One tickling of my breath.
One naughty fantasy.
One piece, of forbidden bliss.
One haziness I chose to feel.
The seventh drip, of my virgin blood.
The light on the very tip of my tongue.
The fire of my thoughts; my minds, and even my slightest, hesitation.
A charm so genuine, clear, and vibrant;
But never raises; nor becomes too petulant.
A crush I firstly detested,
but to which now; I am most heartily attached.
And all in all, the prince I once prayed for,
the man I ever so sincerely dreamed of.
O, my Kozarev-
my very, my very own, Kozarev.
Had I not attended to yon duty that night-
There might have been no Kozarev at all;
Ah, that one night-that was indeed so blinding and tantalizing,
Yet full of auspicious words, and weary tasks;
And I felt a lot of fantasies were whirling about me-
Speeding about like they had never been before;
Making my auras more visible, and my shy lips form and seen more,
Ah, but all was, and still is-because of thee, Kozarev.
Ah, Kozarev, do you know not-how I often picture thee;
Thee with fits of exuberant temper; or joys so enigmatic, and tender.
Sometimes you startle me, or become simply too childish but lovely;
And offer a love I have never been used to, or shall be used to-or either.
I am charmed by your presence;
For 'tis much more valuable than any slice of gem;
Nor a number of countless diamonds, or divine salutations.
A love so vehement, a love too virulent.
A love not so tough, nor one too dramatic;
A love that fears betrayal and torment,
A love too expected, but never grow, nor be chaotic.
Ah, and sadly perhaps you are the last love-but the one
that shall never grow, regardless of how handsome you are;
Still, you are too far, and far away, from my felicity;
You are like an evil hero urging to be my temptation;
You adore my morning and flirt with my afternoon-
With some shy shades, that sadly shall disappear-or fade away, too soon.
Ah, Kozarev, you are real, but sometimes unreal as a painting;
Your heart knows not sorrow; nor desperate cries-that are all honest,
For your heart is not yours now, but someone else's.
Ah, how a woman-a similar being to me, can be so fortunate-
I know not how, for she is in possession if thee, and thy very fate;
She who shall live by thee and by thee only, grow old,
She whose hands are to be so lucky in thy marriage.
Sometimes I understand not, how I can be so bold,
And wordless-upon your very mentioning of her name,
For as I say nothing, my warm blood still gets cold,
For my heart is torn, and turned into raw pieces of shame.
Ah, Kozarev, but still-you know never any of this suffering;
Over a joy that I cannot reach, over the half of my heart, that you make missing.
Ah, Kozarev, perhaps you shall never read any of my poetry,
nor know anything else about me;
For your heart is altogether too lively and swift;
With secrets I cannot see; and stubborn closures I cannot lift.
But do you know that sometimes I dream of thee-
and our charming melancholy Sofia?
Ah, those dreams-dreams that are so purely thick, but solid-and sweet?
Dreams that I cannot forget-or simply cannot forgive.
For you are there-always, even only as a shadow in my dreams;
Just like you are a shadow in my reality-ah, you whom I greatly miss,
But sadly can perhaps never become my real lover-oh, my true gentle lover!
For you only care about everything of her-and not mine;
But you know not-every single mention of her name is a curse to me,
Even though you say everything so smoothly-and gently,
Still I hate knowing that she is your destiny,
One that celebrate the sanguinity of your lips,
One that your adorable being shall desire to keep.
Ah, and not-and not me, and perhaps never be me,
I-who love you with all the discourses, and powers-of my might,
I-who write and dream and think about you all day and night;
I-whose heart grows, and thrives in your very irresistible delight,
I-who in your absence shall scream inside, and be tainted and blurred, by fright;
Ah, Kozarev, you know my being-but indeed! Indeed you know not-everything;
You know my poetry-but one you never read; nor one you ever sing;
You know not what I endure, you know not you are in truth, my heart's darling.
Ah, Kozarev, thinking of her fills my poetic blood with anger;
I am like a dying bird-tearing through the air with mad wings;
From the pain of death-until I am killed in the hands of my hunter-
And you know not, my hunter is her;
She, whom your idyll is depended on,
She, who has stolen thy heart-and left me alone,
She, who is my tragedy, and on top of all-my blood-red misery,
She, who has caused all this gloom, and tragic poetry.
Ah, if only couldst fate tear you apart and blow her away-
And should you turn to me, I shall give you only the brightest of days.
I shall cuddle you, and bewitch you-with open arms;
I shall praise you, and make you mad-with the comeliness of my charms.
I shall love you-and turn to you with my whole paradise;
Where the sun is shining and fills our very souls with bliss;
I shall make you feel none else but wonder and victory;
I shall make you feel but tenderness, and the finest linings-of destiny.
And Kozarev-if possible, I wouldst be glad to be your sun itself;
I wouldst be blessed as one full of courage; and one thoughtful, and brave.
And then, just beautifully as I shall paint this stunning love in your heart-
I shall duly, write on thee all more deeply, and more eagerly;
I shall paint thee as one so insanely handsome as the rainbow-
I shall play your melody on my dearest flute;
And turn alight, everything that was forgotten-everything t'was mute.
