Halo 2 Be Thy Name

I have been following the verse forms that was pioneered by Dennis Levertov and the Black Mountain Poets. Finding form from function and content.

Today, I write a love poem

about the history of love

poems, both remembered and the greater

majority, forgotten. I do so as an answer to young

girl in love for the first time, pleading

with the boy to stop the electronic

make believe for just a moment

and notice. Notice her and notice his life,

unvirtualized, passing into dust. Flesh aches.

She wants him to notice her eyes

as I did with my wife's, her developing

into a woman. From her breast cries out

the need to find the treasure forgotten

but then no one noticed. Her eyes find

the ancient tears of warriors

looking their way back to what once

was. She longs to be filled

with words trying to contain

the uncontainable. Only in the trying

can the sonnets give voice like

a peanut butter to a three year olds.

The first person shooter aims

not for her, but at a covenant

with make believe.He will

not turn aside form the controller
(from a world unalive to his godlike fantasies)

until her eyes are directed else where,
tragedy of possibilities.

Once, my wife was that little girl.

Waiting around for words

to be brought in those cheap

gift bags for the dollar store.

I, fed on Neruda, the Brownings,

Shakespeare, Miloz , and ...you get

the point, came to her, who suffers

from heartburn, with spicy words

of my own creation. Now,

ten years later, my words still

burn on a grill, tossed in a green

chile sauce and she stays despite

the occasional tummy ache.