Saturday, August 28, 2010

Jack of my Dreams

Dearest Gentleman, O Jack of my dreams
I daren't say, no, tis folly to admit that ye,
O most artfully spoken, thoughtful of men,
That thou'st become trapped in my thoughts
Yea, ye, sir Knight, do not slip my memories
Ye to whom my heart has become betrothed

Though tis ill-advised for a lady to admit
Ye, the man who pretends not to kiss n' tell
O my GentleJack, in my dreams do dwell
To be with thee, to be- O eternally! - thine
There is nothing other t' cross my mind

My love 'cross distance makes its pains
but such breach doth not diminish my love
Nay, only makes hearts longing grow strong'r
O dear heart, I beg of thee, tell of thy love!
Let my heart not pant in vain, at such cost
Prove thine own hearts lustless pains for me

So I bid thee, O GentleLove of my dreams
Let not thy love be as molasses, make haste!
Let love quick make its way to me, unbarred
Prithee let no words mark me as vixen or cur
Let no such err'd words pry thy heart from mine.

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Sunday, August 22, 2010


My heart is met with a gentle tinge of longing as I quietly -- unadmittedly -- await a trickle of your prose, a gentle sigh of poetry from your lips, or writ to me. A slight dawn in the back of my mind, a gentle nudge realizes that I do not know you so well... that the gentle gaze I met dream-ways I scarcely remember. -and, in truth, you are a man who, years on now, I've scarcely known. My thoughts wander far, as my heart tries to reminisce, but finds itself erring, retracing its steps only back through dreams. Could I know you at all? Would the man I meet be the man I thought? I hope you have not fooled my heart with a faux front of luscious words. I hope my imaginings have not been too unkind, in fantastic injustice; but I hope my heart has not been so generous that it crumbles with disappointment when we meet again....

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Friday, August 20, 2010

Romanticize, Idealize

I move with swift as the wind
my spirit lifts with the breeze
the heart of a vagabond in me
I wonder if you could keep up

Could you read me
when there are no words?
Could you know my thoughts
when I say nothing at all?

Will you dream with me
without me having to share?
Will I have to explain it all
or will your heart beat along

I romanticize and idealize
Come away with me, so far
it's you I want to run wild with
but are you who I think you are....

My summer love, my romantic
you left love and thought behind
all to see if I would take a chance
on a chance encounter still remember'd

Your voice was sweeter than I recall'd
Read, tell me stories, let me fall asleep
But are your arms as sweet and strong
to hold me ever after beyond my fantasy

Could you fight through my silence
fight past any facade my words spell
and know my mind, know my heart?
I hope so, or I could never hold on

Fly with me, where the breeze takes me
Take my hand, and live through dreams
It's time we finally run, run far away
Our hearts are already far ahead of us

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Friday, August 13, 2010

Could You Love Me Well?

Where are the Gentlemen...?
Men with their skewed fedoras
sitting atop their heads at a dangerous tilt
Men with lovely words on their lips
and literature stored library-like in their heads

Where are these men, as gentlemen?
who let girls be the ladies they long to be
The men without boorish manner
or vulgar thoughts unfit for daylight?
Gentlemen, let the ladies be ladies!

Oh shy gentleman, watching me slyly
you meek of word, hiding your love away
Why do you pronounce love in latter?
"My ladylove, how I once loved you so
-but was too shy to tell you, was I"

A mockery you make of ladies waiting
ladies waiting to be. A lady. A lady to you.
but instead fawned on by unseemly gits
who make a doe-eyed daisy, a beauty
feel like scum, to be doted on by such...

Take note, I am very much. too much...
for those unfit to have me on their arm
My insatiable curiosity is entirely tiresome
for those who wish to only be comfortable
For one who sees a prize, not a creator-love

I dare ask: If you knew me well, could you-
yes, would you! Could you love me well?
Could you not merely stand, but ever adore
me in my constant creativity, my need to love
my desire for knowledge of everything ever after

Or would you see me as unsatisfiable -- a bother
Would you find yourself too terribly annoyed
Restless at my 'prolific output'? Intimidated?
No, tis not what my heart needs. or could want!
Your own shiftless mind would be in my way

So my shy gentleman, you'd best ready your heart
don't think your heartfilled words will go to waste,
unless you let time wither away. Grab your hat,
fedora at tilt, books and french new wave in mind
and let the lovely words slip from your sweet tongue

If your heart is like mine, your mind as eager,
and your hands willing to work, then let it be!
Let's see the world! Who wants to settle down!?
Let your paints meet mine on a canvas we'll share.
If you knew me well, I'm sure you'd love me well

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Truth of Consolation.

