These I Have Loved

I’ve learned to love:

Crisp, clean paper, lined and fresh,

Pure blankness, ready to refresh;

Of weary mind and weary hands holding heavy-inked pens

Smooth plastic covers, stained with heavy use, chewed up ends;

Seasons come and go, freshness of spring, mellow winter

Biting snap of the wind come fall, pungent sweat of the summer;

Then musical bangings of polished wood instruments

Mahogany glimmers under fluorescent lights resonating with heady detachment;

There Beethoven plays along with Mozart

Followed by Rachmaninoff, the timbre of true art;

Wondrous insinuations of a fellow’s soul

Vibrant jewel tones of tough, canvas paper, begetting control

Artistic musings of crimson, carnation , magenta, turquoise, chartreuse green;

Bip the bop and bop the bip, drums bang the bong, let’s hit the scene

Cool, jazzy poets, performing under cool blue lights

Snap the fingers, flare the arms, stretch those torsos, sweeping mind’s flight;

Surfing cyber space, clickity-clack at a hundred and eighteen words per minute,

Online communities, videos and writings, far off friends, strange identities become legit;

The smell of clean, soap and shampoo, thirty minutes under warm water,

Easy come and easy go, tensions ease, bubbles flutter;

Crazy poses under overexposed lenses, shutters release,

Acidic stench of developers steaming under darkening paper, three dollars a piece;

Laughing at nothing, laughing at something; preferring loud, crazy dancing

Minding no one when there’s reason to mind, hesitant at admitting, due procrastinating,

Then letting it go; and jumping in soft covers and sinking mattresses

Touching the unwrinkled sheets then settling in, sleep’s a wonderful mistress;

Going to church and finding meaning, purpose in life, praises and singing

Halleluiah! The people proclaim, heads bowed down, prayers ascending;

Capturing the essence of something through heart, mind, and hand; then reading

Traveling through time capsule pages, unbent covers, easy relaxing

Inspiration is my muse, speaking whispers through often deaf ears

Easily controlling wayward pens and pencils, nothing is ever what it appears;

All these have been my loves.

(A/N: definitely influenced by Rupert Brooke's "The Great Lover", an English assignment. Decided it would be a fun practice for couplets. I almost never try to rhyme.