Twitter Poetry–Part 5

My goal was to collect all, or at least most, of the short poetry I’ve done on Twitter. I never quite caught up with it. Here I will resume the task, and in so doing, thank my muse, once again, the incomparable Susan Canary.


After a long exchange of wishes and dreams, I said:

Live in the light, my love,

And call me when you want

To live in the night!

and she said:

In the shadows I’ll welcome your strong embrace

Lips brushing a soft cheek

And leave you

With a smile when I return to the light.

And followed that with:

Would you break me

And leave me a shell

A ruin

Or just ruin me

For other men?

To which I answered:

If you have to ask,

Then you don’t understand.

If I can’t have you,

Why should any other man?

You are too strong to break,

You are too wise to fail,

You are too far to take,

A falcon, not a quail.


Not so wise

Nor nearly so strong

Pixels and distance

What I’ve had all along.


Sweet dreams are made of this,

Black canaries lying in bed,

Singing their songs, and spreading their wings,

Pretty birds with daring tongues.


The tongue not so daring

As it is eager to taste

For all five senses are

Engaged in one place.

(Unable to continue and overcome with longing, I fell silent and let several days pass. In the real world, I have a small convention I must attend, where I can play games, talk to friends, do typical nerdish, fannish things. Thinking of that I said:)

Tonight is the party before the Con

Time to get our shmoozing on

Playing poker with my friends,

Enjoying means instead of ends.

and she replied:

Won’t have a moment

To think of me

With all of that

Fun and frivolity

Hang w/your cronies

Until morning light

No time for women tonight!

But she gets no apology:

No time for women,

No women in sight.

Sometimes a man

Must do what’s right.

Back in the real world, I tried to let her know my ardor, though postponed, is undiminished.


Hot or cold . . .

It doesn’t matter.

I want your heart

On a silver platter.

Shocked out of rhyme she said:

I’m a bit concerned….

And I explained:

Sometimes a poem Is a metaphor,

For feelings that I can’t ignore.

But sometimes it’s A play on words,

For hungry trolls and pretty birds.

and she sent me some love:

*HUGS* I understand.


And that seems a good place to end this page.  I missed several days of poetry, and I’ll come back for it later on the next page, but this seemed like one section that was fairly coherent.



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