Mikka Mi Amor
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How to Use This Book / Frequently Asked Questions
How to Use This Book / Frequently Asked Questions
Will this book help improve my love life and/or my English?
- That is its intent.
How will it help help improve my love life?
- Read the first half of this book containing fifty poems representing love, dedicated to love, and written with love on the brain; they celebrate romance, the impulse to feel good, and the complications of love.
- Give a copy of the book to loved ones and see what happens.
How will it help improve my English?
- The second half of this book contains my definitions for every word used in the poems. That way readers can quickly flip to the back to learn the meanings of words they might not know. Learning words in context is better than rote memorization. Reciting them will help even more.
- Most of the poems contained within use meter and rhyme.
In most, but not all cases, I went for exact rhymes, meaning the pronunciation is the same as the matching word, so if one line ends with “stare” the next line might end with “care”. Other types of rhymes that I tried to avoid are close but not exact, for instance, “Vegas” with “(out)rageous”, which don't rhyme exactly.
The goal of meter is many, but it is also to help non-native speakers “hear” the sound patterns in English. It's the musical quality readers should hear in their heads when reading the poems or sounding them out. This part can be especially hard for non-native speakers. Practice by reading them aloud.
- If you have a computer, check out www. MikkaMiAmor.com
How should I read the book, straight through?
- The poems are not sequential. Skip around.
The poems are to Mikka, but is “you” always Mikka?
- “You” is whomever you wish it to be. It's your imagination that gives them meaning. Meaning is what you bring to the words you read.
Title and Copyleft Pages
Mikka Mi Amor
Bones Kendall
Originally, these poems were sent
as emails accompanying pictures borrowed
from the Internet. In some cases, the pictures
helped to generate ideas for the poems.
That nature of being able to share is what has
inspired me to not want to protect all of my rights
regarding your use of these poems.
Visit www.MikkaMiAmor.com
Copyleft 2007
BBC, PO Box 803, Whittier, CA 90608
Evan “Bones” Kendall asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
Any use, reuse, or reproduction (not-for-profit) IS ACCEPTABLE where credit to the author is given. That means YOU CAN FREELY COPY ANY OF THE POEMS so long as Bones Kendall is noted as the author. For-profit rights will most likely be granted; just ask.
ISBN: 978-0-9798934-0-7
Contents
Foreword..............................3
Poems...................................7 – 107
Afterword.............................108 – 110
Glossary (handmade definitions of words used in the poems)..............111 – 160
7 What can a poem do?
9 I love my wife more
11 I get my inspiration from a muse.
13 Last night you and I did some kissing,
15 I have a muse
17 My teacher never told me
19 Throughout the ages–
21 So what if my verse is corny.
23 A frog alone cannot play.
25 You are like a poem to me–
27 You fog up my glasses,
29 You shouldn’t fall in love with what you begin,
31 If you want to know
33 I hope I never forget the bliss
35 My girl’s like a terrier.
37 When my baby feels sick
39 In her bathroom lair,
41 I do
43 What can I do to be more romantic?
45 Sometimes my bones feel like dancing
47 Do you remember when we went to Vegas?
49 There’s something nebulous about us–
51 There’s been a problem at home
53 I missed you last night
55 Last night was my birthday dinner.
57 Quick, look up! What do you see?
59 (The Blank Poem – Mikka’s Favorite)
61 Against you I like to rub.
63 Yesterday I didn’t feel much like
65 I’ve got my web cam on you.
67 Let’s play monkey together!
69 You didn’t get a poem yesterday.
70 – 71 I hate poetry.
73 Some say I write really bad poems.
75 I’ve got to get the meanness out of my head,
77 When I'm late to work,
79 I don’t know anything.
81 I like it when my baby’s naked.
83 your purple hair
85 Mi amor, tengo algo que decirte–
87 If you happen to be a friend of Freud
89 Here is a little something odd but new–
91 It’s Sunday morning and the countdown has begun–
93 My paradise would not exist without her
95 If I were a rockstar,
97 Love is less about what’s inside our hearts
99 Hit me with poetry! & Bomb me with verse!
101 When you lie naked on the bed
103 When we’re together
105 Her fragrance
107 When the lights are down low
Foreword
Foreword
To Mikka, my love: I'm too poor to give you diamonds. I'm too poor to give you a new car, a fancy vacation, designer clothes, money or just about anything material.
All I have are the feelings inside my heart and the words I can string together...but maybe these are more valuable...and, who knows, if we're lucky, they might stand the test of time.
