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You are… August 31, 2014

Posted by Conrad Hubbard in : Poetry , add a comment

You are so ridiculously beautiful to me that watching you move through the world is like seeing the launch of a thousand love stories.

Value January 26, 2014

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As I get older I wonder if it’s true
That I have nothing of value left to say
Or if people have just beat me down
And made me feel that way.
I am as self absorbed as they,
Maybe more by far.
I do not set out to be that way,
But it is the way we are.
So if I made you wonder
What your value is today,
I am sorry for any ills I did
That made you feel that way.

Am I Like You March 14, 2012

Posted by Conrad Hubbard in : Poetry , add a comment

I am looking at you
Like you’re looking at me
I am dreaming of you
Like you’re dreaming of me
I am feeling for you
Like you are feeling for me
But I am not afraid of this
Like you are afraid of bliss
I am thinking about you
Like you are thinking about me
I am wanting more of you
Like you are wanting more of me
I see tomorrow and you
But sorrow’s what you see
Still I am not afraid of this
Like you are of bliss
Can’t you see you
Looking at me
And see that this
You should not miss?

Silliness for Shane and Stacey on Facebook March 6, 2012

Posted by Conrad Hubbard in : Poetry , add a comment

Shane posted that he was watching a Real Housewives of Beverly Hills interview with Kim Richards, and Stacey said to him, “Could you possibly turn these thoughts into a poem and share it on Facebook?” I couldn’t resist.

Stacey Eustice
likes this Kim miss
wants a poem on it
will not get a sonnet:
Kim deserves the best in life
for being a real housewife
that captured fame
enraptured Shane
oh, I mistook that post,
Stacey’s Facebook roast,
as a real request
when it was just a jest.

http://www.facebook.com/swshanewallace/posts/361327247211275

The Crazy Ones April 18, 2010

Posted by Conrad Hubbard in : Poetry , add a comment

Girl, you said that I just want the crazy ones
and I must confess that I have been to the asylums
for a time or two in my life,
but seriously, even if they seize me most often,
and even if one of them was once my wife,
I don’t want the crazy ones ever again.
No, I want somebody like you,
unless you are crazy too,
in which case I can only say
that I still want you in every way.

Hangman Fuck March 26, 2010

Posted by Conrad Hubbard in : Poetry , add a comment

Girl, what has happened to your sick messed up mind
to make you like erotica where a dog fucks you from behind?
your online hookups spread your world far and wide
a big dirty trail one city could not hide
even typing this stuff makes me feel sick
you are reading stories about sucking your brother’s dick
What has happened to my fucked up mind
that I Googled your name and this is what I find?
why did I find your Craigslist affairs
is this what you were always doing downstairs?
even my phone bill had hundreds of calls
of you talking to dudes about draining their balls
What has happened to your sick messed up mind
that you left your children so that you could unwind
with rapes and foursomes running through your head
and me wondering if I should burn my bed
even typing this stuff makes me feel sick
the lies you left layered sticky and thick
What has happened to my fucked up mind
that I Googled your name and this is what I find?
Oh, yeah, hangman… Wasn’t that your code?
Didn’t he make you drop your phone in the commode?

Your Sign August 11, 2008

Posted by Conrad Hubbard in : Poetry , add a comment

VoteI see your election sign
flat in the dirt
overgrown with weeds
I don’t remember who you are
maybe you are still paying
whatever debt you incurred
chasing your shattered dream
maybe you make little laws
that affect my daily life
and I don’t even know it.

The Moon Dancer February 28, 2008

Posted by Conrad Hubbard in : Poetry , add a comment

This is the last of that “lost” bunch of poems from 2000 that I found on my hard drive, except I didn’t write this one. It was written by one of my friends, Brent Halstead. We both used to do public poetry readings in the same night clubs in Richmond, Virginia before I moved to Atlanta to work for White Wolf Publishing. The werewolf references are pretty clear.

The Moon Dancer

As the moon reaches its zenith
Creatures awaken out of myth
I see your passionate soul begin to stir
And a change comes over you in a blur
Now it becomes clear
Why you have problems keeping women near
You are the lunatic moon dancer
When you call passion answers
A creature swelling with carnal lust
Tempered by a sense of what’s just
Romantic shadows cross the moon
Formers loves making vision swoon
Howl the dirges of lover’s past
Growl at injustice and stand steadfast
Bark the hope of future love
Shake your claws at the powers up above
Born to the galliard sky
On wings of dragons your wishes lie
Fierce tongued your bark is bite
Never quarter or give in a fight
Chaos, disorder has no greater foe
When the raging gibbous is all aglow
In you the whole earth can trust
Your appetite for honesty ever robust
If you catch them when they’ve lied
A thousand deaths they’ll wished they died
Careful the zeal of your devotion
Lunar eclipse of mind by emotion
Following your dreams the path you walk
You’ll find your prey on the path you stalk
Never there was a stronger creature with whom to contend
But never there was a better friend

Written by Brent Halstead. Published here with permission.

She Stands February 27, 2008

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Another one of the poems from that year 2000 “lost” collection. I was driving home from work and saw something which prompted this really short piece.

She Stands

She stands across the street
from the prison
using a pair of binoculars
to look in
I don’t know what he did
but I feel for them.

Find more of my poetry in my scrapbook and under the blog category.

What We Want What We Do February 26, 2008

Posted by Conrad Hubbard in : Poetry , add a comment

Another one of the poems from that year 2000 “lost” collection.

What We Want What We Do

You tell me your dream
is to be able to paint and buy milk
I stumble around on my words
because I have an answer for you
I tell you my dream
is as close as I can hope
and I meant my writing
but looking back maybe I was right
The only brush I can wield
yields hues drawn from my heart
and every picture I draw
is but the words I feel
I am painting for you now
but my hand shakes
as I wonder if I am artist enough
to depict you as a model
and I abandon rhyme
like a borrowed style cast off
and I abandon reason
because I am a fool
and I wonder what we want
and I ponder what we do
and I remember these days
I have spent with you
This is not what we do
we told each other when we met
all of this is something new
something we’ve never done yet
a symptom of an event
but no this is different
this is significant
and rhyme returns its pigment
to the mixture that is you and me
though reason remains absentee
you tell me your dream
and I stumble a bit
inside I can hear the words scream
but I can barely mumble it
This is what I want
now this is what I do
because I know I won’t forget
the beauty I found in you
from the moment that we met
but all of this is something new
and we don’t know us yet
so you paint your dreams
and dream of paint
and those dreams spatter
all over me
because if you wanted to paint with me
I would buy the milk
because I told you my dream was close
and I meant my writing
but you sat next to me…

Find more of my poetry in my scrapbook and under the blog category.