A heart that seeks one thing
cannot be consoled out of
lack thereof
A friend who seeks counsel
can't be helped
if he dwells only on the thing
he pretends
to want to be consoled of.

I do not mean that consolation
cannot be had, or achieved by
one who truly seeks sympathy
No, comfort is possible, indeed,
if one can learn to grieve a thing

But a friend who barrages after a thing
who hangs on, obsessing over a thing
and yet, makes no movement, at all
neither forward, nor back
cannot be helped to an objective.

A man who wishes to fight loneliness
who wishes to hold a ladylove close
will never find that if he moans all day
but never opens his heart to a woman
repeatedly closing every one of them out

A woman who seeks status in career
will never achieve such a status
if she only dreams of it, but alas
never pursues it, sitting idly
as the world passes her by

A filmmaker who desperately longs
to make a film, to be on set, on camera,
to see his dream alive on silver screen
but cannot make it out of his own town
and yet, makes no efforts forward
but lies sullenly in thoughts of woe
a sadness of not being there
will never see his film be made alive.

Consolation cannot be given to one
who does not truly seek that comfort
but seeks only to constantly express
the distress of not being able to work
towards having what he most wants.

But a dreamer may find he has
if he is only content with seeing
his dreams
as his entire world, not wanting
than what fantasy there he finds.

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Wednesday, August 11, 2010


The mirror face looks so different
than her heart says she feels
but she has no time,
no time to think
to realize it's true,
the mirror spells denial

And as the mirror fades
back into her mind
and the day has fallen
her face falls with the dark
and the drink in her eyes
says she wants to cry

The walls speak the lonely
her whole day had gone by
just serving as distraction
She shuts her eyes, imagines
that people in the photographs,
and their voices, are all around her

With a breath on her neck
she dares not open her eyes
But the breath is gone
before she can think to look
And so, the noise of silence
clangs on through the house...

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Ghosts in the Windows

Some days are mock sadness
A dropping of the heart
for no apparent reason at all
Quickly there, silently holding on

The ghosts reflected in the windows
stop and stare, as your heart lurches
in fright of what you fear you saw
the ghosts of memories past
the trailings of love unrequited
the dregs of unstrirred thoughts

But the ghosts in the window
staring, were never really there
Just streetlights, yellow and blue,
your own face, staring back mellow

Wish a wish on a star you've never seen
you pray that the hole in your heart
is just a passing phase, will glide away
The black mark beneath your chest
seems just as lonely as it ne'er was before
and you wonder, what was this feeling for?

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Tuesday, August 10, 2010


A romantic without romance
is like a heart that beats faint
a dreamer who wakes,
but cannot remember

A lover without love
is one who feels,
when there is no touch
someone who craves a taste
of lips not yet felt

A dreamer without sleep
finds confusion in waking
remembering a vague reality
something they cannot pinpoint
a surreality they understood so well

An artist afraid to create, to feel-
A heart in a holding pattern-
is all these things, broken and alone
Unable to to be loved by one not there
Unable to wake into their living dreams
Unable to love a heart longing to loved

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

UnGrieved Past.

Wrap your arms around me
as my heart breaks
pelted by memory
each shattering a new hope
each a smashed former-dream

Hold me tight. close.
let me know it's alright
through your arms
for in this moment,
my ears have forgotten
how to understand sense

Hold me tighter. closer.
My heart is churning
throttling with pain
adrenaline of ungrieved past
making its way up my throat
pushing aside breath as it comes

As tears waterfall down my face
the memory becomes real
threatening my every future moment
it's tight grasp holding my breath
piercing my dreams in its claws

Stop. Don't hold me so close
let me stumble, let me tremble
let the grief overwhelm me
watch me as I hit the floor
but don't leave my side

Let it all wash over me
like a drowning wave-
but never let me go under
I need to fight this rage, pain
my withered heart needs to learn
remember. how to be strong again.
Pure grief-laden catharsis.
Let it come. Let it be.

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Monday, August 9, 2010

Note to my lovely followers :)

Hello my Lovelies! 

