Peter A. Weinberg – Poetry

Wild apples rose at dawn
   hanging over me
   where I would wait for you,
      my love,
   in autumn’s light

I loved you more than I can say

When we finally stopped
   almost all the little apples were gone
   and dawn’s magic darkened
      into cold

I’m terrified...
      can’t stop
         your aching descent into madness
      must stop
         my roiling, anxious heart

With a new summer gone
   Dawn’s wild apples will return
   but you are lost to me forever

-December 19, 2006-

This love’s gone viral –
   lethal, it can kill if you’re young, weak, or ill
      even the vigorous
      can barely stand it

Tough it out, strongman
   Tough it out
When the worse thing that can happen, happens
      and your good friends tell you to move on
         Tough it out
Do they move on
   when it happens to them?

The virus hits again --
   feverish, she’s a ghost of who she was
      ghastly
a pretend friend, mean
   a member of the newly dead

Let us mourn for her then, since we must
   there she is in the rain, spectral,
      cold, small, wrinkled, and wet

-December 6, 2006-

Harsh sunlight makes me sadder
   than these clouds
These clouds softly reflect my mood
   Harsh sunlight cruelly laughs

Progress, any progress?
   I see no progress---yet
   Take my pulse
   no progress yet

You can survive without love
   you can get on without it
   Though it, admittedly, fires things up
Like a little piece of hell
   in my life

I guess
   there’s really no one out there for me
   never was
   never will be

This latest one
   I don’t like her much
But my reptile brain is still in love

-November 8, 2006-

Just because this cruel sick world
   comes together when you’re together
Just because you yearn for each other
   everyday, and
Just because the sex is great
   doesn’t mean she loves you
Don’t make that mistake

Just because she puts her stuff on your stuff
   at the gym, and calls you her amour,
   and sleeps with you every night
   and plays with you everyday
Just because
   you touch your very hearts
   and she tells you you’re her soul mate
   and she waits for you everyday
Just because you touch
   doesn’t mean she loves you
Don’t let those things fool you

If you do, then one day, you may ask:

   Am I still special to you?
   Do you still want to hear from me everyday?

And you might have to ask:

   Am I still important to you?
   Will you ever stop pushing me away?

Or you could sing:

   I lay here in this king size bed of mine
   The one I bought with you in mind
   Plenty of room for you here by my side
   Plenty of room for you here 

-September 12, 2006-

In the waiting room, Room 239,
   we were all. . . waiting
A young girl and her brother, or maybe it was her friend,
   were playing with an old tennis ball
   rolling it back and forth across a table, laughing
Suddenly, that happy face began to change
   and her face, no, with her entire body, she began to cry
   and cry she did until she cried no more
   and after a time,  she smiled again
And I thought
   if only I could cry like that little girl
   If only I could cry
But I didn’t really know her grief
   just as you don’t really know mine
   and crying doesn’t always help
   and the fiercest love may fail
In the waiting room, Room 239,
   where we are all...waiting

-August 1, 2006-

I’m no Donny Q

   obsessed by the unreal
   and longing for happiness too
   longing for love where no love is

Says Donny Q:

      “I am hurt beyond hurt
      I am sad way past sadness
      How many losses must I endure
      Before I lose myself to losses?
      How many more?”

Donny Q thinks there’s still hope
   in this madness
   her sweet face in his head all the time
   and his heart is sore

Says Donny Q:

      “I am hurt beyond hurt
      I am sad way past sadness
      Where is she,
      my sweet girl?
      Come home”

-July 15, 2006-

Mostly, I don’t find it
   Mostly, because it’s not there to be found
   But I yearn for just this kind of tale–
   ecstatic, mercurial, searing, profound
Like a heart still beating whose story–
   where is the pulse of this heart?–broken–
   what started it, stated it, sated it, breaks it?
Mostly, I kind of find it...
   Mostly, I don’t find it at all
   And when I find it I can’t hold it
   or I hold onto it too long

Oh no, it won’t last forever–
   what will become of me then?
It must last forever,
   like a bloody bumbling river–
I touch you my darling alive
Then I touch you in my dreams again and again
   because it must last forever
like a love that never ends

-January 17, 2006-