WOW! That was some poem Robert - very intense! Your experiences coming through so clearly. Well done! Back later with something -- I hope!

Finally

his smile
lights my days
and nights
mischievous as he is

he makes me feel
alive
and comfortable.
at home in his arms

can't imagine life
without his laughter
or his strength
assuring me
encouraging me
believing in me.

The day would be better

rattling around the house
it seems so much bigger
empty
since she's gone.

he sighs deeply
at the check in in his hand.
senses the finality of it all
and a tear slips down his cheek

it will take care of the
expenses; not much else
but it was never about that.

he'd take a match to paper
if it would buy one more day
one more moment
one more second with
the one he loves

“Memories Surface”

Memories filter through the shadow of time
Clock on the mantel, panels of sheer white
Sun finds a pathway, family silhouettes light,
Animate visions of the home I called mine.

Lace doilies on the furniture,
A place to rest our heads.
Homework, play, then supper,
Certain set time, get to bed!

Ninacarole
11/10/09

Does he love me?

He enfolds me in his arms
and nibbles on my ear
whispering sweet nothings,
but does he really love me?
Am I just bowled over
by his attention and desire,
too eager to be swept away,
unwilling to pay attention
to negatives like his stubbly
beard that scratches, his
wrinkled shirt and scruffy
hair, his insistence on his way,
his perpetual tardiness?
Is there a perfect man out there
who dotes on my every wish
and suffuses me with tenderness,
making me heart leap for joy
when he says, “I love you”?
Maybe not, but I keep hoping.

Anti-Love Poem

At long last, he’d found her
His beautiful queen;
A magical moment --
Delightful love scene.
His antennae were filled
With the lovely aroma
Of his ravishing queen’s
Nicely shaped metasoma …


Couldn't resist reposting this different take on the prompt from April. :) I'll write a new one later.

Robert, this is definitely one of your best ever ... in my book. Wow.

Permission to write a love poem!? It's like a gift!

Raised by Wolves

My pet wolf is no analyst of emotion
though she can snort with disgust
at flowery Chinese metaphors, “I
am the peach tree,” Indeed! She
would prefer to chew up a rawhide
than sit by the phone awaiting rings.

She’s come to respect your ability
to feed her, my home made stew
over rice. Early in the morning her
large nose presses the back of your
knees like a kiss. Nails clicking, Mango
dances eagerly on the kitchen linoleum.

Real love doesn’t have to be dramatic
passion. Why not move toward those
who nourish? Familiarity, intimacy
the faint scent of your clean skin reminds
me delight is neither far off, nor unclear.
We are right here.

Love Is…

Somewhere between darkness
and light I reach for you.
Your hair tickles my nose
and I smell salt. Suddenly
we are at the beach, waves
lapping back and forth as
we ride the tide. The water
is rough and dangerous, yet
we make our way to shore and
all is quiet and peaceful.
We intertwine our bodies
like a puzzle, perfect fit;
sand sticks to our skin.
The scent of coffee awakens
me and I hear the percolation
of my content heart.




Dead Bread

What once was as fresh
as a newborn baby,
has grown stale like
a withered old lady.
Our love is bread;
the passion is dead.


laurie k.

...and I've read her book Robert, Marie's right! WJW duplicates the WOW!

~You're Here~

Even when I'm alone I feel you here beside me

you're in everthing I do, everything I see

The blue up above is mirrored in your eyes

I smile everytime I look to the skies

I hear your laughter in the breeze

feel your caress with the wind in the trees

The warmth of the sun is your embrace

Your kisses the rain touching my face

So I think how truly alone can I be

When everywhere I am you're still here with me.

---

Beautiful work so far, all. Can't wait to see what Walt produces. This prompt offers an opportunity to shine on his favorite ravishing subject.

