Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Peter J 4d
Did we meet once
When the first time I held you,
Was the first time I touched you
When the first time I kissed you
Was the first time I loved you,
Didn’t we once meet

Did we meet once
On the bench in the park,
Open fear of being caught
Our love declared by initials
One lie I don’t recall,
Didn’t we once meet

Did we meet once
A stolen moment to share
Amoral these chance meetings.
A stolen kiss in the corridor
And a lock of hair to keep for ever
Didn’t we once meet

Did we meet once
The darkness of a setting Sun,
Then cool evening sea air,
The love on a jagged rock
Then the panic of a quickening tide
Didn’t we once meet

Did we meet once
There was a reluctance to enter
Then a challenge of loyalty
There a moment of confusion
Then a moment of disappointment
Didn’t we once meet?

Did we meet once?
A rushed meeting to feed my desire
Anguished truth I still recall
A moment of weakness lets me in
Agape with wonder and expectation
Didn’t we once meet

Did we meet once
On a park bench long ago
Only fear kept us apart
Observing vehicles as they passed
Oh your eyes so full of love
Didn’t we once meet

Didn’t we meet once
With no preconceptions
Where first love would grow
Without tears or agenda
When first I loved you
Didn't we meet once.
Peter J 6d
Which one do I love
To which one am I true
Could the one that I love
Be the same one as you
And if one’s not enough
Then two are to few
With this one comes my love
And my one love for you.
#something I wrote on a scrap of paper and attached it to a single red rose on Valatines day.
I later wrote in my diary “result”
Peter J Feb 6
My shoes are so sad
I bought them for dancing,
but they only go to funerals now.
If shoes wept, mine would cry;
Give up your dead
Their bones
And the end...
#:’(
Peter J Feb 3
I
How will you remember me,
will you form my shape as is my way,
my veins swollen with a veiled rejoice
that hides my burial chamber here
beneath a shrouded veil of contempt.
Who will remember me?
A fighting roaring man drunk as sand
an outside storm that weathered faces
in a rising sky full of snowy horsemen,
that drew your eyes upwardly
then fall below their peculiar time.

II
How shall I be remembered?
A lover that blazed a trail every midnight,
he that stole and sold hearts in one single beat,
fashionable runt, cool in summers heady days
that run from a friends sisters bed before her age.
Who would remember?
The love the labour the sweat
the boundless hours working for cruel light,
a family pace of a snails want
that sweet cruel need that never shy’s
and I am bound by my fragile word.

III
My brother, my sisters voices I hear with a clear ring
gutted on cold stone ground in frost
and I knew love before my maidens mouth
whispered through thickets of thorns and bramble.
Who will remember them?
It’s the breath from those that rant,
clergymen with fierce eyes that talk in fondness,
yet would perish when their birds fly unknown
before deaths curtain is closed and comital spoke.
Lost in my map, my life, my day in poise.

IV
Now I sigh long into the day.
My steepled church sky soars far above me
and days grow shorter with every passing mouth.
Saints and sinners ride together in fallen flames as I look for an open eye in this mudded rockpool water.
And I remember;
with long armed embrace
that I kissed maidens lips
when they were young with starry eyes
and was carefree with strong clasp of bone
and in this third season fall Autumn was taught that forever was my sea, but a few hours between.
All this long before my grave and dying light.
#ive reposted this because I heard today  the girl I mention has passed away.
RIP Mags, I  wish I had been brave  for you ***
Peter J Jan 30
I woke this morning
to a cold hard wind
Icy rain drive’s on its lungs
While a sullen Moon darts in and out
of clouds across mornings canvas.
A kitchen clock tick tock’s with the regularity of a blind mans stick
While the heating struggles to reach a low value.
Outside summers garden chimes give out a call
once more seeking haven from this mornings cold blast.
And for awhile this man seeks not refuge from friends with their own losses.
For he had dreamt this morning he’d received a text with bad news.
This dream replaced those with no news.
One more coffee
One more cigarette
And the lights come on.
Peter J Jan 23
My Welsh gloom is caused by mist
in the hills and the black in coal,
all of it seeping into my very being.
Yet I love that I can hear the sea
As it washed against your *******
I could smell the scent of sea air
As it caressed your salted body
For I could taste it's heat
That caused my mouth and lips to drown
And this raises my gloom far above
The darkness of my valley life
And let's light flood in with raging force.
#I've been asked to post this once more...why Im not sure.
#that moment you remember why you loved her so very much.
Peter J Jan 20
Leave
not a dry word in this your body of spring
nor scythe that cuts away at your vibrant **** undressed
in stark **** seasons reflection.

Tear
out self made  screws that harness your voice, your poems
and I will turn to your voice into an Autumns fire of love
then rejoice in all three rings.

Control
all false judgments, cast out thoughts, marrow, sermon's
that thins your beauty of all its flesh over time
time that lets me see through your skin.
Next page