Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
onlylovepoetry Jul 2016
for Sally, Bex and Tonya, Denel and my beloved

<>

gods do not seek forgiveness,
or comprehension,
desertion, desecration, ascension
or condemning condescension

but how how they crave
just a good conversation,
to get a word in edgewise,
a nice chat,
entrée à, la tête-à-tête,
entre deux, deluxe-amis

a casually talking,
absent of
words of need and beseech,
reason and causality,
and no I or We pronouns,
sans enunciations and annunciations,
false hopes for incarnations, incantations,
set asides for life's grievous aches
all human requests, and some of God's commandments
for now, set aside,
annulled

just a talk,
some repartee,
but mostly an open ear lent,
an early morn quiet listen
over tea (he/she) and coffee (me),
paying attention to
both sides of an interactive story

as recompense for my willingness to be,
his engaged counter party,
my mourning gloomier cloudiness,
quick exchanged for instant,
rising sunshine warming glorious

my vista
of a bay dancing
to Tchaikovsky Swan Lake ballet music,
deftly inserted between
an Agnus Dei and an Ave Maria

mood music he said,
and we chuckled,
he/she was god and orchestrated
my tastes,
Adele et Dudamel,
comprehending my undesirable apprehension,
by granting my needy wish for
poetic inspirational composition contentment

all exchanged,
for just a good listen,
no judgements, in either direction

I am the god of love,
the one who makes you weep,
when you study your beloved's rising chest,
each uplifted breast heaving,
a confirmation blessing,
that her life is present
for at least the next second,
ready for your magi adoration

be not fearful,
this day we talk only,
as I pass by,
I have no business to conduct,
on your island of sheltering redoubt,
but to engage and unburden
for even gods
are required to confess,
and aging godheads do adore
a human shoulder
upon to rest,
a great invention,
(If I may say so myself)
and to whom better to address
than my only love poetry
poète personnelle

here he off-guards me
with a favorite injection,
Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings,
music so sweet that it never fails
to weaken my knees,
sweeping my eyes unto weeping
priming me with this first coat of
sounds so elementary soothing

he half-bows before me and says,


forgive me human, for I have sinned

in Dallas and Nice,
just this past week,
with forays here and there,
doing god's work

read your bitterness and struggle,
anger and forgiveness all in one crust,
furious curses and wails so plaintive,
my heavenly musicians weep from jealousy,
at the cries emanating from the fired fury song
of human hearts torn and love plundered

I am the god of love

and

the god of pain and all that is the

anti-love

(and to make me better understand,  
Schindler's List score, so sweetly,
he plays for me,
to clarify the atmosphere,
that death and love -
and the courage of understanding,
so oft go hand in hand)

write me a love poem for me,
no hymn or sonnet do I require,
for love is essence of forgive,
there is no perfect union,
that cannot stand,
with out this emotion of
conciliatory intermediation

tell me you understand
that the scales
of bereft befallen,
disparate chance interrupting randomized,
must periodic perforce
sometimes weigh more,
than the good of simple

balance tip that creative god spark within,
of which you write,
away from my bloodied, unsightly hand

write me one more love poem
a frisson semi-sweet and cleanly neat,
of good things sad,
but worthy of remembrance

you are not the first for this bequest to receive,
other poet's before and after,
will Jacob-wrestle with my angels,
battling to find the...

no matter

"my love to thee is sound sans crack or flaw"^

let your love poem
to me
be of whole healing,
for these disarrayed feelings
cannot forever persist,
the perfect balance you desire
is not on your Earth existent,
unobtainable

these cracks and flaws must and will come


and yet

love poems
will be our common language

and then he/she left,
leaving this poem behind,
born from my mind, yet,
carved on my skin,
written with the nib of my rib,
sealed and signed,
future undefined,
but dated upon my
cleansed hand's lifeline,
hand held outstretched
as if to say


“and yet"
^ "my love to thee is sound sans crack or flaw".
William Shakespeare

Sunday, July 17th 2016
8:42am
Anno ab incarnatione Domini
In the summer my wife would come to live like beautiful flower she'd
bloom with warming
of the
sun
But In winter she'd turn
back seed avoiding the
cold winter days curle up
In my loving  
arm
And there she would stay with me untill the winter
ice began to melt and daffodils came to bloom
again
My sweetheart was like beautiful flower bursting with colour gone was her pale skin of
winter
Johnny walker Jun 12
I'd been Running away from responsibilities all my life whatever they be I'd just up and go start
new life somewhere
else
I was sat on bed smoking
In my bed sit hundreds of miles from home a knock
came on my
door
My debts had found me It was time to face up and so went back home to pay my dues shortly after that came my wife to
be
That's when I stopped running and to take responsibility for my action and became a good husband and father
to our
son
All had change the day debt came knocking on my door I had stopped being a child and running
away
I had became a man who could deal with anything that came my way all changed by that knock
on my
door
I was having a
horrible day

...

but then
you
came along.

You made me feel happy,
well,
and strong.
I was having a terrible Thursday.
But it just got better :)
Johnny walker Apr 29
I remember so well all the good times Helen and I had  all those sunny days where just like a
flower
Helen bloom she came to life In summer winter always bad for her so pale she would
become
she would suffer till the spring It's then she'd come to life and all her colour would return just like
a
flower
she would bloom again but  In the winter of
2017 she sadly passed away never to bloom
again
Helen was like a flower that bloomed In spring but In bitter cold of winter her skin would turn so pale
Yes!
Finally,
the light came on.


But I had to
use like 100
extension cords.
I wrote this referring to my mind, when I finally understood a math problem after multiple attempts.
Every little thing that I was told worked like an extension cord, giving me my final end result.
Johnny walker Apr 24
I still remember that first time playing as a child In the hills and fields of
gold
above my home when this young girl came skipping by twinkle In her
eyes
Even at that age Oh so pretty so much charm
for she weaved her
magic
for I fell her there and
then
but many years would pass  by before meeting
her against but I
knew
that loved from the very first time I saw
her
When finally I met again she had grown to the woman and so
pretty
she was  with those Oh so beautiful eyes that had never lost that twinkle she had as a
child
And when I asked Helen If she would  marry
me
she spang to her feet threw her
around me and gave such a wonderful
kiss
then looked me In the eyes and said Oh yes Johnny I will, that was
the
greatest day of life as I'm writing and thinking of that day I'm am smiling to my
self
I remember so well that day playing as kid, when this young and very pretty girl came skipping by she had  
this wonderful twinkle in
her eyes I didn't know It then but girl would become my
wife
Irene J Mar 12
Under the night in Paris,
I dreamt.
The man that I love came to me,
giving me all the hope that I've wished,
a love from him,
from his whole heart.
Next page