Ratleader and Janet Marie
I don't know who you are, and you
would never choose to be with me;
yet here we stand together, trapped
like riders when an elevator stalls,
two people filling one square void
within this little cube of time.
I don't know what you like,
what you can do, what sports,
the books you've read, if any,
whether you can drive a stick shift,
have a roving eye, or one too many;
if you dance, or shade the wall like me.
I've seen your smile there on the page,
and I've read your words in poet's spill.
And though we've never met ... I believe
we know more than we realize, as we
have shared ourselves between the lines.
To know me, one need only read my poetry,
that is where you'll see the best I can be.
I cant dance, and like you, I prefer to sit in the
wallflower's seat. I was born left handed with
two left feet. You asked about my eyes ...
they are boringly brown, but when it comes down
to where my heart lies, they remain true to the blue.
So tell me now in poet's confide, about the shades
of you kept hidden behind the shadow's hue.
The words will bind in verse and rhymed remind,
we don't have to dance this duet blind.
The rhythm of the duet breaks
for just a moment, while Ratleader takes
a small hiatus. His two halves begin
a thought debate (go!) versus [taken!] -- listen in:
(yeah, but let's tell her just what brown eyes do,
and that we'd trade them for our desert blue--)
[We're here to write a poem, get the word!]
(and there's no picture posted, but I've heard--)
[Stop that!] (but she's so nice...)
[--and taken, as I've told you twice--]
(but I...) [-- and so are we, and I'm no rover!]
(since you put it that way, you take over...)
You're right, there's plenty still for us to tell,
but in some ways we know each other well.
I've seen you write of love, a woman's fears,
and jade tears shed for thoughts of passing years.
Missouri's beautiful, somehow you show it;
when I lived there I was too blind to know it.
You write of roads and shorelines; we'd have fun
on California's Highway 101!
You've shown me stars and lovers' birthdays
promises of butterflies and Earth Days.
You're humble, tell me you don't write a lot,
but you show understanding I do not.
You write of places I've only dreamed,
taking me to places I've not yet been.
Poetic landscapes pen stroked of inspired ink ...
word portraits whispered on Santa Ana winds.
You couldn't know as we have just met ...
but many times you've written my heart.
For last fall, I fell for the ocean's swell,
it's there I dream to depart in inspired impart.
So send me back to sand swept shores ...
take me to where the tides and surf coincide.
Write for me of blue waved reverie ...
where sea and sky collide in constant confide.
Then tell me the dreams your poetry keeps ...
so that I might engrave the key to make them come true.
As poets we fly free by the stroke of our pens ...
if I could I would write the rhymes that gift word wings to you.
You're right, we've shared some things but more remain,
and common interests that we could express,
and so I'll ask you, may I call again?
(The gentleman politely asks for a second chance to dance)
Poetically speaking ... the lady curtseys and says yes.