I shall be your star, and be your sole, finest future,
I shall be your grace, and for your every wound-the most awaited cure.
And at last-I shall open my very door to you, and make everything delightful; make everything but sure.
Ah, Kozarev, do you know not-how meaningful you actually are to me,
More than I can ever comprehend; nor I can ever desireth myself, to be.
Oh, Kozarev, for you are even more dangerous than this sullen peeping fog,
For you own my heart the most; and be the one it has always sought!
Ah, Kozarev, show me then-how graceful paths of delight can be;
As well how holy and enduring lightness of heart is, and how sacred-suffering may be.
Ah, Kozarev, I love you; for you shall always be my little, little twinkling star,
And thus my poetry is dedicated to you-you whom now stay still afar-
But to my dear heart is a one closest, and the soul I desireth most;
And from whose charms I can no more escape; nor more can I hide.
Ah, Kozarev, just this time-and perhaps t'is time only,
Read now one part of my poetry; and tell me a line-of one pretty loving story;
And just once only-look at me more and give me that lovely thrill;
Listen to me t'is very time, so that you'd finally understand-what I feel.
From the honks of cars and smell of fumes
I slip into a small green patch
with birds and their wafting plumes,
moments I would die to catch!
A calm that filtered the noise
let me listen to the rustling leaves,
the birds' chirping and such joys,
in their briefness the heart grieves!
As they frolic and in air dance,
I softly trudge as an alien,
one who is there perchance,
and can't for long remain!
Don't stray into the clouds too often;
a wise man will plant his dreams in the earth.
Only in acceptance is there peace;
feet on the ground,
toes dug deep into the soil.
When soaring through the cosmos,
a man may revel in the freedom and exhilaration,
but he is lost, if nowhere, has he laid any roots.
Tumbling in space,
crashing into stars,
a magnificent indulgence; enjoy it!
But a man who is ever climbing towards Polaris,
will find he has nothing to grasp,
but the uncontrollable winds around him;
full of promise and betrayal--
always abandoning, never solid enough to hold.
In believing he was chasing after everything he wanted,
he lost sight of what he needed.
Don't stray into the clouds too often;
but be not afraid!
Dare to dream!
Dare to do--to change!
Dare to reach for the stars!
But be always mindful of the earth beneath your feet.
A wise man is brave,
but not brash;
he is bold,
but he is ever aware that to triumph,
he must have an accepting heart
and grateful mind.
Never will the bittersweet fruits of failure be his poison to digest,
if he will accept;
if he will give thanks.
Life's joys may never be delicately prepared
and served to him on a golden platter,
but the wisest man
will wake each day;
will breathe air into his lungs;
will dig his toes down into the earth;
will look to the clouds;
will feel the soil beneath his feet;
and he will give thanks.
Thinking of thee makes me feel love;
Love so sweet and deeper than mine.
Unlike the winds, I cannot move;
Unlike the sun, I cannot shine.
To be thy own love is my dream;
no more my past, nor but of him.
He once filled my heart and destroyed;
He lent me an unthoughtful joy.
To dream of him is but a pain;
Thoughts that shall fray in feeble rain.
Shall never I want him again;
Only my curses, shall remain.
Like butterflies in the garden
Thy images flirt 'bout like heaven
Thou art handsomer than glosses;
Even more p'rilous than roses.
Thou shall cure me of all torments;
Thou shall be my real gentleman.
Best of the stories I invent,
A tame hero; a loyal friend.
He is a past too far away;
He whose worries are past dismay;
He traced my path last September;
out of autumn fogs and winter.
He lured me into his foresight;
let me astray in memory.
He knows nothing of wrong and right;
He is too blind to say sorry.
Far I'd wandered past cliffs and beaches;
Until thy heart came into view.
Thou turned backwards within my reach;
Bringing me fresh feelings and clues.
Thou found me 'gain in summer's bliss,
Thou stole my love from heart of his.
I saw in thy bright complexion,
Neither lies nor trepidations.
Thou art worth all salutations,
The ringing joys of fond prayers.
Thou art the fruit of all seasons,
Son of truth and a fast healer.
Thou art the song of morn and night;
Thou art Lantern to all delight.
To be with thee is'a great blessing;
As are t'ese crazes, and love feelings.
And being with thee feels just right;
To breathe by thee at a holy night.
Thou art profuse, like yon foliage;
Good as my dreams, of marriage.
Wandering through tracks of life
Remind me of a play
Where the hero played his present scene
Then cancelled out each day
Where the memories of yesteryear
Just fade into the mist,
Where the joys and tears and ecstasy
Dispel, and nothing’s missed.
Where time consumes the very thought
That occupies each part
And leaves you with a vagueness
And a sadness in your heart.
When you walk and crush the daisies
When you strive and build the day
When you lead a child to laughter
With a funny face display.
When you deal with things of consequence
And guide the ship of state,
When you choose your favorite ice cream
And avoid the food you hate.
When the building blocks just vanish
And the structure disappears
When the moments flee like moving silk
And evaporate the years.
