Taking a Stab at Poetry

First up is the prose-with-line-breaks-masquerading-as-poetry I wrote for a contest on Locution to do with clichés.

***

Love is Blind

Cupid needs glasses.
He must, for he always
passes over me.

His aim is /not/ true--
it's a wonder his arrows
flew straight before now.

I don't really mind,
but if he can't seem to
find me sitting here,

how is he to hit
his real targets? It's a
bit suspect, I think.

I should say something.
Oi, mister Roman god!
Ring up an optician!

No? It's not so bad.
I survived the visit I
had sometime last year.

Oh well, it's your loss.
No running to me when
cross lovers complain.

It's not like I mind,
but love is so very blind.

***

I started something else before writing "Love is Blind." It felt a bit more like poetry, but the imagery/direction seemed muddled. Here goes trying to make something of it:

***

Climbing up the Walls

You've got me climbing up the walls,
still remembering yesterday's fall when
you failed to take up the slack--
I might as well be bouldering.

I feel like I'm at the end
of my rope (even though I'm not),
and all I can see is red
tape marking the route's holds.

***

I can't get any further with it. Somehow I'm unable to crystallize the premise--comparing a fight with rock climbing. It was supposed to tie in the idea of a person climbing in anger, to let off steam, but it just doesn't gel properly. I like individual lines, but not the poem itself, unfinished though it may be.