FROM A WINDOW
(Anti-Love Anthem)

I threw you a line
that you wanted to hear,
You threw me a wink
and it landed right here.
I threw you a compliment
to boost your morale,
You threw me a kiss
then you said "Go to hell",
You threw all my stuff
right into a bag,
I threw you from a window
you ignorant old nag.

Mates for Life

I love to watch you dine
On poplar trees and aspen leaves,
I could gnaw all night with you.
Your walk is so enticing
And you swim with simple grace,
And when you slap your tail
My heart goes at a faster pace.
We’ve made a lovely home together
And our children have your teeth,
What more could a Beaver ask for
Than a mate to spoon against
During our long winter sleep.

The Ladies Man

He has his pride
and joy
in that glorious mane,
he quite puts all others to shame.
I thought I’d be the only one
to claim the King of the Pride,
but no,
a lazy walk,
a swish of the tail,
and I’m no longer his…
he’s on to the next
pretty face,
…just wait
until
next time.

Not exactly the favorite ravishing subject I had in mind, Walt. ;) It's funny how your poem immediately followed my comment. HA!

She drives home after a long night of work
Tired, dejected, abused
People demand of her time energy
Draining her of her healing knowledge
Demanding she make it all right
Give me drugs
Ease my pain
She pats the hands of the dying
And places warm blankets on their small skeletal forms
Death is but a heart beat away
She comforts
She calms
Words of wisdom she collects from her charges
“Don’t get old” they say “It is no fun.”
If only she could be that lucky
She lookes in their sunken eye
And smile. “It will be all right” she says
She brushes the hair out of their eyes
Creased with history that they can no longer convey
She eases the pain with drug in bodies that have betrayed
The owner with cancer, diabetes or heart disease.
She drives home after a long night
of administering the one drug that cures all ills
her well of love is dry
it needs to be refilled.
She sits in her car as it grows cold
And sheds a silent tear
Composure regained she lifts her chin
“I’m home” she sighs and opens the door.
And is welcomed by the pitter patter of little feet.
“Mommy you’re home” the children shout in unison
They wrap their tiny warm bodies around her weary form
Despite her back aching
from hours of pulling
and repositioning her ailing charges
she bends low and kisses and hugs her babies.
“I love you mommy” they say
“I love you too.”
And her well replenished to give again.

NOW THAT"S FUNNY! I guess I shot your credibility Marie. I wrote the extreme first to contrast what you were saying. I saw the prompt and "Pavlov's" bell was ringing in my head. Stay tuned. It will be Getting Better.

No doubt, Walt! :)

P.S. I LOVE YOU

I've flowed on the subject of you,
expounding the virtue and pulchritude,
telling of our long distance tether
that lassoed each heart securely.
I've written on my missing you
forever and a day, and finding you again
was the end of a long day. A day that lasted
thirty-four years, betwixt heartaches and
salty dog tears, to come to be standing
where God meant me to be. Near you,
was home and sanctuary, work and pleasure,
passion and compassion. Near you was
pain and healing, helplessness and uselessness.
Near you was where I needed to be to
make my poetry sing and my heart to release
the words that held us bound. Not a promise
we had exchanged, but a lifelong commitment
nonetheless. And when my days finally end,
I will have had experienced a little bit of
the bite of death's breath, for a part of me
died when you breathed you last. I crave you.
I miss you. I memorialize you in my words.

P.S. I Love You

wow...Walt...
I laughed at the first
the second gave me goosebumps!
Excellent!

Love and Hate in One Small Space

A blank sheet of cyber paper stares at me
from the computer screen.
It taunts me, as it always does
when my mind is a barren wasteland.

Words escape me.
My thoughts are dry,
more arid than a desert in the heat of noon.

A sprinkle of motivation would be nice.
A downpour of creativity would be better.

Where do I go from here?
The poem I promised myself to complete?
The never-ending novel that refuses to write itself?

If I switch to real paper and an old fashioned No. 2 pencil,
will the ingenuity I fool myself into believing I embrace
actually produce something?