Skip This Page
Skip This Page
To the Reader: I wanted to add to this book some kind of critical justification for why it’s not just a simple collection of poems by a poet about a specific subject. But then I asked myself what’s wrong with it being such a simple collection of poems. I have no good answer, so then I have no real need to write the boring critical justification about semiotics, metaphor, metonymy... And besides, I really tried to include the critical justification within the poems themselves.
Since these are mostly love poems, I do hope that those who know understand that I’m attempting to position myself within the tradition of young poets who write about love. My intention, though, which may differ from many of my contemporary peers, is to write poetry that is fun to read. Why? Because so little poetry is actually read by folks these days that I figured maybe it’s the fault of the poets who write stuff that’s too academic, abstruse or otherwise mostly unreadable.
I’m humble about this, though. While I’d love to prove that poetry is supposed to reach out to the audience rather than demand that the audience be literate enough to get it, really I’m just a guy who is not afraid to be a lover. So as a lover, let my words inspire you to love. If I fall short, let my words inspire you to try to do more. You never know, perhaps you are the next great person who uses words to express things that exist beyond simple comprehension.
Poems 1 through 10
The number inside the parentheses ( ) is the corresponding page number in the printed book edition.
Poem 1 (7) -- What can a poem do?
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
What can a poem do?
Ask the professor who studies Homer,
Or a medieval bard roamer
Who went around wooing
Using fine words pursuing.
Or ask the African griot
To tell you what he knows.
They will all answer with glee
For they are all fans of poetry.
If you’re a bit younger don’t be shy,
Talk to a rapper, go ahead and try.
Preserving poetry is up to us,
So climb aboard the magic bus.
Verse can take you from here to there,
Some other time, or anywhere–
Riding high on the wings of metaphor
Is what lies in store–
And it’s where you, too, can be,
If you learn to appreciate poetry.
Poem 1 - Page 7
Poem 2 (9) -- I love my wife more
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
I love my wife more
Than I love my
Pocketknife.
That’s saying a lot.
She’s sharper,
More dangerous,
And she has more uses.
But neither one can I do without.
Luckily there’s no jealousy.
Poem 2 - Page 9
Poem 3 (11) -- I get my inspiration from a muse.
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
I get my inspiration from a muse.
“You’re so corny, that’s a ruse,”
She said, making me turn red.
She’s right, you know,
But I do hear voices in my head.
I draw on life for inspiration.
I notice things, like perspiration.
“Oh, no, not another lame line,”
She said–she’s so smart.
But I need to practice to refine.
Inspiration often comes to me
From above. “Cheesy, cheesy,
Try again,” she gently chided.
I'm not afraid, I'm a fool,
For to put my soul in verse I decided.
What can I say, what can I do?
She said “Just to yourself be true.”
And so I will keep on going,
Looking up, down and around–
Seeking inspiration, but never knowing.
Poem 3 - Page 11
Poem 4 (13) -- Last night you and I did some kissing,
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Last night you and I did some kissing,
And that’s what I am now missing.
Making out is a fun thing to do–
Especially when it’s me and you.
‘Cause I don’t mind tasting your spit;
Really, there’s not much to it.
I silently close the lids of my eyes
And patiently wait for a surprise.
I feel you press against my lips
As my hands rest upon your hips.
There’s nothing lascivious to this,
Just you and me and a simple kiss…
Or two or three more.
Poem 4 - Page 13
Poem 5 (15) -- I have a muse
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
I have a muse
Who gives me clues
And teaches me
To write poetry.
She makes me rhyme–
To pass the time,
So my verse’ll shine,
And so it doesn’t read:
“Like stars and moons
across the heavens
I drift through space
On wings of an interstellar
Comet hoping I’ll be carried
Home to my sweet
Love.” That’s lame.
Bad poetry sounds the same.
Sure, my verse may be worse
But difference is what I choose.
I blame it on my muse–
She's my delightful curse.
Poem 5 - Page 15
Poem 6 (17) -- My teacher never told me
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
My teacher never told me
That poetry is play.
When there is no game,
When you’re stuck somewhere lame
With nothing to do,
And you start to feel blue–
There is one thing
That I recommend,
But you have to have
Paper and pen,
Or perhaps a computer.
It’s not masculine,
Feminine or neuter.
It’s poetry and
It’s a form of play.
Don’t be afraid
Of being called gay.
Just pass the time
Writing rhymes,
And you shall see
What fun it can be.
