Eight poem by Ivan Jenson

poem 

Just Looking

Isn’t it about time
I stop searching
faces for traces
of kindness or
the snow blindness
of that winter wonderland
known as quickie kisses
while doing
December dishes
and shouldn’t I accept
that January first
will just be
like another ingenue
over-rehearsed
in Shakespearean-styled verse
about her little universe
while the rest of us
search franticly for
scraps of youth
like amateur sleuths
in this junkyard
known as harsh truth

poem

Faded Portrait

The light creates
contrast and sets
the tone for your skin
to radiate like it does
and sound
waves exhale
and sigh
when you speak
of time
which gently
pulls us through space
and the circumference
of this circumstance
seems to dance around
the subject at hand
which is focused
on the blurry details
of our interior
and yet we cover
our exterior
with weather-
resistant colors
to camouflage
with paint
the fact that
in love we are
but young we ain’t .

poem

Oh the drama!

Everything about them
was Elizabethan
until they dropped
all pretense
and became just
like Liz
Taylor boozing with
Richard Burton
in a petty spat
over a bottle of Bourbon
yet they made bitterness
glamorous and verbal sparring
amorous like something to
aspire to at a cocktail party
competition to see
who loves the fiercest
and will take home
the first prize
of seeing the bloodshot
fire of love
burning
in the other’s eyes.

poem
Over Easy

Are you tiptoeing,
treading lightly
and gently
changing subjects
when conversations
get too heated
like hot frying pans
that you didn’t
mean to touch?
And then do you
hide your pain
behind a smile
all the while seething
and planning to make
a getaway after you
are done making coffee
and breakfast
for the person who makes
you feel this small?
And then does
it occur to you
that if not for
this craving for love
you could
have had it all?

Poem
Present Tense

I am shredded
like ripped jeans
over a skinned knee
I am cornered
like someone who
has had some sense
slapped into them
and I am grappling
with issues
like someone crying
minus the tissues
so I look a mess
like a child who fell
in the mud wearing
their Sunday’s best
and yet I am determined
as someone about to make
the wrong decision
like a surgeon
almost making
the wrong incision
and then I am righted
and blind-sighted
by a sudden blessing
like the moon
in the evening
watching
the sun undressing
or a priest listening
at last
to God
confessing.

poem
Open Book

You revealed
the untold story
of your secret
compartment containing
the hush of silent prayer
where you speak to
nobody that is there
about everyone that
is near and dear
and I felt privileged
to be one of those who
within you pose
no imminent threat
but for whom you fear
things that have not
happened yet
might take place
and steal us away
from being close
enough for you to taste
and yet, knowing you
means that extraneous
extracurricular magic
will never
ever go to waste.

poem
Complete Stranger

You say you know
me from somewhere
but you can’t put
your finger on where
and so I tell you
all the places
I tend to go
and you say no
it wasn’t there
anyway, after I
mention friends,
coffee shops, streets,
and family members
we both come to
the unspoken conclusion
that if we haven’t
figured it out yet
it is best we both
take this golden
opportunity
to simply forget

poem
Drawn Out

This is my
undoing
and unraveling
and there is nothing
that even a well-meaning
friend can do to prevent
the inevitable
which will transform
me from invincible
to invisible
you see, I have gone
from scribble to
become a fine etching
but soon the artist upstairs
is going to stop sketching
this portrait
of a proud pose
with bad posture
and will then move on
to the bigger picture.