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onlylovepoetry Jul 2016
perhaps if you have time,
take a moment to read the
predecessor poem in the notes below first,
in order to better understand this one


<>

the love poetry curfew so lately announced
misshapen, growing without respite, by hate extensions distended,
poet's sanity uncomprehending, for yet another! sabbath desecration,
debating internally, how long should this cessation be extended,
for the pockmarking of earth's face with fresh bloodshed,
continues unashamedly, swiftly apace, these unholy days of dread,
all haggard his mind, hazard his eyes, harden his heart
no muse could sway

but shocking himself,
poet's mirror image stares and dares
with a finger-pointing,
his own specter's absurd challenge of

"and yet, now more than ever "

when children are killed like bowling pins,
there can be no satisfaction in revenge
cannot expiate evil deeds with avenge
measure for measure add-on sins,

and yet,

poet thinks quietly, repeatedly, self-surprisingly,

and yet,
love poetry, now more than ever


asking confusedly, almost ashamedly, out loudly, yet secretly,
how can this be, for there will be again, more painful awakenings,
is it the end of days, of greeting sunrise, with a love for love poetry?
with madness come and confusion everywhere rampant,
'tis a doubtful thought, the carnage having wrought
an insoluble dissolution and can love poetry be any solution?

in poet's Adirondack safe place where life tributes were
birthed, bred and trials borne, a right writ place for unmasking,
a private soul in equal parts of joy and shame,
love and pain, loss and gain,
here the weighing scales bore equal measures
of old bereft, and life uplifting visions of,
what will come, what will be, the unforeseen,
the hopeful yet of

"and yet"

a dotted line of whitecaps  beckons the poet to tread upon,
the glassine bay's waters that lay before him, go, walk on water,
a path to point where and whence the quaking waves
have gathered, calmly begging, Oh poet!
provide  assurance, explanation, comprehension,
querying him as if all sanity, has flightly, unsightly, fled
from the home shores of human sailors, gently asking poet,

"your fellow walking earth-beasts have all sensibility killed,
these times so human terrible, we waters, cannot understand"

poet's rebellious soul all so confused, asking and answering the
waters in his head, the waters that address his eyes,
seeking wisdom words from a place where logic
has been whittled and willed away,

and yet,

love poetry, now more than ever


now is the time when a love poem beyond merely necessary,
poet's eyes cast downward in shame, his thinking, hesitant and wary,
time for prayer, not madness distraction of a love poetry commentary

the waters dissatisfied at his confusion,
part as if by Moses's staff, majesticly powerful rise up,
confronting poet with the sweetest tasking
as if they were the downtrodden and the hurting, asking...

"we storm, drown and take, for such is nature's angry periodic way,
something beyond our control no matter what we say,
to another's dictate and momentum, we must bow and obey,
but you human, have choice, and we have none -
choose love poetry and let it comfort like no other"

and the poet sighed and wrote

this poem

this poem of love,
realized and conjectured,
with inserted verses of

"and yet,"

for though the poet possessed no well of well words
more than these few saddened and impoverished,
wearied, hard scrabbled ones

and yet,

gasping and grasping a potent notion, a portent of what if,
of a world with no love poetry,
a planet that could not ever-overcome hate, dooming itself,
for love poetry and all its cousins and associates,
the only method to confiscate
these grill blackened marking silent barbell weights
so let this be ,
this is a love poem,
and now,
this is the time,
to let

"and yet"

vindicate...


<>
6:20am
Saturday July 16, 2016
and yet
one week ago, July 10, 2016...

there will be no love poetry today
there will be no love poetry today
Sabbath cancelled

there will be the will to love
and there will be poetry

someplace

but not here, not today

the load bearing suspension
of belief

beyond busted

the mind

no mas

busted

one killing too many

love poetry seems inappropriately fruitless


there will love
and there will be poetry

somewhere

but not here

more than pointless,  
sacrilegious,
human sacrifice ruthless,
a ****** sacrilege

the world profaned and the blood spilling
is in everything and everywhere  

and has driven the love poetry out of this person


maybe tomorrow

may it be tomorrow, we will pass a twenty four

news cycle  
with the bombs gone quiet
the innocents surviving
and the god spark burner inside me will
relight on its own

but not today not here not me

there will be
no love poetry

and this

this is not a poem

http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1704071/there-will-be-no-love-poetry-today/  

<>
Traveler Mar 2014
Life, it seems a question
That’s answered only in death
A light that leaves your body
As you grasp for your last breath

What comes next
Nobody can know
You came like a dream
And now I’m alone

The tears that I bleed
Are hidden by lies
My love is spread thin
For those I would die

Her eyes gave me access
To see through her soul
Now I've gone blind
How could she let go

If death holds the answer
And love holds the key
Then somewhere beyond
She’s waiting for me
Traveler Tim
Over 20 years
I still can't let you go



https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QU1nvuxaMA
Nope not better than Poe
try as I may not to mope
I don't even compare....
I might be a bishop but he's
definitely the Pope
Trying out some cipher games
Vores kærlighed var som en rutsjebanetur
Der var op- og nedture
Og jeg sad helt tæt på dig
Den havde en langsom stigning
Og et hurtigt fald
Jeg skreg ”hurtigere” og du skreg ”STOP”
Jeg havde mine hænder i vejret
Og du holdt om mig
Der var ikke 1 kedeligt sekund
I den turbulente flyvning
Og da vi stoppede
ved det første sikre sted
sagde jeg ”lad os gøre det igen”
og du brækkede dig i mit ansigt
Terry Collett Feb 2017
It was the meet place,
sea behind noise making,
dull sky threatening rain.

Enbright walked beside Bill,
white rain coat open,
hands in pockets.

Told them you
were best for the job,
Enbright told,
feet on damp sand,
shoes making tracks.

Where's the job?
Bill asked.

Looked past Enbright,
saw gulls,
beach deserted.

Enbright passed him
folded paper chit,
watched as Bill
opened it slow with fingers.

How they want it done?
Bill said,
watched gulls take off.

Accident kind of thing,
no leads back
to the Agency,
Enbright said,
eyeing Bill,
his pale face,
dark suit.

I am a pro
I know what to do
and how,
Bill said moaningly,
eyes on the sand,
ears cocked
for Enbright's words.

Not saying you're not,
just making it clear,
Enbright delivered,
pausing,
eyeing Bill.

They both stood
and looked at the sea,
took in gulls,
incoming waves,
no one about.

Heard your father died,
Enbright let out,
looking at Bill.

Yea gone,
Bill said,
Mom's taken it bad,
she was close to him,
I wasn't.

Enbright nodded his head,
breathed in the air,
grey skies,
sea rush.

Bill said nothing more,
silence enfolded them,
chilly hush.
TWO AGENTS MEET BY A SEA PLACE IN 1968.
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