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onlylovepoetry Jun 2020
on account of you:

she says: do you know you often smile when, day dream dozing?

me says: on account of you

she says: c’mon sweet talking man, ain’t gonna fall for that hooey!

me says: hooey, phooey, on account of you

she says: nah, you writing poetry, no fooling me no more!

me says: on account of you

she says: I bet you got one of your girl friends singing to you, through
those wireless earbuds, doncha? who is it this time? a Sara or Joni?


me says: on account of you.

she says: you think big shot, you can multitask b.s. me? doing three things
at the same time!


me says: on account of you

she says: on account of you, I’m seriously ******, you don’t tell me anymore
sweet lies and alibis, probably writing an ode to one of your poetry gf babes!


me says: on account of you, can’t count no more, how many love poems in my lifetime written, and this one too, going out to you, charged to my tab, you babe,
are my account, my accountant, my accounting....
onlylovepoetry Jun 2020
put down the pen,

gown thyself in coats
of many riotous colors,
banish ‘never’ and ‘hope’
from thy lexicon, and
begin with a smile
always a smile as you
walk the streets as if to say
open open says me,
open sesame and let the
good works begin,
for having found your
captain of the muses,
your Calliope,
your rosebud,
lucky you!
you will need not write


another word
onlylovepoetry Jun 2020
dear god, you humble me into quietude

she says it’s sunny and 75
nearing 3’o’clock, cooling,
let’s go for our usual constitutional,
for a lovely afternoon walk to Shell Beach

can’t can’t can’t walking now in
a bottomless pit, every handhold,
poems, newly commissioned, newborn,
broken off the wall, revealing a gleaming,
light of iron pyrite, really good fool’s gold,
cause only fools write good poetry, or even try


but tonight I’m gonna feed you bucatini bolognese
babe, you gotta walk, make some room for all the words
that will come tumbling free falling while I’m sleeping next,
you’re up prowling looking for rhymes, lines, unheard of before,
you’ll need energy to bite, write, and make loving poetry and then,
then, sleep late, my laddie-baddie, new ones on my nightstand,
for my perusal, my usual unusual man who gifts me them to
in quantities of ‘more galore,’ that I accept, adore...adore

so afterwards, I must say my morning prayer, as an atheist forgiven,
the one I commissioned, and you composed, for me:

Dear God: you humble me into quietude, with gratitude...
onlylovepoetry Jun 2020
that fog horn blows,
worries my mind, lord knows, we don’t need,
more obstacles in this tired world, so the horn
trying, to be blowing fog away, without success

the sound’s remainder air-lingers like foam bubbles
ridden down to coffee cup bottom, resisting, protesting,
refusing to expire, useless/nonetheless, says no dying

sole boat outlined, bout mile out, must be anchored, it’s
unmoved by fog danger or noise, fishing is my informed
best guess, but fish ain’t stoopid, swimming another way

the fog horn wakes the woman who looks askance
cause there is neither coffee or a newly christened
poem upon her nightstand, an explanation is sought

“stand by me,” I sing, “be unafraid my darling, stand now,
stand by me,” poet said “been guarding our bed, this long
foggy night, agin interlopers, bad dreams and sea troubles”

shied ‘em away, knowing that when a man loves a woman,
she can lean on him, cause he’s load bearing, her safety is
always first, poem second, coffee coming, with sun rising

she bemused, funny you’re, kooky like the poems you’ve up-
written all night, up all life long, all stored up in my nightstand,
you’re sweet, like  Tennessee whiskey, ignore my scowling my own
poet-mr. coffeeman-sea guardian, you’re alright with me
onlylovepoetry Jun 2020
despair ****** up all air, its currency is TV gold,
spent on rerunning human misdeeds, hate unmasked,
past infection point, reason is virally infected, what goes unspoken,
is we eat our young, they burn us on crucifixes, sins we committed
or not, we, living in the golden age of rage, no good reason crowned

basest instincts of intolerance is illness of all human supremacy,
it’s cheap and easy to hate, and its even cheapest to hate the
haters back, so the circle unending, wish I could sound less stupid
when my heart keeps ringing, can’t we all get along? Please. Idiot.