Poem 6 - Page 17
Poem 7 (19) -- Throughout the ages,
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Throughout the ages,
Across the sea that rages–
Like well worn stone
Or fossilized bone–
Our love is here to last.
It started in the past
And goes on to the future.
You and I, fused together
Like skull bones in a suture.
Staying close, as if tethered
We are; each a part of the other.
Believe it; I have no doubt.
Get me up high and I’ll shout
To my sisters and brothers,
For all to hear, close and near–
“We shall unite to persevere!”
And that’s it. But it’s not the end.
For long after our final breath,
Outliving even death,
Our love will continue...
Poem 7 - Page 19
Poem 8 (21) -- So what if my verse is corny.
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
So what if my verse is corny.
It’s all a big lie.
I'm just really horny
And you caught my eye.
See, when I look at you
There are things I want to do.
You make me feel awkward.
I want to express my emotion,
But doing it out loud causes commotion,
And you tell me to be quiet.
So I'm restricted to verse.
What would you rather read,
Something corny or terse?
Let go of censure.
Laugh if you want.
Mock if you please.
Just don’t lead me on
Or be a tease.
I put my heart on the page,
And by your reaction I gauge
What works and what fails.
Don’t take the wind out of my sails.
Corny it may be,
But baby, that’s the season.
Horny I am,
And baby, you’re the reason.
Poem 8 - Page 21
Poem 9 (23) -- Leapfrog
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Leapfrog
A frog alone cannot play.
He hops by himself all day,
Never getting very far,
Always wishing upon a star
For a playmate.
Flashforward two years.
The frog has no more fears.
Into his life came someone new,
And that frogette is you.
You’re first rate.
Poem 9 - Page 23
Poem 10 (25) -- You are like a poem to me–
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
You are like a poem to me–
Delib’rately imperfect unity.
Not quite pure, but near,
An error in meter here,
A line that’s not quite straight,
Rhymes that aren’t quite great,
A hair that’s out of place,
And an all too human grace.
Yet somehow the details conspire
To make that of which I don’t tire.
Unique it is and so are you–
A vessel which if true
Is bursting with emotion.
I live through my devotion.
There may be a finer beauty
Or poems that have more formal duty,
But if there were no faults,
You wouldn’t be you,
And what I want this poem
To say wouldn’t be true.
You are my purposely–or is it purposefully–
Imperfect poetry.
Poem 10 - Page 25
Poems 11 through 20
The number inside the parentheses ( ) is the corresponding page number in the printed book edition.
Poem 11 (27) -- You fog up my glasses,
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
You fog up my glasses,
And laugh at my passes.
You are filled with mirth.
I’ll make you give birth
To a love that will grow–
So get ready, get set, go!
Poem 11 - Page 27
Poem 12 (29) -- You shouldn’t fall in love with what you begin;
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
You shouldn’t fall in love with what you begin;
You should only feel love for that which you end.
The risk is lust which is a deadly sin.
It’s only love when lust you transcend.
What’s so important about this lesson?
Love is forever, not just a session.
It may be hard to deny lust’s motion,
But would you rather a wave or an ocean?
It’s the small and selfish versus the vast–
If you do it the right way it will last.
Lust will come again and go don’t you know;
Better to take your time and go real slow.
Because feeling love is something you earn,
Not just that for which all of us do yearn.
Poem 12 - Page 29
Poem 13 (31) -- If you want to know
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
If you want to know
Why the poems I write you aren’t deep–
I'm trying not to put you to sleep!
They don’t contain the wrath of Plath
Or the strange song of Whitman.
I just want to write you from my heart–
A few lines, nothing too smart.
I suppose they could be darker like Parker,
Or cloistered like Dickenson–
But they’re not. My sole poetic intention
Is to write happily, by convention.
We’re not in the woods, lost like Frost,
Or anguished like Ginsburg.
I'm simply writing simple poems to my girl
Who puts my head in a whirl,
And I’m thankful I'm not Eliot.
Poem 13 - Page 31
Poem 14 (33) -- I hope I never forget the bliss
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
I hope I never forget the bliss
Of your lips and mine
Locked in a kiss.
When we make out
I am transported.
I forget myself.
I feel exported
To another country.
Are you on the same flight?
Poem 14 - Page 33
Poem 15 (35) -- My girl’s like a terrier.
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
My girl’s like a terrier.
She thinks that makes
Me scared of her,
But really I don’t mind.
She’s pretty cute
Most of the time.
Piss her off, though, and she growls,
Furrows her brow and scowls.
I only wish I could be a better
Best friend.
