Some Old Love Poetry

caterwauling

hair from face in curls like cotton
candy-coloured eyes and smiling
lips that curve in sensuous delight
i see you there

where shines your face like golden-glossed
sunlight beaming all around you
sitting silent in my eyes are
visions more than fair

ne’er shall i such beauty see
in forest glade i dream of thee
surrounded all by flowers growing
jewels precious rare

(dare i let you know these feelings
deep within my heart inspire
rainbows that are radiant
with
love and hope and care?)

 

inside my mind

sitting before a fireplace
i picture you and i
hand in hand and watching
sparks as out they fly
into the room

words are seldom spoken
though many do we hear
in silent conversations
caused by being near
as in a womb

rhythmic vibrations
lull both of us to peace
as mind with mind we weave a
wall of loving fleece
about the room

but now the fire’s dying
and we must leave again
until next time we enter
the room where we were then
inside my mind

 

sensing you
sensitivity unique
fantastic treat

love unheard
unseen unfelt untouched
until now
under the influence
of you

i taste your love as a sweetmeat
upon my soured lips
i relish the sound of your sight
touching me

i live in the aroma
of your aura

i love you

 

waiting for the sun   (a tribute to Van Morrison)

waiting for the sun
to come
    anticipation

watching darkness go
while birds sing hello
to the sunrise
    i shade my eyes

magnificent pink the clouds
and disappearing shrouds
cause wonder in my mind
whenever shall i find
    day

when sunlight lasts forever
and moonbeams quickly sever
the blackness from the night
and bring delight
to lovers in the park
    hark!
who is this i see
is it truly she
    my moondancer

 

the one that got away

does she ever think of me
the way i always think of her
as she stood in the check-out line
that day at the supermarket
or was it in the line-up for a show
or maybe in a bar somewhere
    our eyes met for a moment
    across the crowded room
    our hearts called to each other
    and time suddenly stopped
no those were all others

this woman was definitely in safeway
as i stood holding a basket of fruit
she held a basket of lettuce
i couldn’t tear my eyes from her
she fulfilled my fantasies
all my dreams come to life

but she was with a girlfriend
so i could not answer her
when she commented about my
    canteloupe
and did i always buy so many
(they were on sale that day)

her eyes were smiling playfully
but were they smiling for me
i was too shy to ask
still i hoped they were

i think she noticed me
the way i was noticing her
she looked so young and innocent
the kind of woman i longed to throw
    my arms around
to protect her from the wicked world
where life could be so cruel
(i’m sure she needed no protection
but it couldn’t hurt to pretend
i was wearing armour
and she was in distress)

did she see me as the kind of man
she could entrust with her love
    sensitive and caring
    considerate and sweet
    intelligent and wise
    capable of the sort of love
    that transcends common lust
    yet lets that lust emerge
    when the time is right
    (is this the man she saw
     and is this why she spoke)

oh rue the day that i was born
so shy that i can seldom speak
    my heart
in a crowd of more than two
as on that fateful day

but i never will forget her
    dark hair and eyes
    small turned-up nose
    full lips
    pink cheeks
    soft silky skin

and though the chances are
i’ll never see her again
there will always be a place
    within my heart
for her memory

but how many spaces can i keep
for women such as her
she’s not the first and certainly
i hope she’s not the last
    (because i am so shy
     i always let them get away
     even though i think sometimes
     they would prefer to come to me)

and i wonder
    are there female hearts somewhere
    that keep a special room
    for men they sometimes see
    but never get to meet

is there one woman in this world
who sees me as
    the one who got away
(because she was as shy as me)

a poem in three parts

the fall
sometimes
there are times when
a fellow doesn’t have a chance
against romance
somehow
i don’t know why
my heart just dies
to be reborn
to a brand new morn
where stars shine
all the time
somewhere
it isn’t there
it’s here and now
somehow

the rise
falling in love
is nonsense to say
you don’t fall down
you fall up and away
like tripping on a cloud
and hitting the sky
or dropping your heart
and watching it fly
falling and flying
are one and the same
laughing and crying
and loving her name

the stars in my eyes
suddenly
i find
you’re on my mind
by day
by night
you’re in my sight
your scent
your touch
i love you so much
the fall
the rise
the stars in my eyes

Author: rawgod

Still a Hippie, and proud of it. Have my BSW, now retired. Would have preferred to be a Dr. of Philosophy, but the university I went to wouldn't let me study my own philosophy. Your gain, their loss. I live on the edge of society with my partner, five cats, a broodmare, and a three year-old filly who might make her racing debut this coming summer or fall. Remember the name, Tricksy T Clanton.

7 thoughts on “Some Old Love Poetry”

  1. These are so beautiful, so authentic, so real, Jerry! None of the trite, oft-repeated tripe considered romance in this world, except to draw attention to its lack. I love the honesty, and relate deeply to the feelings you describe…

    I must re-read them all to digest their full import, but that will have to wait for another time, as work is calling me…

    Thank you for sharing your vulnerability here…

    Like

    1. It is my pleasure, spposedly. But the poems were written to be enjoyed, so I am glad you are taking pleasure in them.
      Any desire to be a literary agent when your life comes back together? I tried the publisher game, the agent game, and both just made me mad. Don’t know if I tpld you yet, but a supposed literary critic told me I was not a poet, just a word hack, or someghing like that. I need someone who believes in me, just the way I am. The job is yours if you want. I am not a pantywaist a la the Beatle’s “Paperback Wr,iter” I know how my work has to be…

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I definitely believe in you and your work, but I’m no agent. I suck at cold calling and hard selling, hence my own anonymity. But I will do my best to support you in any way I can, offering honest responses and real time reactions to what I read. Perhaps those observations will be useful in some way…

        Literary critic I could probably do, but so few are actually interested in my opinion… lol!

        Like

        1. Not to worry, Lisa, I gave up wanting to be published decades ago. The dream is still there, of course, but only as a dream. Not a nightmare anymore. No, I haven’t forgiven the critic, why should I. I know what I am, and a poet is one of my many facets. But I wrote outside the box he was in, so he told me I stunk. And now he’s on the radio with his own show about literature, and he is still in that same box…
          You, however, Lisa, could not be a critic. I don’t think you could hurt someone just to boost your own ego.

          Liked by 1 person

          1. Not to boost my own ego, perhaps, but I have proven myself capable of brutal honesty when required (or requested) of me. Problem is, most people don’t truly want that, especially from me. They think they are prepared for anything I might say, only to discover I perceive much more, see things more clearly, than they ever wanted anyone to notice. It is a deeply invasive experience, so I never engage in it without being asked to, and without warning them of the potential consequence. I have lost many friends that way…

            Like

            1. I know exactly what you mean, my friend. I can be the same way. If you have read my “zombies” comment that is just a glimpse of how brutally honest I can be. I was only tslking in general tefms, nothing specific. But if someone asks me for my “honest opinion,” I am probably going to lose them as a friend, because most people cannot take the honest truth. The thing they don’t realize, it is up to them to either accept or decline my opinion. I don’t believe everything anyone tells me, because, generally-speaking, I can see deeper than they can, and I can see the boxes they are talking out of. It’s a gift, but it is also a curse. Hopefully someday those people whose friendship I have lost will forgive me, but I will never get to know. I move around much too often to find out…

              Liked by 1 person

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