Of Mike I Sing - Poem by Joseph Camphouse
A chance encounter made possible on a whim of a decision in the midst of a House filled with holiday revelers.
Laissez Faire about the evening I. Walk into my house without note,
Unassuming, cordial & polite, you. In introduction, I was told of your admiration and pressed to walk you through the space I inhabit.
As we walked and talked all else slowly faded to the back. Unassuming turned to opinionated but not overt. Cordial turned to soulful sincerity and polite became the deepest heartfelt care I have ever witnessed.
All before my eyes.
The jade and cynic wrapped coating melted in your hands. “We will have to find something we can both get into! ”
You are depth and learning.
You are Humble and forthcoming.
Mad and grounded.
Soulful and defensive.
You are so many things I aspire to be, and make them all seem so easy (as I am sure they must be.)
You appreciate the smallest of small “What a great feeling to get love from a 5 year old” you spoke but to me.
As we coursed through the night sharing of our experience, it felt as though we had been friends for many a year and as if we had yet to begin needing only to choose a direction.
There is magic in our pair.
The fates all smile upon our path should we choose to express it.
Have I doomed what is yet to be with my irresponsibility?
Numbers exchanged I told you I would not call, invitation given of the morrow.
As in all great tales of woe, information is crossed and the phone of use in my brothers hands. Lost is the connection.
In vain trying the only other.
Alas! Curse the voice mail whose box is full!
So I sit and wait.
Hoping you remember the magic.
And have the faith in me
And courage in you to reach against prevailing winds.
Comments about Of Mike I Sing by Joseph Camphouse
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
- Still I RiseMaya Angelou
- The Road Not TakenRobert Frost
- If You Forget MePablo Neruda
- DreamsLangston Hughes
- Annabel LeeEdgar Allan Poe
- IfRudyard Kipling
- Stopping By Woods On A Snowy EveningRobert Frost
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And WeepMary Elizabeth Frye
- I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love YouPablo Neruda
- TelevisionRoald Dahl