Poem 17 - Page 35
Poem 16 (37) -- When my baby feels sick
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
When my baby feels sick
I try to be quick.
I warm a bowl of soup
And toss in a flick.
I climb into bed
And caress her head.
“I love you,”
To me she said.
Poem 19 - Page 37
Poem 17 (39) -- In her bathroom lair,
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
In her bathroom lair,
My baby does her hair.
She plucks her eyebrows
With incessant care.
And when she dresses,
She impresses,
But it doesn’t cost a lot.
She shops vintage.
I don’t know where she gets it from,
But she definitely beats a different drum.
I may be wrong, but I will say
That she’s the face of the new LA.
I don’t mind that it takes her a while–
It’s all worth it to me,
‘Cause my girl’s got great style.
Poem 17 - Page 39
Poem 18 (41) -- I do
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
I do
Not want to crawl into your bed.
I want to climb into your head.
Not because I’d get to look back at me,
But because there’s so much to see.
I’d spend endless fascinating hours
In countless nooks and secret bowers,
Wondering why you do the things you do,
Trying to guess what’s a lie and what’s true.
I'm dying to know what you think about–
When you’re sure and when you have doubt.
I’d be happy if I could only discern
What it is that makes you yearn.
But how can I fit into so small a space?
It’s not possible…unless I'm already there.
Poem 18 - Page 41
Poem 19 (43) -- What can I do to be more romantic?
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
What can I do to be more romantic?
Not much, you see, I'm too pedantic.
Somebody out there, help me!
I'm about as amorous as irony.
But if I were a different man,
I might not have such difficulty.
I would try as hard as I can–
Risking it all, even penalty,
Just to sweep you off your feet,
To give to you a special treat,
To be a man that can't be beat.
Yes–
I would cross the sea in a desperate race
To once more lay eyes on your pretty face.
I would swim to the bottom of the ocean
To impress you with my deep devotion.
I would spend my life trying to teach
If I thought it could bring us within reach.
I would dedicate to you a book of poetry
Just to try and get you to sleep with me.
I really wish I knew how to romance,
But I don't even know how to dance.
The only thing I can do to get a date
Is prevaricate.
Poem 19 - Page 43
Poem 20 (45) -- Sometimes my bones feel like dancing.
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Sometimes my bones feel like dancing.
Occasionally they’re into romancing.
Sometimes I am not so elated.
Please don’t think my love is overrated.
But since we have united,
We haven’t really fighted,
And that’s what makes me happy.
I feel myself dripping with sappy,
So I’ll shut up now and won’t bug your ear
With all the things you don’t want to hear.
Que nos entierren juntos.
Poem 20 - Page 45
Poems 21 through 30
The number inside the parentheses ( ) is the corresponding page number in the printed book edition.
Poem 21 (47) -- Do you remember when we went to Vegas?
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Do you remember when we went to Vegas?
The time we had was downright outrageous.
I don’t remember us having any fights,
And I can still see you under the downtown lights.
In the room we had on the thirtieth floor,
Lots went on behind the closed door.
It was so new. I was still nervous,
But we stayed up late and got room service.
And shortly after that time
I knew that you would be mine.
Poem 11 - Page 27
Poem 22 (49) -- There’s something nebulous about us–
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
There’s something nebulous about us–
Ethereal, celestial and contradictory.
Yet no one I know can doubt us,
For we are real and not a story.
I am tall and you are short
So let me be your umbrella.
I promise not to laugh and snort
When Tommy-boy calls you Cruella.
All across this vast thing called space
I think of you and your pretty face,
And I think about us mixing race,
Which is pretty cool, at least in our case.
Poem 22 - Page 49
Poem 23 (51) -- There’s been a problem at home
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
There’s been a problem at home
So today you get a special poem.
Yesterday you didn’t really moan.
You were strong, almost like stone
Despite the loss of the baby–
We can try again soon, maybe.
But for now, think of what might’ve been–
A baby with no eyes, no face, no chin.
Or perhaps we would have had a rat,
Certainly nothing cute like a cat.
Maybe the baby would have had fur,
Or perhaps it would have been a cur.
You know, I'm glad we lost the fetus.
Sure it’s sad, but it won’t defeat us
Because we already sail in the same boat
And we will again unite in a zygote.
This poem doesn’t seem to want to end.
As in life, there’s more around the bend,
And that’s what we’re supposed to learn–
To be together through every twist and turn.
Poem 23 - Page 51
Poem 24 (53) -- I missed you last night
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
I missed you last night
at four in the morning.
I arose from deep slumber
without any warning.
