—Poetry by Jodie Baeyens, New York
—Pixie Art Courtesy of Public Domain
LOVE POEM
I’m going to write you a love poem
Even though I don’t love you
Maybe a dozen
Like roses
To give to you
As I stand on your doorstep
Nervously waiting for you
To open up
I’m going to write you a love poem
Even though I don’t love you
At least not any more than I love
The puppy who jumped on me in the park
The grasshopper perched on my dash
The mushroom growing between the cracks of the bridge
And the pink-haired bartender serving me Huckleberry Lemon drops
I’m going to write you a love poem
Even though I don’t love you
Because they aren’t about you
They are about me
Knowing I can look at the world
And believe
That maybe
There are still things
Worth loving
I’m going to write you a love poem
Even though I don’t love you
Maybe a dozen
Like roses
To give to you
As I stand on your doorstep
Nervously waiting for you
To open up
I’m going to write you a love poem
Even though I don’t love you
At least not any more than I love
The puppy who jumped on me in the park
The grasshopper perched on my dash
The mushroom growing between the cracks of the bridge
And the pink-haired bartender serving me Huckleberry Lemon drops
I’m going to write you a love poem
Even though I don’t love you
Because they aren’t about you
They are about me
Knowing I can look at the world
And believe
That maybe
There are still things
Worth loving
SOFT
My skin beneath your fingers
The curves of my body
My lips on your skin
The smell of my hair
Soft
I tried to put up walls
Build defenses
But they were little more
Than pillow forts
Soft
This world is sharp
Full of betrayal
My fiercest act of rebellion
In the face of it all
Is remaining
Soft
My skin beneath your fingers
The curves of my body
My lips on your skin
The smell of my hair
Soft
I tried to put up walls
Build defenses
But they were little more
Than pillow forts
Soft
This world is sharp
Full of betrayal
My fiercest act of rebellion
In the face of it all
Is remaining
Soft
WAITING TO EXHALE
The taste of beer and
Margaritas combine
As tongue caresses tongue
And you gently bite
My lower lip
You smell good
Like you’re not wearing a drop
Of cologne
In this 108-
Degree heat
And I inhale you
Deep
Inside me
The taste of beer and
Margaritas combine
As tongue caresses tongue
And you gently bite
My lower lip
You smell good
Like you’re not wearing a drop
Of cologne
In this 108-
Degree heat
And I inhale you
Deep
Inside me
PERFECT
“I don’t want to disappoint you,”
He says as he tries to convince me
He’s not perfect.
As if I think he’s perfect.
With that crooked nose
That causes soft snores
That head that surely
Makes his Mama’s hips still hurt
Though damned if I care
About those things
The wounded puppy heart
So big and so broken
Capable of love
But scared to love anew
And those eyes
Brown in some light
Green in others
A bursting star of both
When the sun hits just right
Are not conducive to
Quick poems about gazing
Into your lover’s soul
I could sit and list his flaws
As easily as I list his graces
With the depth and detail
Only a poet could convey
And find no more
And no less
Beauty in either
No, he’s not perfect
Nothing worth exploring
Ever is
“I don’t want to disappoint you,”
He says as he tries to convince me
He’s not perfect.
As if I think he’s perfect.
