Tag Archives: poem

Writing about love is like dancing about architecture

I like the color yellow.  Do you?  Maybe you do, maybe you don’t.  Maybe when you see the color yellow you see something different, and maybe we are actually experiencing the same color.  See, thats the point.  When we look at a color, it is an experience, but describing that experience is very difficult.

Lets try it out.  Think of a color.  Now tell me what that color feels like.

Stop looking at the shoe to the left.  What?  Speak up, man, I can’t hear you!

No, in all seriousness, describe to yourself in words what that color feels like.  You’re probably stumbling for the right adjective, and if you are finding words, you are probably comparing that color to some other object.  To me yellow makes me feel like “warm” like “hot chocolate in the winter” like “sand in my toes” like “squinting while driving because the sun is in my eyes”  (well obviously because the sun is yellow, dummy.)  Right…. you get my point. Why are yellow cars “flashy” but yellow shoes are “trendy”  Why is a red tie “sexy” but red socks are “dorky.”  Why can’t guys wear purple undewear? Ok I’m diverting from my subject….  The point is that describing a color is subjective. It depends on context.  It depends on who is looking at the color, at what time they are looking at the color, and in what context they are describing the color.

And guess what?  so is love!

This is why writing about love is like dancing about architecture. Because no matter what I say, I am right, and I am also wrong.  I might be connecting with you depending on your mood when reading the words I’m writing.  If I wrote in pink you would have a fundamentally different feeling about what I am writing than if I was writing in orange.  You just got a little more mellow than when I was writing in pink didn’t you?  How about red?  Ooooh.  Red.  Red is the color of love isn’t it? Well, if you do a google image search on the text string “love” you’ll find a lot of RED.  Why?  Because I said so, OK?  Well no, not really.  Mostly because we have been told to think of love when we think of red.


I’m digressing again.  Here is my point.  If I asked you the same question about love that I asked you about colors — “tell me what you feel when you think of love?”  You’re going to tell me about experiences, about objects, and about feelings.  I won’t even go into trying to put feelings into words, because believe me I’ve tried, and in fact, I am trying — its even tougher than putting love into words.  Love is going to be different things to each of us.   Duh!?  Obviously.  (reader thinking: I read this long to get to that obvious point?) Love IS GOING TO BE DIFFERENT FOR ALL OF US.  What that means it that while its perhaps the most important boding force we have on this planet, it is also almost impossible for us to agree on a meaning, for us to express exactly what it feels like to another, or for me to sit here, in my cozy chair while eating a spinach salad in a cafe in Berkeley, CA to tell you how you should write about love.

Write about it however you want!  Dance about it however you want.  Sing about it.  Make love about it.  Eat about it.  Listen about it.  Hug about it.  Make out about it.  All day long.  Go on a hike and tell someone something nice.  Give your mom a hug.  Jump in a lake and yell out loud because it feels so good.  Drink a cup of coffee from Seattle and tell me you love it.

Just dig deep and YELL it out!

Don’t let it muster. If you feel it, tell me (or rather the one you love), because they will love you back for it.

So, I have a blog about love right?  (the answer is yes, as you are reading it).  So I am going to tell you what love feels like to me.  Well rather, I’m going to tell you how, in December 2006, while sitting in a London apartment and expressing myself on paper, Love felt like to me at that time, in that place, and without any particular person in mind.

The Dance (Written in London, December 2006)

I wish I could be with you.
Hold you tight.
Be in my sight.
A finger past your hair.
Your skin is so fair.
A tickle of your toe.
A dance in the snow.
A tumble down the hill.
We both took a spill.
Rolling rolling on and on
Waiting waiting for the dawn.

The sun.
A day of fun.
A twinkle of orange and red.
I remember everything you said.
Days and years
smiles and tears
Don’t leave, stay near
without you I fear
The dawn to night
You’re out of my sight
But I know you are there
You are for my care
No sight no smell no touch
I dont even need that much
You are all I need
You are all I greed

A twinkle on your dress
Of the dance floor we mess
Around and around
We slip to the sounds
Years one and years two
I was made for you.
years three and years four
All I want is more
Until the end
If God wishes to mend
I am for you if you will be for me.
Forever to dance in glee.