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Larry Kotch Sep 2020
When we first met I sensed the divine,
Like incense on a Sunday mass,
I've always sought the other worlds,
Those where we venture in our early days,
But rays of which today reflect on shields of jade in city cages,
I'd do anything to see the hands of the ****** again spring out from yours and clasp them like you did those many nights;
And stir within those perfect curves a justification for our passioned fights.

I never looked beyond the form in fear that I should see an imitation,
A statue of St Catherine so far from limitation,
Reflected in those rosary eyes, the shops the cars the all too human passers by,
And alas I see my holy venture would this very day refrain,
Communion over, head down on your chest,
I'm immediately afraid;
From earth this heart of yours was made,
and to earth it shall remain.
This poem is about a recent breakup, having taken the surface reading of her I fooled myself into believing I was truly in love as I'd been before when much younger. I liken it to thinking you are rediscovering your faith only to find out it's only statues with 'all to human' reflections and materials. For once I looked deeper and closer at the statue of st Catherine of Genoa/the ****** (representing that initial pure love I've been lucky enough to experience once) I found it was just that. A statue, an imitation of the divine with an earthly heart which ends my holy venture (into heaven etc).
Larry Kotch Jul 2019
Your careful hands levelled out the budding bloom, and set the staging pots aside the heat of noon, thoughtful timing shifted them from watery sheltered vase to rough garden ensembles, like that you shaped the ravenous growths again and again.

With careful fingers you massaged around the banks, no garden book to guide such terrifying specimens, you could not bring the scythes to taper off the exploding flanks, so you watched from further every night.

And so with time you peer with awe at the new garden features, puzzled by a wilting stem, delighted by a fanning brush, sometimes tracing natures path, other times your gaze will be lost. Your garden bright and overgrowing.

Open the door dear gardener for life has been unleashed, when the toil of daily demands has reached its peaks, remember your creation. Know that all the blooms that cheer the neighbours, would, with your hand - the Nation.
This poem is an ode to my mother, creator of the garden that is my life. This poem thanks her for her perfect gardeners touch, helping to help me bloom, knowing when to shelter me from the scorching sun and when I'd overgrown the staging pots. But like all children, I grew in wierd and unpredictable ways, as if the garden was itself now out of control and the gardener had to watch from further every night. But though my developing personality and interests sometimes delighted her I know parts of my thinking and philosophies frighten her. To her I imagine it to look like a bright (in that her creation will always be rose tinted) but overgrowing (out of her control + out of control in general). The last stanza is an invitation to her to not shy from lending a hand back in the overgrowth. Despite what I hope to be myself now manifesting in some small way (i.e delighting some of the neighbours) I rely very much still on her to consolidate this mass of energy for a higher purpose still.
Larry Kotch Feb 2019
The dark night shrouds your mind in hair,
A chest of of chestnut eyes suggests I dare,
And timid skins on moon bellies keep,
An unsure heart that flickers in the heat,
It's locked in our embrace this ordinary night,
And yet I tell my own to stay its flight,
Up the rising column diving on a perfect star,
This bed, and nothing yet but that is ours!
Short poem about a sensation I've experienced a few times now. When I'm lying on a bed with a woman I've slept with the first time and I start fantasizing about them. The reality however is that it's just that...a fantasy in my head I'm cooking up in the euphoria of the moment, in the still of the night when the action of the evening and rencontre is over I realise I'm letting my romantic aspirations project all over the room and the evening and the future, diving on a perfect star star in what really is most lkely an ordinary night for the other party.

I imagine this to be something that both sexes go through. it's something that happens maybe only a handful of times in a lifetime and is almost never reciprocated since if it were the parties may just be in a relationship. In reality these flickering flames and burts of romantic energy fly out of control or succumb to the timid realities of our own imperfect personalities.

Under sober assessment it would appear that the only bedrock underlining such encounters is quite frankly the lump of bed onm which both are laying.
Larry Kotch Jun 2018
We reach we fall, we reach we fall,
When all is said then all will all,
But all will never be said at all-
Not even close from spring to fall;

Fall from here, this place I raced to,
And looked back and wished for nature,
Simpler times and simpler natures -
I race through now and so unmake them;

Because I need to make the greatest!
Tallest, boldest, noblest, all-est
So I can boast and toast or roast it
Consume it now. And now. And now!

We reach we fall,
We reach
Larry Kotch Jun 2018
No cloud dares pollute this sky,
Then suddenly those winds at home climb so high,
Sea so fresh and desert so dry,
They meet and feed the cacti here, but ignore the needles on my eyes
They shouldn't make me cry.

Sparkling waters, sands so bright
With a million ******* clouds in Skies
Sit, be still and let the timeless force
Crush this sea of thorns and all but native flora die
Larry Kotch Jun 2018
I look outside my window and it becomes within.
natures are converging on my behalf,
they’ve been here, the nest, the walls!
They come to end old twos with enchanted grasses,
so that now brass and birds are equal to know,
they sing, in harmony, from far to near,
they constitute the new world that brought you here: My symbiotic woman and creature clear.
I’l stop shouting ‘****** place!’ and ‘fleshless trees...,’ thinking of exotic canopies,
such sublime notions have betrayed this locality, downplayed our bonds,
could have never set me free.

Today, many worlds have travelled from afar, looked up at me,
finally! Joined to make me see.

So I open the window and shout at you: The world is multinatural!
Uneven textures fill my spirit,
dualisms have stopped debating,
silenced by the mind’s web creating.

And in the middle of these new topographies, your face,
coming to a door, made of trees, horses, thoughts and economies.
All histories, cultures and natures here: She is a node of forces,
ambassador of the new continuum and this ecstatic feeling,
an affective vision of a singular healing.
Larry Kotch Jun 2018
Carbon is pummled for endless hours,
Chambers filled with all our might,
Cracks that erode while others soured,
Hope to press a diamond,
When the world will give us ours,
To merge and stretch and stay a while
Those sparkling, timeless hours
This Poem is about long distance love. The pressure and stress of not being near the person you love is so immensely and powerful natural force that when you do meet your lover each hour becomes that more timeless. Each of us is a mountain of forces hoping to merge for as long as possible and press those diamonds.


Our two mountain ranges are Intertwined and trace the oldest story on the earth. Like all, we were born of magma, wind and surf, we look and feel together but seldom touch and old bodies of mortal things petrify underneath our brave and glossy faces.
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