I'm looking to get published soon, and I wanted some input from you. Since you guys have left such amazing comments, and been so kind to me, I wanted to include you where I could in this creative process:
What are your favorites of what I have written? 
I'm going to piece these together in a small collection, and want to know which ones you think are best! 

I can't wait to hear from you guys!

All my love,

Sunday, August 8, 2010


A thank you-
to artists
to writers
to painters
To photographers
and visionaries alike

To those who took the initial step
of overcoming fear
and stepping into the creative

It is this, that inspires me.

It is this, that drives me to become.
become more courageous,
more creative
more alive with every day.

Is it this that gives me cause
to live, to breathe, to create
to be.

This is my thanks
to artists
who made beauty
that made me feel
more alive

My thanks
to art that helped me
find my purpose
know my heart
and heal my wounds.

This is my thanks
that you have courage.
to create.

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Saturday, August 7, 2010

A Sadness

Sometimes, when a sadness
spun by loneliness
comes to the surface
-with no remedy-
it is best to find sleep
and meet a dream
that will wrap its arms around you
and make things alright....

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Tillytales of Lovelockets and Wunderloves

Yea in tender times, life flings dirt, throwing hurt on wounds, spitter bitter spat-- destroying the moment when hearts are in most leapbeats, pitter pat.

Tenderlove is a force, a thing unsatiated. A lovelocket aflame, a heart so alive in wondrificous compluvication. A welt, a wound cannot stop a warhearted wunderlovelocket in love with everyone, under-time, allover, for everly-ever!

Such wunderdrug, love is. Tis like being drunk, tipsy in tenderlove at all time. A curious drug that sends one into curiotrances of lovers dances.

What sort of thing is this? To be unafraid, to be unabashedly overbashed? trapped in repe-tative groove rut of underwhomping, overwelping thumpaweeping?

To be caught in fishtangled lovemangled nets of lovesuckers' hunters in an ocean, once thought to be filled with noughtly more than drops of lovelockets heartseeping lifelops.

Curious enoughly, the waters of loveseep-drops are filled with such bloodbeat hungry sharks, those fishers who hang their lovepiercing hooks in the water, just waiting to mangle a lovebiter who can do nothing less than leap at every chance to feed their loveful heart hungry enamoreyes so entranced by loves filfuelfires, who long to be held close to similar hot hearts that seep endless love to each others bloodlockets.

But I'm not afraid! No tearful fearfiller will steal my joyful wunderfillment that such lovelockets as mine derive life from. Such wonderplace things cannot be distinguished without lifejoints failing. No, we must meet death before we can part from such foolication as wunderdrugging on tenderlove!

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010

Sunday, August 1, 2010

Love-lost Limbo

I awake in dreams
not from reality
but to dreams
away from the surreal
to another real

But when in dreams, I go to sleep,
waking to dreary, broken reality
how am i to know what it is I escape?
Do i wake from dreams
or do i wake from reality, to dreams....

Before, in that surreal
My heart was
not worried
not bothered
not bent or broken
My escape.

Dream and real have now shifted
And he for whom my heart longed
has begun to haunt me- so i wish,
oh, i wish! to wake to my other reality
but am conflicted. what is real?

I wake
to dreams
I sleep
to the real
heart alive

The world that once was my real world,
as my dreams were my favored reality
now haunted as he, no, they, follow me
They haunt me, and I cannot have them
Nor can I escape them, in this twisted earth,
this love-lost limbo for the loveless and lonely.

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010


You were everything I wanted
-but then again none of it at all
We were so attached, so close-
but your eyes were so far away
You held me close, but we were
so far apart

When distance took us far
our hearts were closer than near
My close in ideal imagined love
You were all I wanted, if only,
yes, if only I imagined so

The same couldn't be said for you
You, who forgot me, drifting away
You forgot how your heart loved
when my heart was not beating,
no, not in rhythm alongside yours,
the smell of my hair in your breath

I, so many miles and minutes away,
felt your skin 'neath my fingers,
Your body pressed against mine,
your soft breath over my skin,
your arms strong 'round me,
holding me lovely

My mind has lost. forgotten. ideal.
perfect. imaginary. remembered you...
lost track of what really is. was.
would have. could have, was going to be.
Memory serves hearts in love? unwell.

© copyright by Michèle Aimée Lahaie, 2010