I had to go pee.
It was very cold you see,
And when I climbed
back into bed,
I shivered and said,
“Warm me up mi amor, please.”
But you weren’t there–
Only your scent lingered, to tease.
Dammit! It’s true, I need your care–
For in the winter months you can’t be beat
'Cause my skin and bones generate no heat.
Poem 24 - Page 53
Poem 25 (55) -- Last night was my birthday dinner.
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Last night was my birthday dinner.
We ate so much, neither of us is thinner.
Delicious it was, but not quite stocky,
Like my all time favorite, sukiyaki.
If bean curd is me and cabbage is you,
Then let’s simmer together in a stew.
I’ll cook the meal and to you I’ll cater,
But don’t forget, it’s always better a day later.
Poem 25 - Page 55
Poem 26 (57) -- Quick, look up! What do you see?
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Quick, look up! What do you see?
It’s a couple of squirrels
running through the tree.
What if they were you and me?
With our beady little eyes
What would we see?
There, in the window, is it me and you?
No furry bodies? No bushy tails?
Lying in bed all day, nothing to do…
How foreign then would be our life?
For if we were squirrels,
You would not be my wife.
Perish the thought! For I have this to say,
If we were tree-dwellers,
I’d share my branch with you any day.
Poem 26 - Page 57
Poem 27 (59) -- (The Blank Poem–Mikka’s Favorite)
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
(The Blank Poem–Mikka’s Favorite)
Poem 27 - Page 59
Poem 28 (61) -- Against you I like to rub.
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Against you I like to rub.
Feed you, I do, with grub.
Tousle your hair–
Enter your lair–
And never let you go.
Be with you I will
‘Til we die and still
More if I could.
I feel like I should
At least try and let you know.
Poem 28 - Page 61
Poem 29 (63) -- Yesterday I didn’t feel much like writing poetry.
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Yesterday I didn’t feel much like writing poetry.
There was no rain.
I was in no pain.
I felt no joy.
Never once said, “Oh boy.”
It was normal beyond belief,
And I just wanted some relief.
Something dramatic.
A little bit of static.
Excitement would fit the bill,
Anything but staying still.
Alas, no luck was in store for me,
Not until I got home eventually.
But then it was too late.
I had missed the date.
Poem 29 - Page 63
Poem 30 (65) -- I’ve got my web cam on you.
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
I’ve got my web cam on you.
I see all that you do.
It’s a little jumpy at times
And a little fuzzy are the lines,
But you always shine through.
Poem 30 - Page 65
Poems 31 through 40
The number inside the parentheses ( ) is the corresponding page number in the printed book edition.
Poem 31 (67) -- Let’s play monkey together!
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Let’s play monkey together!
We can do it in any kind of weather–
Hot or cold, young or old.
Break the mold. Let’s be bold!
I’ll pop your zits, you pop mine–
Soon we’ll be feeling fine.
‘Cause it’s not just about kisses and hugs–
I'm not afraid of your bacteria or bugs.
I just want you to know I care
And that I'm not afraid to share.
I'm writing this poem and when I'm through
I want to go home and play monkey with you.
Poem 31 - Page 67
Poem 32 (69) -- You didn’t get a poem yesterday.
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
You didn’t get a poem yesterday.
At first I thought that was bad–
But I had nothing to say,
And I realize now that I'm glad.
For if I had written you a poem
It wouldn’t have been about
What I saw when I got home,
Which was amazing, no doubt.
Just in case you didn’t know,
We live in warm Los Angeles,
So to see a sled without snow
Borders on miraculous.
But sure enough my eyes did spy
A boy sliding down the stairs.
He didn’t drop from the sky,
And he didn’t have any cares.
He was riding on a pillow sled
Followed by Marsi giggling.
Laughter turned their faces red,
And their little bodies were jiggling.
You and I joined in the fun–
Such was the pleasant setting.
Finally this poem is done.
I dedicate it to sledding with bedding!
Poem 32 - Page 69
Poem 33 (70-71) -- I hate poetry.
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
I hate poetry.
There isn’t a thing about it I like.
Ever since I stopped being a kid,
Hating poetry is what I did.
When I was a teenager I thought it was stupid–
Oooh! Look, another poem about cupid.
Yawn, belch and fart!
That’s no work of art.
And when I left to go to school,
I still didn’t think poetry was cool.
I met the Romantics and
My opinion didn’t change.
This tree, that tree on a greenish hill.
It still makes my stomach turn.
