The Valentine Admirer
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Romantic
If for a moment, could I whisper between my lips about how I see you, the way the wind blows through your hair, the brilliance in your eyes that light up my soul, or the scent of heaven as I linger behind you for only a second. If I was only a passing memory in your life, I would be blessed to find myself warm in a place touching the eve of sunset and twilight, where I find myself lost. Yet I am not lost. I have been found. I close my thoughts to the world outside and find myself succumbing to a defining instance of perfection, the kind of feeling that only a heart understands and words can never convey.
You look at me as if a stranger passing by.
For a moment from your soul as you casually smile at me. Without knowledge, you inspire me to breathe and to hope for the day I am sitting in a quiet little coffee shop thinking about my daily errands. A day when I glance up from my routine, finding you quietly sitting there, nervously breaking contact with my eyes as you smile and join me in denying how we both feel.
Yet I think again, once over, that you do not have such reflective thoughts.
I dismiss my own feverish yearning, for that quiet smile or charismatic pause you give your words is merely the reason I find such fondness for you. I wonder- does every soul encounter you and find themselves drawn in to the flame, or am I merely the fool who holds his conscience to the warmth of the fire until my soul ignites?
Should I write about the aching wandering of my heart as I keep my lips pressed quietly, denying the sound of my spirit from escaping the prison of our social boundaries?
Should I reach my hand for yours unlike before, hoping that you can feel something, that as two souls one of us is brave enough to take action and find someone who can complete us?
Nor should I simply send you a valentine as an admirer, the altruistic spirit who fondly thinks of you and meanders into the next day of heartfelt musings?
I do no ask these feelings to answer my questions. I feign the wisdom of morality as my thoughts succumb to the fatal flaw of my human nature. If only you knew the quiet words of my emotions, how they inspire me, how they motivate me to once again return to a place in my life where the quill of indiscretion is inked by the dear cost of passion.
The Valentine Heart
Posted by Barry Hurd in Author's Favorites, Coffee - Volume Two, Love, Romantic
I won a bottle of wine for having a wee bit of knowledge about the origin and meaning surrounding the word Valentine. I guess being able to answer a few multiple choice questions about an interesting day is worth a bottle of wine for a poet.
Here is a recap of some writing I did a few years ago, along with a new poem:
A history of Valentine.
While Valentine’s day is a marketing woe for modern society, it has a wonderful history that is colored in myth and legend. Everything from the bow of Cupid to the down fall of European nations.
A good portion of historical reference lead us to St. Valentine, a third-century priest who had a reputation for performing marriage ceremonies that had been banned by the Roman emperor. Valentine was thrown into jail, who as legends go, formed a relationship with the jailor’s daughter and he wrote his last message to her “From your Valentine” a phrase which would persists through-out a thousand years. St Valentine found his death on February 14th, in the year 270, and his remains and some of his writings are displayed in Dublin at Carmelite Church.
A thousand years later- Charles, the duke of Orleans, wrote a valentine to his with while imprisoned in the Tower of London. Aside from the origin of St Valentine, the letter is on display at the British Library as the first recorded valentine in 1415.
Years later, regardless of the origin or how many have been sent, Valentine’s day still lives on as we all embrace a moment of personal recollection, hope, love, and faithful spirit to the people we embrace.
The Valentine Heart
This prison,
The place I am locked into
By feverish want,
And things I could not let go.
This is a place of recollection,
The harbinger of reality,
Where reality and dreams reside,
Trying to live within each other.
I want to look outside
yet the walls are solid,
And my sight is obscured,
By images left unseen.
Each day, every minute
Of every hour,
I beg for mercy,
From a soul who made this dream.
My only possession,
The wanting hope,
Of finding my release,
As I give the truest of myself.
A kind warden has graced me,
With an elegant quill
to write my thoughts,
Upon this parchment of my soul.
When my feelings become words,
My heart finds escape,
it finds itself free and elated,
as it ventures amongst the heavens.
If this day, dear saint,
Can release me from this cell,
Where my hope dwells,
And my heart finds your embrace.
Witnessing a Miracle
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Romantic, Spiritual
When I fell into wonder,
there was a moment when I thought of you.
Your eyes shining light through the darkness,
piercing the shadows covering my heart,
the very essence of who I am,
helping me believe the truth,
of who I need to be.
Your truth, the essence of beauty,
the illusion of life dispelled,
by knowing what perfection is,
the knowledge I care more for you,
than I do myself, making me hopeless,
beyond the common understanding,
I find myself believing.
Tonight, is another night.
Posted by Barry Hurd in Romantic
I once said,
that I cared
beyond belief,
past everything else.
That I had
nothing, but a dream
a reason to be,
simple, steady, calm.
Then I met you,
Awakened my heart,
rustling the emotion
of quiet autumn wind.
I whispered,
I love you,
as my breath fell
against your neck.
Another night,
when I lost myself
forgetting who I am,
feeling this memory.