With that crooked nose
That causes soft snores
That head that surely
Makes his Mama’s hips still hurt
Though damned if I care
About those things
The wounded puppy heart
So big and so broken
Capable of love
But scared to love anew
And those eyes
Brown in some light
Green in others
A bursting star of both
When the sun hits just right
Are not conducive to
Quick poems about gazing
Into your lover’s soul
I could sit and list his flaws
As easily as I list his graces
With the depth and detail
Only a poet could convey
And find no more
And no less
Beauty in either
No, he’s not perfect
Nothing worth exploring
Ever is
MOONSHINE
I hold the moon and the stars
In my hands
As she dances
Beneath their shine
Each curve of
Her body presses
Against me
As shooting stars
Put on a show
No one is watching
I hold the moon and the stars
In my hands
As she dances
Beneath their shine
Each curve of
Her body presses
Against me
As shooting stars
Put on a show
No one is watching
ANOTHER MANIC PIXIE DREAM GIRL
I will be your
Manic Pixie Dream Girl
Since you asked me to
Not knowing
The negativity behind the words
How the man who coined the term
Instantly regretted relegating
A woman’s light to being nothing
But what she is to a man
Because you see in me
A woman who dances beneath the moon
And makes you think it’s possible
To dare to believe
That you could fall again
Would it be so wrong
Just for a while to let
You look at me
As the sun you need
To be able to shine
I will be your
Manic Pixie Dream Girl
Since you asked me to
Not knowing
The negativity behind the words
How the man who coined the term
Instantly regretted relegating
A woman’s light to being nothing
But what she is to a man
Because you see in me
A woman who dances beneath the moon
And makes you think it’s possible
To dare to believe
That you could fall again
Would it be so wrong
Just for a while to let
You look at me
As the sun you need
To be able to shine
NOT MY FIRST RODEO
This is not my first Rodeo
I’ve put in my 2.7 seconds
To be thrown
Trampled
Heart bruised and beaten
Only to climb back up
And go for another ride
To be thrown again
I have thought about
Giving up
Leaving the rides
For those a little younger
Less broken
But I’m wearing red tonight
And your eyes are so brown
I think I just may
Brush myself off
Don’t worry that you might break me
This ain’t my first rodeo
But that look you are giving me
Makes me wonder if maybe
It’s worth the shot
To see if you might be my last
This is not my first Rodeo
I’ve put in my 2.7 seconds
To be thrown
Trampled
Heart bruised and beaten
Only to climb back up
And go for another ride
To be thrown again
I have thought about
Giving up
Leaving the rides
For those a little younger
Less broken
But I’m wearing red tonight
And your eyes are so brown
I think I just may
Brush myself off
Don’t worry that you might break me
This ain’t my first rodeo
But that look you are giving me
Makes me wonder if maybe
It’s worth the shot
To see if you might be my last
BLAME THE BUTTERFLIES
I don’t love you
The butterflies do
They are the ones
Who hold the poems
In the patterns
On their wings
I just sit
Very still
And wait
For them
To land
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
CLOUDS COVER PERSEID
—Jodie Baeyens
And somewhere off
A dirt road
In the long bed
Of a white pickup
We make our own
Star show
___________________
Jodie Baeyens is a single-mother and poet who teaches to support her writing habit. When she isn’t trying to find the pen she was just holding, she can be found in the forest dancing beneath the full moon. Originally hailing from New York, she now considers herself a citizen of the world because she has never settled into one place. Her poetry has recently been featured in Door is a Jar and in Peregrine’s Fall Journal. Her forthcoming chapbook, Conversations We Never Had, was the Winner of the 2022 Vibrant Poet Award. Follow her writing at www.Mylifeincoffeespoons.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/Mylifeincoffeespoons. Welcome to the Kitchen, Jodie, and don’t be a stranger!
What are butterfly wings made of (besides poems)? See australianbutterflies.com/what-are-butterfly-wings-made-of/.
CLOUDS COVER PERSEID
—Jodie Baeyens
And somewhere off
A dirt road
In the long bed
Of a white pickup
We make our own
Star show
___________________
Jodie Baeyens is a single-mother and poet who teaches to support her writing habit. When she isn’t trying to find the pen she was just holding, she can be found in the forest dancing beneath the full moon. Originally hailing from New York, she now considers herself a citizen of the world because she has never settled into one place. Her poetry has recently been featured in Door is a Jar and in Peregrine’s Fall Journal. Her forthcoming chapbook, Conversations We Never Had, was the Winner of the 2022 Vibrant Poet Award. Follow her writing at www.Mylifeincoffeespoons.com or on Facebook at www.facebook.com/Mylifeincoffeespoons. Welcome to the Kitchen, Jodie, and don’t be a stranger!
What are butterfly wings made of (besides poems)? See australianbutterflies.com/what-are-butterfly-wings-made-of/.
“They are the ones/Who hold the poems…”
—Australian Butterfly Wing (Public Domain Photo)
—Australian Butterfly Wing (Public Domain Photo)
____________________
—Medusa
Jodie Baeyens
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