But then I met the Age of Reason–
Though passed, it seemed a cool season
To be alive, to prosper and thrive,
But into poetry I did not yet dive.
I had, by then, practiced some rhyme,
But I didn’t give poetry any time.
When I switched from reading to writing
Maybe I learned a thing or two more,
But poetry still was not inviting–
Little did I did know what lay in store.
I’ll be damned if I weren't as stiff as wood
When I felt that piercing arrow’s prick–
Hold on, that metaphor’s not so good,
‘Cause really you landed on me like a brick.
Then I was caught in the muse’s spell–
I guess it’s just as well,
For I found the poet within
The castle of my skin.
So I dedicate to you these firsts
Of my poetic outbursts
Because it’s all because of you
That hating poetry I no longer do.
Poem 33 - Pages 70-71
Poem 34 (73) -- Some say I write really bad poems.
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Some say I write really bad poems.
They say I shouldn’t even write prose.
Well I might not be a scribe of tomes,
And my meter might not smell like a rose,
But what a rose is keeps on changing,
And history is made in rearranging.
So even if I just make waste,
I shall keep on doing it with haste.
I don’t want to brag at all.
I just want you to like my doggerel…
Now let’s go have a bacchanal!
Poem 34 - Page 73
Poem 35 (75) -- I’ve got to get the meanness out of my head,
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
I’ve got to get the meanness out of my head,
So I’ll turn my thoughts to you instead.
While I sit here at work smirking at the jerk,
I realize in my choler that I do have one perk.
I’d like to say it’s you, but I won’t ever tell–
Because then your head will grow big and swell
with air–how funny you would then look–
This sounds like something I read in a book.
“Balloonhead! Take me with when you fly away,
Because I really do not want to be here today.”
Poem 35 - Page 75
Poem 36 (77) -- When I'm late to work
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
When I'm late to work,
I'm afraid to say why,
But at home there’s a perk,
Which just makes me high.
How can I walk out the door
Without a smack of the lips?
How can I cross the floor
And not glance at those hips?
Believe me, this isn’t seduction–
There’s not enough time.
But neither is it production,
And they say that’s a crime.
However, I take another view–
I'm not afraid of the dare;
In fact, I challenge them to
Place a value on care.
Poem 36 - Page 77
Poem 37 (79) -- I don't know anything.
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
I don’t know anything.
Birds sing, dogs bark.
I try and write poetry.
A chorus of voices can steer
My direction and I’ll get lost.
I'm so dense I don’t know fear
And believe me, that costs.
There’s just one thing
That I overstand–
It’s less about the ring
Than about the hand.
Poem 37 - Page 79
Poem 38 (81) -- I like it when my baby’s naked.
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
I like it when my baby’s naked.
No denying it, I can’t fake it.
But this isn’t an elaborate con.
There’s nothing wrong going on.
I don’t buy into someone else’s shame.
I'm trying to play a different game.
There are too many plastic images
Trying to infiltrate my desire.
I'm not looking for beauty
When my baby’s naked,
I'm looking for truth.
Besides, what do you think
She sees when I'm unclothed?
Imperfections are special-tease.
Poem 38 - Page 81
Poem 39 (83) -- your purple hair
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
your purple hair
it makes them stare
but you don’t care.
you like to dare.
they see your face
and guess your race
it’s no disgrace.
you just outpace.
it's like a book
the way you look
but you’re no crook.
baby, you cook!
you're not on a stage
or locked in a cage
you’re on my page.
now let's engage!
Poem 39 - Page 83
Poem 40 (85) -- Mi amor, tengo algo que decirte–
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Mi amor, tengo algo que decirte–
If I live to see past this day,
Away we’ll go, muy lejos.
Pero, the hour now is close.
There is a task at hand–
I have to go matar a man.
Es por honor–
Say nada more.
Hear the beat of the drum,
And smell tequila and rum.
I sense the enemy is close–
In battle, I know I’m feroz.
As the gun fight begins,
For fear, I repent my sins.
Y cuando viene la jura–
If God grant me ventura,
I will be the one standing.
They can be demanding,
But all I’ll say is I did it
Para ti, Mikka mi flor.
Recuérdeme siempre–
Soy tu bandido del amor.
Poem 40 - Page 85
Poems 41 through 50 + Afterword
The number inside the parentheses ( ) is the corresponding page number in the printed book edition.
Poem 41 (87) -- If you happen to be a friend of Freud
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
If you happen to be a friend of Freud
You might believe in his theory,
Or, at least, you might have a query
About our desire to re-enter the void
From which we all came–otherwise called the womb.
