Ethereal Tryst Meet me where the pink hued clouds entwine with infinity So, will we conjoin in our appointed waltz Upon that coral floor together in unity To enjoy what is and bemoan that which remains Our fate to hunger… Our union asunder Our feet skillful We dance the dance fate has called out Without malice though willful We are without doubt For all but our destiny… We step carefully Accepting that which is within our grasp In lieu of that wish that eludes Satisfied with the fortuitous clasp Of mind and spirit to conclude The interlude… Of our love subdued Perhaps fate will grant our desire Beyond the tryst that both plagues And blesses the fire Kindled by the wave That we may forever crave… Our ethereal tryst
In Love With a Poet So you’re in love with a poet you say You adore his words He has a way of putting things down on paper So it thrills you to your core Did you stop to think That his craft may be your undoing All you care about is reading his poems Written especially for you That his poetry is like a window into his soul Oh…You poor thing Don’t you know that poets are liars Meter and rhyme supersede truth He writes more for himself than you He says you are his inspiration But so are the clouds and the mountains And the yapping dog next door Be not disheartened If you’re getting anything out of your affair Pretend you are him for a time Allow the fantasies to flow Don’t lower yourself to such a level That you think you can pen the words So sensuous and heartfelt You’ll find yourself mired in adjectives Better to love the poetry for its worth And remain detached from the font as he Pours words out like milk from a freshened cow Those sonnets may one day sour your heart
Before You Before I met you I was a writer Perhaps not prolific…not stellar But steady and competent Then my fascination and amours With you Led me to prolific mania I thought it was good You were becoming my muse Words percolated from pen to paper Poems flowed like meltwater over a Tabular ice shelf Then something happened… A state so insidious to a writer The Block My desire to write To read… Gave way to an obsession Not to offend Or ignore you Writing became your distant second My appetite for words Was quelled by the stress Delivered to my body in the form of Pain The discourse leaked out of my jugular My life Words Bled out into useless pools of Black ink Then the breakup It was inexorable Thank you for this poem …My Love
Horacio Chavez, a native of New Mexico and UNM graduate, resides in Albuquerque. He writes poetry, prose, essays and short stories. He often writes in one language and translates to the other. Work ranges from very light to oppressive and much is experimental. Some writing is on information gleaned from “The Greatest Generation” with the goal of preserving New Mexico traditions and stories in the written word. This is his first feature on The Fictional Café.