naive! guilty. toleration of nothing will suffocate all voices,
what good is this poetry gig, if we can’t drive out all hate,
no salvation, no hope, buried my writing utensils, cause
nobody’s listening ‘cept to the sound of their own righteousness

no need for only love poetry, when hating somebody is just (ha!)
so pleasurable, let’s hate everyone, for no good reason...
onlylovepoetry Sep 2017
a plain poem (the first time I came in you)*

a plain poem, light and effervescent, a flim-flan tasting,
plein de absurde rimes, full of nonsensical rhymes,
a lattice of criss crossing pastry sugary lines, the ones,
cannot, struggle to deduce, induce, reduce
from my constipated vocabulary

oh well
~
the first time I came in you,
entered, bidden welcome,
suffused a bridge between
the party of the first part,
the party of the second part,
sugar lightness airy nonsense,
two spirits dancing the singular
pas de deux of their finite lives,
a performance unbeatable,
unrepeatable,
lost to the perfection annals

Shockingly, Surprisingly, Summarily,
did not compose an ode,
don't mine a new vein of ore,
even write a plain poe poem

as best can recall,
at the candle melting of the
sealing wax of the deal,
gave an honest speech,
instantly falling fast asleep
with nary a grunted word

ever since l,
cannot write of plain love plainly,
so she makes me pay with a
new living elegant elegy daily,
a quatrain, what a pain,
this iambic panting meter
love poem writing

jeez louise,
how I wish could write of
roses red and violets blue,
get back to sleep,
oh well then,
back to work

got to make those sad moans,
hers, go away,
so please excuse me

near ten years later,
still paying the dues of the
initializing error of my way

she rumbles-mumbles in her
pre-awakening dream state,
so please excuse, got to go, think up
some implicated complicated  
verses to soothe away
her simple poorly hidden anxieties

you see,
I am happy paying
on and on,
writing like the devil furious,
she is stirring, coffee soon,
cafe au lait
if you get my meaning,
but still cannot beat,
repeat, re-alive
that simple plain living poem notated,
when first I came in her*


<•;)

9/24/17 6:49am ~7:17am
onlylovepoetry Jul 2016
<>

"having found a white coal seam amidst the black bunting
that decorates their glum apprehension of tomorrow's tidings"^


the computer tablet recognizes as I essay,
                                                          ­                        the "tomorrow" word
as possessing a reality, with time sensitivity,
please,  somebody help us, almost

an inevitability

the possibility of a realizable event,
                           as if the poem composing was
the future's assuming a 99% probability,           right ready for scheduling

offering me two choices:
create event or view calendar?

as if the next shooting, bombing,
and my glum apprehension thereof,
as if ''tomorrow's" tidings were mine own doing
of my undoing,
somehow my fears create or anticipation of
the "next one" makes me a guilty part

my heart cracking with despairing moans
knowing that this is foolishness

but  
              not to me

for as we think upon it, that tiny extra precaution,
'tis already the small death of me
each death a cut in the same spot,
and the pestering wound ground deeper, bone closer

find myself
jailed in a place with no view, insecure and unprotected

no view, no window to crack, no window no view
no to letting  in fresh air, hope or something good,
and yes to no,
I know about this and that and words
intended to offer up optimism,
albeit on a small scale

I am careful not to mock
the words and those who offer up

but seriously,
don't

I came to,
I came to this place to write
only love poetry silly love songs
and some black angel sideswiped me in the left lane
writing now in stead of ways I'm dented and unforgiving
feeling stoopidly foolish            even as
I try and I try to find the seed germane to the connectivity between the horror hallmarks of these times and the ******* window is just stuck stuck stuck

I'll think I'll change my name,
honestly,
only love poetry? cries out ridiculous

this is no poem, more a teacher's note of surrender,
                                                       come back with a new identity or just a new field of endeavor

so I put that on my calendar for tomorrow
and it appears right away, right after:

6:00 am Check on Glum Apprehensions
and it appears that I'm too late

confirming I've missed my appointment so too late for my kind of tomfoolery.             and that white seam, glimpsed but not grasped, illusion noxious,, I can't seem to locate it anymore
onlylovepoetry Dec 2019
An Optimist’s Guide to Falling in Love With a Woman


have a very minor fender ******, you’ll never get a persons digits any easier, consider it a bonus first date, a stress test interview, when humans on their worst/best behavior, their true nature revealed and tough exteriors melt when gallantly take full responsibility, details to be discussed over dinner

risks: she’ll  will never ever let you drive her, even after, no...never ever after, the issue is closed, ‘twas your fault and is non-discussable

critique her order standing behind her at McDonald’s. blowback assured! charm resistance and openness will be tested, but you claim pure concern for her well being, even after offering to pay  a dollar for every calorie ingested if she only switches to a plant-based burger

risks: hamburger grease soul staining, no love stain stick remover handy and everybody knows mixed marriages really never work tween bronco busting cowgirls and city tree huggers

you take a spill, nose in the phone crossing street, she lifts you up with wonder woman strength and gentility, you sputter with half-feigned indignation for you’ve embarrassedly first sight-fallen in love, all your words and everything else is failing and flailing as she tends to the cut, drives you to her office where she stitches you up, while cracking jokes that are truly funny

risks: she is a Dallas Cowboy fan, or worse, someone else got there first, and you need life long therapy

she’s in seat 10C, Miami to NYC, pretending very poorly to not be reading this very story-poem you’re creating, but doing so VERY poorly because she is editing, making suggestions, punching you in the arm excitedly, asking if you want to share a cab home, for she reveals that she too, secretly dips the quill in ink and needs an expert opinion, yours for sure since you’re SO good looking too!

risks: the weather diverts the plane to Baltimore where you live together happily after-ever, cause you’re both tired of life in cities with 3-13 perennial losing NFL teams and it is exquisitely equidistant from your annoying relatives
and ex’s





Baltimore Washington International Airport
4:29 pm Dec. 2nd
onlylovepoetry Mar 2018
cold turkey time
hid the remote in the linen closet

playing
alicia keys ‘fallin’ on repeat and
    she ain’t got no chance

keep on fallin’ and she can’t say anything
except répétez après moi s.v.p.

and repeat we do
baby I’m crazy
in the bed is paper and pen
when inspiration says breather time

two tongues tonguing intertwine like two two headed snakes,
spilling ink and sweaty ***** and the paper is filling up fast

sleep begging and oil offshore exploration calming explosions
love her *****  poetry

and
how she deletes every  “and” in every poem we ever writ
saying
“and if, you need an ‘and, ‘
the verse is weakly unclear”

we write in perfect clarity

cannot recall where the **** remote is hid

when she complains

i lover-whisper in each ear her,
turning her body over and over again,
in case I miss an ear,

"and and and and"

retaliation,
she sticks me with pen
"taps" the top of my head
with that yellow blue lined lady pad

saying repeat after me if you please en francais


"and and and onlylovepoetry"

sunday @ 5:13am sunday 'Sunday kind of love'
onlylovepoetry Jul 2016
somewhere between the
first date and the last date

Joni Mitchell,
she, me
  encapsulates

I'm remembering well,
pounding the dashboard of a red Jag,
laughable now, mocking this fool's need
for a middle age conceit,
his heart to restart,
reactivate

in enthusiastic lockstep with the voice of the
Joni,  the blonde goddess of his youth,
foot falling in love,
speeding along
at a
joyous sixty five,
in places where the signs said,
"thirty five to stay alive"

this aged Rip Van Winkle teenager,
in reverse osmosis of Big,
an old buck, come back to antlered life,
singing along to the CD disc
set on
backdate

I could drink case of you,
and still be on my feet


and he could

rediscovering the champagne taste
of a great first date,
feeling the heated blood and fevered mind,
symptoms of the pleasures of
anticipate

thinking she's the one
who will make him great,
happy greater, greater happy
than that one ever, ever,
he thought was roulette wheel possible,
landing on the red of hopeful
floodgate

months, days, minute minute moments
of the fated faded last date later,  
comes the
deflate

but then,
Joni singing comfort words,
reminding him that he would be,
wisely, sadly seeing, feeling,
both sides now, and yet again,
getting his mind back to
straight

I've looked at love that way,
but now it's just another show.
you leave 'em laughing when you go,
and if you care, don't let them know,
don't give yourself away


a grown man punk'd, blasted,
dumb and dumber, dumped,
a feeling sorry sad sack self,
until he reflates, drink another case,
onto yet another magical mystery first
date

pounding that dashboard once again,
believing it's not too late
that perfect roommate heart's to find and
captivate,
to attain, invade, acquaint and laughingly...

serenade
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