It goes a little something like this:
Since our mind’s first sensation
Happens during the nine-month gestation
When we are in a state of unknown bliss,
It’s to there we all desire to return…subconsciously.
But you can’t take the doctor literally.
For instance, when my lady and I are in bed–
Lying under the comforter which is red,
It could be like a womb, metaphorically.
I think this is what I was supposed to learn in class.
It’s been a long, eight or more year quest,
And now I can finally find some relief
From that Austrian man and his beliefs.
So with this poem I happily put to rest
All my thoughts and troubles about this subject.
Baby, now that that’s out of my head,
Why don’t we spend the rest of the day in bed?
Poem 41 - Page 87
Poem 42 (89) -- Here is a little something odd but new–
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Here is a little something odd but new–
Instead of it being from me to you,
I’m writing this poem a different way,
So I’m trying to guess what you would say.
Will you tell me how safe I make you feel?
Or how you can’t resist my macho appeal?
Doubt it. How about a nice compliment
About how you’re driven wild by my scent?
I should know better. You’ve got too much sass.
You flatter me by calling me an ass–
My legs are skinny and I’ve got no butt–
In high school, I wouldn’t have made the cut.
These digs and others you often repeat,
But I know you know for you I can’t be beat.
Poem 42 - Page 89
Poem 43 (91) -- It’s Sunday morning and the countdown has begun–
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
It’s Sunday morning and the countdown has begun–
Hold on tight, we’re about to have some fun.
Tennineeightsevensixfivefourthreetwoone–
Blast off!
The engines thrust and we are on our way.
We’ve got nothing to do all day today
Except stay in bed and play play play!
In our spaceship we travel far and wide–
Across the seas and over mountains we glide.
In the whole universe this is my favorite ride.
Our timeship lets us witness history,
Keep up with the news, and solve mysteries.
So many people, animals and sights to see–
Just you me and our bed’s window to the world…
The TV.
Poem 43 - Page 91
Poem 44 (93) -- My paradise would not exist without her
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
My paradise would not exist without her
But there’s only room for one.
That’s my pesky paradox.
I'm a fool ‘cause I fell for a fox
Who says just a word and it’s done.
You might say it’s a high price to pay
But fate wouldn’t have it any other way.
Adrift you’ll often find me,
In the green garden of my gray matter,
Until I hear Eve call–
It’s when I rush to respond
That I trip and fall.
She laughs with mirth and
I'm learning to as well,
Because my paradise only exists
When I am under her spell.
Poem 44 - Page 93
Poem 45 (95) -- If I were a rockstar,
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
If I were a rockstar,
Would you be my backstage girl?
After I finish the set,
Finish cursing at the world–
I’d climb off stage
Ready to rage.
There you would be waiting
Among the others
You put to shame.
‘Cause compared to you,
They’re all the same.
Because I’d be famous,
I’d be on MTV–
And then all the girls
Would fall for me.
But you won’t be jealous,
You won’t even accuse,
Because you know damn well
That you are my muse.
And by the way,
If I were a rockstar,
I would not drive a fast car.
Poem 45 - Page 95
Poem 46 (97) -- Love is less about what’s inside our hearts
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Love is less about what’s inside our hearts
And more about sharing each other’s farts.
Or sometimes because of the late hour,
If one of us doesn’t take a shower,
The other one can get a little whiff
Of an aroma that can be quite stiff.
Sometimes I catch you without warning
With my stinky breath in the morning.
It’s true, smelly pits are a fact of love–
The earthly kind, not the kind from above.
Believe me, it might not make too much sense,
But for the record, this poem’s my two cents.
You wanna know how I know I love you?
For me no one else’s b.o. will do.
Poem 46 - Page 97
Poem 47 (99) -- Hit me with poetry!
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
Hit me with poetry! & Bomb me with verse!
When I feel rage There is no repose
I pound hard on the keys I can’t stop creating
To print on the page Poetry or prose
Something to outlive the age! My appetite–it just grows!
Club me with rhyme! & Beat me with meter!
The ball I won’t drop I want to be the best
My method is serial I take on any challenge
Tell it to a cop I can withstand any test
I want to rise to the top! And I won’t ever stop.
No, I won’t ever rest!
Poem 47 - Page 99
Poem 48 (101) -- When you lie naked on the bed
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
When you lie naked on the bed
In the Saturday morning light,
More than words run through my head–
Oh delight! It’s such a sight.
Your back is like a painted canvas
With the promise of an exotic locale;
And when I see the other side
I know that you’re my erotic gal.
