Ph: Poetry Writing: Love Letter

Hope you care I remember you, heart of my heart,
(You aspiring young artists and poets at large) ,
Days I've left growing short, fewer balls in the air,
And my juggling skills never better than fair.

Carry me in your pocket, reminder to self,
Though tomorrow's scrap paper, take me for a ride.
In most poems produced, know I'm thinking of you,
Even absent, an interest in all that you do.

Sometimes Muse takes vacation when I'd like to work
Worse when internet hubs where we share need repair,
Mostly wastrels on tube and their language is tight,
Rhythm's run off with rhyme, only free verse in sight.

Love to feel wordsmith's hammer beat under the oak,
He bellows his fire as forge purifies will. (1)
There is music at play both from memories past
And a struggle with sirens who'd smash his ship's mast. (2)

Don't make light of life's lessons though you still are young,
Or short shrift to your dreams that could float new career,
Nurture bones your muse gives, (heart and flesh you supply) , (3)
Know this child will live after you: sweet bye, and bye!

Brian Johnston
August 2,2017

Poet's Notes:
(1) A reference to one of my mother's favorite poems The Village Blacksmith by Longfellow.
(2) A reference to Homer's 'Odyssey' and Greek Mythology.
(3) A frequent theme in my poems that discuss writing poetry. I think that the muse's voice is never enough, that the first inspiration given is just the bare bones of what is waiting to be born! To not bathe these bones in love is, in fact, a crime and much worse than abortion!

by Brian Johnston

Comments (1)

Prolific poet of all time....Brian has swayed me away with another lovely romantic poem. Although you are considerably old, your diction is youthful and very touching. Although I am a fan of blank verse, I still enjoy regular rhymes with such schemes as you have used. Whoever was your 'Ardella' in this poem would definitely smile after reading this poem. 'Heart of my heart' caught my attention, the metaphor seems to suggest how important this person is to you, considering the function of the heart as central to life itself. The day it stops beating, you stop living....I bet you, this phrase skipped Shakespeare.ha! Beautiful and emotionally stimulating. Keep writing!