All those days a while ago,
I wondered,
ventured to imagine, yet always wrong
swept in a vacuum overwhelmed
losing control.
All I wanted ever and always
to have you by my side
hold me like you once said
was the only thing you wanted
in the moment
in the moment
so wish we might be there again,
so wish one day we might …
© Scott F Savage 10/2021
In such remarkable time
lives in worrisome lines of peril
though most
would wish we will
only see the light of day
together.
In second nature might we love
for there is no greater feeling,
knowing passion
understanding the resilient nature
holds on to all that is worth
her touch,
the soul of his desire.
So when might this man
whom we all
understand is in a constant
state of omniscient pride
suddenly recognize
the beauty inherent with a
humility heard in the darkest regions
of our grip upon sanity.
For now could a one time lover
know silence need not forever …
© Scott F Savage 9/2020
Hope that time
when spoken
beyond a silence
might see a sunlit horizon
know there is beauty in now.
~
Beyond a familiar season
lay down your weaponry
that circunstance
prevalent ignorance
suggests I might believe
~
knows body heart and soul
will not could not wish
upon otherwise
~
love is her eyes
©️Scott F Savage 8/2020
Can a person feel this
the moment the clouds gray,
we choose an ominous melody
help us find our way,
so we believe,
we step inside,
the initial stench of picked through
trash bins,
occasional alcohol
shattered against the brick,
our lives are a vulnerable
shadow in a foul smelling
haunting atmosphere.
If I might describe
the hours of my day,
I would find myself
hiding in some place
with cardboard
in that classic manner,
letting me disappear,
yet wondering who are they
outside my sound,
that would rather step on my
produce trashed cartons
instead of knowing how
eye
lost my way.
It is inside the dark recess
of my mind,
that I simply wish so often
to go away,
yet it is also
her
own fascination with love
keeps me still
eternally
wanting to
‘be’
© Scott F Savage 7/2020
the ‘b’ series
Wish a sign someway
waits to look another day
could she simply say
a tag, some line said
no longer memory dead
shattered mind instead
He only wished a word
something he felt less absurd
in only pleas heard
A picture would tell
his heart no longer to fell
his teary eyes well.
Give me a sign cried
his soul so lonely and wide
help this pain subside.
© Scott F Savage 7/2020
Lay still eyes open
Yesterday is now taken
Awake, eyes open
© Scott F Savage 5/2020
All the time, we listen to them on the radio, our favorite songs written by legends, even a guy named Legend. The lyrics can be soothing, endearing, haunting, depending upon a person’s state of mind. Whenever I listen to a love song, I try to hear it as intently as I possibly can, because then I may derive meaning. I find myself writing here about a lot of heartbreak lately, and I try to write for myself. I try to be the person I am for me rather than anyone else. But it is so difficult, such a daunting task when I feel my disposition beginning to crash.
This weekend is particularly challenging. I’d like to write a letter but I cannot. Then part of me is upset for writing this because even though there is a disconnect, the person I want to say all these things to, will one day read my words and then to themselves in their own quiet world decide there is no need, because he has already stated where his head is landing. She’ll decide to stay away and then I will spend my days, many of them trying to ascertain whether my instincts are real or I am full of shit.
I do land with the latter of that last passage more than the former. I do feel more like I am full of delusion most of my days, and it hurts to try to come to terms with that. I cannot say in here how many times, I have woken in a morning, gone to sleep at night feeling I was in control of my moods, that I was going to be alright, that I had a certain need to move forward rather than bask in my own self-pity. The other day as I spoke to someone close to me, I talked about suicidal ideations and how they have been with me since my teens. I now live in a place where I wouldn’t be found for days, it would be easy.
Listen to me. I’m really pathetic when my moods take a dive. Just the other day, I was in a high, I can no longer imagine that it was just a good balance, it was a manic balance, and I have to live through this every day of my life. I cannot count upon a day like today showing up – I feel it coming, and I try to busy myself, but I know it will be here.
So by now, if you are still here, you are probably wondering, if not bored to tears, why or how all of this has anything to do with love stories. The reason being is that those stories, those heartaches, the highs, the definitions of true love are the only thing that keeps me going. I’m not talking just about romantic love – that genre carries volumes of literature music, artwork, photography – every aspect of our lives.
I’m talking about healthy love, the sort I share with my students every day – the sort that I carry with me for my own family – every single one of them. The sort I embrace for those people I feel close to, those I yearn for, those I pray will read my words, and find the strength to be okay with themselves.
I’m trying every hour of my life, and it is a challenge, forever. I want to love life unconditionally, rather than wrapping my world around in fallible expectation.
© Scott F Savage 5/2020 Memorial Day Weekend
There are people I reach out to more frequently than I once did. I wish I might everyone.
A simple phrase
would indicate comings and goings
of my mind.
Today I can feel the approach
a distant rain
looms though we know tears will come.
Like torrents windows will shake
certain aspects of a physical
response to the winds and time.
A breeze might signal gentle
response to a fond nostalgia
perhaps that blossoming spring scent of a flowered reminder.
Only a storm can help me return
to childhood fears,
to the beckoning response within my aging needs.
Is it a desire for companionship
might surreal synapse suggest,
or simply lacking confidence in the pummeling sheets of transparency.
A quiet sunlight this morning,
allows me to still the air of self-loathing,
only might I appreciate the beauty in all of this sky lit evidence.
© Scott F Savage 5/2020
I told someone close to me,
I wouldn’t be here,
the words just came out,
and like so many other occasions,
I couldn’t find a reason why,
I couldn’t avoid the beauty of a summer sky
or her eyes,
those that would let me see,
and want her to touch my soul,
with the depths
of sweet harmony
she could hold in only
a glance.
The tears would flow
like a river of lost paths,
everyone hoping to find some grasp
somewhere along our own
mysterious travail
the one we created
shifting the soil with heavy boots
those that trodden along the shoreline
leave an imprint of who we might be,
in that moment
at that time
in our lives.
Tonight before the clock turned,
I took a walk,
and with my companion checking out the soil nearby,
I glanced deep into a street where the darkness
enveloped my frame of mind,
like I was looking,
waiting to see,
then a bicyclist drifted by,
the occupant saying hello,
and I looked at my dog,
and realized for that one moment,
I wanted to be away,
but then reminders again,
stepped in my way.
And so it is after midnight,
the sky is clear, the stars alight,
I have music in the other room,
a familiar set of
piano solos,
there is some strange sensuality in my reckoning,
this sweet melody,
takes me places,
remembers things
suggests otherwise,
rather the immediacy
of no longer being.
A year ago I told a love, I said I would no longer be,
and yet hear me listening to her plead with me to be.
© Scott F Savage 5/2020
the ‘b’ series
There are two sides
too much
we easily fall into
patterns of want
when wishing to be.
We might be instructed,
perhaps a punitive gesture,
where heartbreak is far easier
than finding love,
knowing we did once.
I did,
I believed in purpose
I wanted to try,
to convince, to understand
I wanted to be
in love.
© Scott F Savage 4/2020
the ‘b’ series
 | a quiet man on Haiku Love |
 | Yernasia Quorelios on Haiku Love |
| a quiet man on I Took A Walk |
 | Priti on I Took A Walk |
| Priti on I Took A Walk |
Turning trauma into triumph since 1981.
Sometimes writing poems let's me forget about the huge sums of debt I'm accumulating while at college
"I feel the rush of your love through my entirety and I know in this very moment of my existence this is where I belong" - The Creative Chic
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