. The Poet's Beat .

. The Poet's Beat .
"A working class citizen is apt to see this country for what it's worth... A miasma of interlocking variations on differing demographics and geographies unlike any other inhabited space in the world. The American Dream. The rolling footloose hills and the upstanding Apache badlands where criminals cut bread with priests and the children of Hollywood. I am no different. Yet I am still brazen enough to think that the world is a playground built by the rugged hands of a hard-working man in order that my fantasies be materialized." -- P.P. Vonnersdale

Tuesday, November 30, 2010


An old love poem from the youthful heart of yesteryear (I rhymed a lot more in those days)...

Is my love ever questioned?
Or is there sometimes doubt?
I’m slow with words sometimes.
Sometimes they don’t come out.

My “love you’s” aren’t that loud.

And often not enough.
Hugs can weaken sometimes.
Sometimes time together’s tough.

Don’t judge me on that strength.

Look past a muttered line.
Don’t fault me unsaid verses,
Forgotten time to time.

Words are sometimes weaker

Than a pumping heart inside.
It’s certainly not for love’s sake
That love seems to sometimes hide.

Time with you is precious.

Not always apparently so.
My “thank you’s” need some practice.
My gratitude’s too slow.

I love you in my silence.

Uttered words are sometimes cheap.
My actions and my mouth
Can sometimes seem asleep.

But my heart is ever awake.

From there you’re never away.
That’s something to never doubt.
No matter what my words will say.



  1. i remember this one. and if i remember it correctly, it was written because of a valentine's day that didn't really happen. ;)

  2. I have no memory of its origins. I will take your story and store it as truth.