The wind, my subtle care no more
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Featured, Love, Romantic
Sweet dreams, reminiscent of a fall day.
Do you hear, as I do, how things are so beautiful?
Hearing voices of tumbling leaves, chaotic ramblings.
or do you fail to listen, to hope, to such silent whispers?
In my mind, I hear no silence, just motion around my life.
Together I would have thought, that this was perfect.
Everyone cares, not as much as I, for you, beside my side.
Yet I know, that my arms are left empty, quietly so.
My heart holds itself against hopeful dreaming, quietly waiting.
It is another day, alone and unwanted, remembering.
Trusting in how I believe, in how I care, knowing.
That my soul finds itself patiently listening to the wind.
One moment, with purpose.
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Love, Romantic
I once knew someone; a soul who perfectly illuminated my life.
They were not figment or illusion, but tangible and real.
A perfect spirit who made me feel, too much sometimes, so deeply.
For some time I could not remember, how I could believe, in something…
the kind of thing you cannot see, yet seemingly sets you free.
Yet I find myself asking, trying to find meaning in what I need.
So I ask, finding myself feeding upon the memory of truth I knew,
What does this subtle hint of dreaming bring to my life for you?
I ask, not as if I can remember, but only to dare be honest once more.
These are not things we are meant to know, or care to discover.
They are the honesty in our heart, the moment of serenity we cherish.
A moment in time, that holds us to care, once more.
Illicit Lover
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Featured, Lust, Romantic
She said,
whispering through
her passionate breath,
that she liked me.
I smiled,
pulling her against my chest,
pinning her arms,
kissing her without asking.
We lost ourselves,
two bodies holding on
to the dreams we embraced
as our lips succumbed to lust.
Neither of us noticed,
the small wounds of indiscretion
finding ourselves being ravaged
as only lovers can detail.
If you only knew
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Love, Romantic
I met you briefly, our paths crossed like we had been life-long lovers.
For a moment we both knew it was not a casual interlude.
We were not the kind of people to be in love, or at least admit it.
Yet I found myself musing over how easily I fell.
I could not deny my heart was a place of fantasy and illusion,
the kind of wonderland that few can even imagine.
But your eyes saw everything I was, for just a fraction of my life.
You lifted the veil of social controversy long enough to believe.
The striking smile you gave me, the way you felt my words.
A glance across the table as our friends looked unto themselves.
You would make me think there was no dream, no fantasy,
but I could still hear myself say I love you within each thought.
I would say, again and again, to me this only one love.
The kind of story that could be written into a thousand pages.
A tale of serendipity, of the warmest embrace through subtle touch,
and the cool autumn breeze as destiny chooses different paths.
It would be an epic, of midnight passion and secret rendezvous
Partnered with an ending, the heartfelt tears of saying good-bye.
This was not the fantasy, no, it was the tale of two souls dancing.
It was a chapter of life happening by chance and desire.
I would etch my thoughts to textured paper,
for a hundred generations to see after we are gone.
and you could hopefully understand how I spoke,
with each and every word, with every thought, so heartfelt.
You could perhaps share in my love, again and again, to taste it,
like the sensual flavor of fresh strawberries melting on your tongue.
You would hear my desire as if you shared my thirst for it,
whimsically laying upon the comforting green grass with me in your arms.
You would believe in true love. The kind that declares itself in dream.
The faithful searching of a partner unlike any other.
My pages would become torn and worn, my body tarnished with your experiences,
and would happily know that every letter was written for you.
You would care for me as if we had met in life, a secret love affair,
I would not know who you are or if you knew of my intentions.
So I would leave you, knowing this was written for you,
the beautiful soul, the perfect touch as this fable comes to a close.
The Line Between
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Love, Romantic
Some people say,
that I have a remarkable soul.
Where it lays between black and white,
lost in a place that defines everything else.
I think, if not the words that have left my lips,
should my thoughts escape without a subtle echo
a peaceful remembrance to something so wonderful,
that they may etch themselves to paper.
Yet I am not here, no, it is a whisper
My heart seems to find itself without a voice,
a silence so deafening that I hear no cry, no compassion.
Simply left wandering in this empty corridor of artistic searching.
Mixed Signals
Posted by Barry Hurd in Coffee - Volume Two, Romantic
I recall, fumbling my thoughts
pressing each number once, perhaps twice.
Trying to faithfully remember why I spoke
as I laughed at my own emotions.
My phone cleary said, “inteference free”
Yet the technology of life had failed the process
of connecting my spirit to another,
as if I was in a place with no reception.
If no one else understood,
how I perceived the blinking red light,
telling me my battery was low,
and questioning if I could try again.
I redial once more,
waiting for the voice of someone I adore,
one ring after another,
only to hear their voice asking me to leave a message.
My thoughts try to sound care free,
yet my heart comically faulters my voice,
and defines me as a fool, as I listen
to the humorous words of my own creation.
I wonder, if I try one more time,
Could I recall a brief moment,
when my words are perfect, without question,
and I press the button to end my call.