So let’s stay in bed all day today
And communicate without words
All the things we don’t have to say,
Just like the bees and the birds.
Poem 48 - Page 101
Poem 49 (103) -- When we’re together,
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
When we’re together,
It’s like I'm on drugs.
Instead of little pills,
Give me kisses and hugs.
Face it, I'm addicted.
I can’t just say no.
If you launch a war
My desire will grow.
Read between the lines
Because I'm about to snort–
Ahhhh! I feel strong,
Stronger than a fort!
So feed my habit
Because here’s the thing,
When I'm high on you,
I feel like I'm the king!
What’s my regalia?
You are…
My legal paraphernalia.
Poem 49 - Page 103
Poem 50 (from page 107) - When the lights are down low
Mikka Mi Amor Bones Kendall
When the lights are down low
And you want to hear a poem,
You give a tug on my big toe,
And out comes a red-capped gnome.
“What can I do for you?” he asks.
“Would you like me to recite?”
It’s in your glory he basks–
His one hope, to bring you delight.
Say yes and he’ll do as you wish–
He’ll even give it away for free.
‘Cause he likes eating from your dish.
He’s the magnificent gnome of poetry!
If you laugh or cry at his words–
You’ll give him immense pleasure.
His verse as pretty as the singing birds–
Your satisfaction will be his measure.
He don’t care what’s proper and prim,
He hates what’s reprehensible,
The only thing that disgusts him
Is when poetry is inaccessible.
Poem 50 - Page 107
Afterword
Afterword
My name is Evan Kendall. My wife, to whom this collection is written, nicknamed me Bones because I’m so skinny…and I prefer Bones to Jesus, which is another word she uses to describe me when I take off my shirt and expose my torso. I’m pale, too. When I put on a white T-shirt and walk out the door she will say: “You better go back inside and put a shirt on,” or: “They won’t serve you in the restaurant without a shirt.”
Ahhh…the joys of cohabitation. But I wouldn’t have become a poet without her teaching me to laugh at myself. At the time I happened to work for a very serious man and I prayed daily to the gods of poetry not to turn out all serious like him.
Speaking of work, I had a picture of Mikka on my desk and a production assistant came into my office and saw it.
“Is that your girlfriend?” he asked incredulously.
“My wife, actually. Isn’t she beautiful?”
“She is…man, what’s she doing with you?”
That’s a good question. What is this beautiful, stylish and witty girl doing agreeing to marry a guy who would rather be an artist than be financially secure?
The only reason I ever got from her was when she said it’s because I give her butterflies in her stomach.
Now, I’m a slow guy who doesn’t understand the first thing about emotions. I may have read a bunch of books, but what good are they? (“You got ripped off!” Mikka is fond of reminding me when the student loan payments are due.) She was teaching me something I knew intellectually, but not actually. I listened to her, but I didn’t really understand her then. It was later, after the first year of marriage that I finally understood her metaphor for love.
Wow! What a revelation! You can express love through metaphor! I remember thinking to myself that it would get old if I kept repeating, “I love you” over and over again over the course of our lives. I knew I had to think of a better way to express how I feel and finally I understood that that’s what my girl had taught me before we got married. Why did it take me so long to realize? Because so many good things take time to appreciate.
Since human beings create meaning in our lives, it is possible, over time, to turn an ordinary love into an extraordinary one. Some people buy things for loved ones; some build palaces like the Taj Mahal. Me, I write poetry. As much as I want to live a poetic life, Mikka has taught me that my life is no different from anybody else’s—there are bills to pay, public restrooms to use, an employer to work for—really, the only place to live a poetic life is in language. Luckily I have a source of material unlike any other. Mikka really is my inspiration, even when she’s making fun of me…especially when she’s making fun of me.
Surprisingly, Mikka was kind enough to agree to let me try and sell these poems. My goal is to inspire others who seek to convey their truths not by showing off themselves, but by showing that to which they are devoted and the level at which they are devoted to it. For me, it was love that spawned these poems…even if they are all lies.
I leave you with one final anecdote: on a cold night in a small northern California community, I was standing next to a six-foot tall wooden stake serving as support for a growing sapling. A few of us were waiting for a table at a restaurant. The wind blew hard and Mikka came near me and said: “Keep me warm.” If that doesn’t make you laugh, let me explain. Mikka didn’t hug me for warmth; instead she hugged the wooden stake, pretending to confuse it with skinny me. Resigned to my fate, I had the good sense to laugh.