with logic and beauty and - plus more. S Seems that one side of poet could languish languish without love; another would lok self awat wutg abither sweet woman and content himself with her meaning; and then another becomes the union of owrds that marry, fade yet ignite again.. and so forth.. Smile at the irony of this, ' Us poets and writer, we adore love and we seek love. Do we seek forever or to create a new chapter in a life seeking adventure?' We all know the answer to that.

May i please say that this could be your perfect post? Somehow it sands alone.. and could be added to.. one day.

[Coyote Poetry]

Thank you dear Emma. Us, who love to write. We forget. Love is a garden. Need water and attention.