The day is still and foggy
There’s a tremor in the air,
I can hear a blackbird singing
And the sound is sweet and fair
As I sit in my seclusion
And quietly pass the time
I attempt to recall peoples names
And I can’t remember mine.
There’s a mistiness in being
And a sameness everywhere,
There’s a lack of expectation
And a drollness in despair.
8th March 2008
Have you ever been in love?
Not just wanting possession,
Or desiring only their physical indulgences,
But truly wanting the best for a person.
In a way,
To feel such depth of emotion
Is the most beautiful thing in the world.
In which words cannot define.
You're floating on a cloud,
Or perhaps you yourself are a cloud,
Filled with radiance and light.
Electricity runs through your veins,
Enough to power the world for all of eternity.
You've always thought you were whole
The very world around you has changed forever.
With such a high,
It only hurts that much more to lose.
A gaping hole,
Having been shattered like glass,
In which is engulfed in flame,
And the wounds deepen with every passing thought.
You're falling apart,
Being ripped to shreds.
A bloody cavity.
You can't breathe,
And the pressure is strong enough to kill,
Yet you won't die.
Is it not better to feel,
For isn't that what makes us human?
O Human Evolution
of indeterminable joys
This is the first era in History
Where the Girls behave worse
than the Boys.
Young Irish Women
Finally free of the past...
In the heat of the City,
At the stroke of One-Thirty
The truth emerges
Thick and fast.
But don't put me down
as some frigid Boy shrew
You need to put yourself out there
What you're getting yourself into.
there is a place by the river
where i sit
and where i think
and where i watch the water
and the trees.
there was a person there today -
he had long hair
like a boy who used to love me,
and he was playing
on his guitar
that i knew,
and it carried down the river,
down from the rocky spot where he was
to the tree-rooty dirt spot where i was.
in places like that
a stranger's music,
it seems natural.
it made me remember
that i am young
and that the world is vast beyond my imagining.
it made me feel content
and it filled me with things i've felt my whole life
and still don't have a name for.
when i saw him walking up from the river,
carrying his guitar
and singing still
he and i were,
for the length of a few songs,
that's what places like this
do to people,
and it's why i come here.
and i walked home
and i felt all the peace you can imagine.
i remember good things,
and this place is a good thing.
the boy who used to love me,
he is a good thing.
the sun on the water
and all my small joys,
those are good things.
a stranger's music,
a spot on the river,
it can remind you
that things are good
more often than they are bad.
it takes a certain place and a certain headspace to think like that,
but today i did.
there is a place by the river,
and that's what it does.
The Sun peered through my
Window blind and said, "Hello,
It's a brand new lovely day,
Just so you know.
The birds are singing in the trees,
The flowers tease the honey bees.
You ought to share this lovely day
Before it slowly drifts away."
The Sun peered through my
Window and said, "Rise and shine!
Today is destined to be
Of the fairest, rarest kind.
A bluebird on your window pane
Just tapped the glass and called your name.
Beckoning you out to play
Before the morning shy's away."
I peeked out through the window blind
To see the breaking day.
The cherry trees were blossoming
In their very Springtime way.
The joys of morning filled my head
With the wonders that our Sun had said.
And so I smiled warmly,
Shut the blinds
And sneaked back into bed.
Copyright © 2012 Richard D. Remler
"I may be drunk, Miss, but in the morning I will
be sober and you will still be ugly."
At such moments of weakness
The heart must hold its own
Foot on the gas
Hand hovers over the break
Attention to form unconscious
Straddling between youth and adulthood
And love becomes a necessity
Loneliness can kill the strongest of men
In between the cracks of work and downtime
The dog barks at the shadows of felines
Waking the whole goddamned neighborhood up
The empty coffee cup stained brown and black
Newscasters praying for another foreign attack
Masks of men reflect the insecurities of humanity
We fear many things
Some we know not why, but we feel we must
The shadow has no name
Yet it has always been and will be
The scientists say so easily
The priests have always thought
The cost of blood to be so cheap
Bullets rust in their cartridges
And bombs tick in their gold casings
I've attended one funeral
And it was a struggle for me to weep
I forced myself into tears
To fit in with all the others
I've been comfortable with death
Since I first witnessed the end of love
Between the two Gods
That bore me, hence bringing me here
Their Sun's hearts were not warm enough for one another
The best and truest way to introduce a child
To the Pains of Life
The fact of pain, terror, intimidation, and death
Is very real
And though I have not been to war,
Killed a man,
Shot a gun into a crowded street,
That does not mean that I do not feel its weight
I do not wish to be the judge
Wielding the ultimate sentence
Nature is the only worthy one to wield that right
The Pains of Life
Are here and they are
But, I take comfort in the old pains
That of the body and the simple mind
Though there is no such thing as the latter
And if you think I'm lying, ask the hatter
Rippling through lines attending the masquerade ball
Seeping through the back door unnoticed, the red curtain falls
The play is starting, the actors in position, the stage is set
I trust no man with two, one, or five of anything and doesn't bet
Bend your nose to the ground
Smell the wine soaked soil
The sun is high, the miles long
Beware the rattler as it lay in coil
The Pains of Life
Are the Joys of Life
Each one of us
Is seeking our Eden