If the pen is mightier than the sword,
where does that leave the keyboard?

Enough babbling. Return to now.

Ideas begin to form, words begin to flow.
A sudden surge of feelings are expressed
on that evil, empty screen.

The computer isn’t mocking me anymore.

I struggle, but the battle isn’t lost.
My armor is reflection,
my weapon, inspiration.
I was nearly defeated by the enemy within,
but I emerged from the conflict victorious.

LOVE OF THE LOVED

I was nineteen.
What the hell did I really know?
I felt the tail wagging impostor
of a eight year olds puppy love.
I felt the unbearable weight
of a heart crunching crush
many times over for my taste.
A shyness that sucked the passion
out of the bottom of my glass,
like a five year old with a
recently devoured milk shake.
And a ravenous need to feel
the passion you give, see the
beauty you inspire and know the
sensation of you breath on
my sweat moistened neck as you whisper
words, tender and sweet, complete
with punctuation and flow,
this desire to feel the glow;
the love of the loved, touches my
soul again and again. Even in
the separation of our earthly bounds,
love remains love.
The love of a lifetime,
the love for the ages,
the love to satisfy completely.
The love of the loved.

Girlfriends

I love their unique style:
One wears the brightest, boldest colors,
looks so alive.
Another wears skirts and darling jackets
that accentuate her tiny waist.
Yet another wears wool sweaters with Levis,
always a step ahead of me.
Or the one who wears plaids,
her eyes bluer than blue.
The young one who wears filmy purples,
lavenders, and blues over her camey
and the southern belle who looks good in anthing.

I love their passion:
They sucks me into their vortex, light up my world
with promise and can-do attitude.
Each teaches, reaches for the brass ring,
saves my sometimes drowning soul.

I love their hearts:
Each is a giver, empathetic, funny,
serious, capable, intelligent, strong,
God-fearing women who make a song of life.

Oh I could say so much more about these women I love,
yet you would never know them — really know them.
How sad, you’ve never even seen them smile.

Go Susan Schoeffield go!


Exquisite

On top of the world
Wolf Creek Pass Summit
I saw your wonder as
you scanned the rocky cliffs
and ragged evergreens.

Your sense of adventure as
you savored snow-covered slopes.
Your thrill as you watched
the elk with rack branching
out like a bare cottonwood.

Your sense of humor
as you watched a chipmunk
nervously nibble on
a cheese puff your son
had dropped.

Your amazement
as your eyes followed
the eagle as it circled,
landing in a tree so close
all its feathery details
showed in the photos.

And I saw the way you looked at me.

If flora and fauna feel
like humans feel
they’d feel like I felt.
Exquisite.
Like a dainty, violet columbine
spotlighted by the morning sun.

Walt, I knew you wouldn't disappoint. And I know we haven’t seen the last of her light and your love. Beautiful, both.

Hmm. Code for above: WZLTU. Walt's love to you?

Oh my goodness. Then HY5WT. High five Walt.

No 1:

Love


It wasn't love at first sight.
it *was* love at first night.

My Deepest Love

Soft blue, like the sky
in the first kiss of sunrise.
Peace, carried by doves.

Again, she channels through you. If you get the chance, ask her if she had my iPod?

My Deepest Hate

Nobody hates war
more so than the warrior.
Semper fi. Peace, out.

No 2:


Love's Labours Lost


"I hate you - you ruin my life."
"If you say so dear
but that's not how I taught you to hold a knife."

Seven Layers

Let's assume
there are seven layers
of hell
and of heaven
like that taco bean dip
Aunt Trish made for Easter
with seven ingrediants

Catholics teach us
hell is for the damned
people that forget to ask
for forgiveness as the ravages
of suffering grip you in hospice
your hand reaching one last time
to hold onto to someone

Hell is a one way ticket
to unimagaginalble pain
eternity in a dentist chair

And Heaven is every thing
first class for the pious
all-inclusive love and compassion

But consider this
what if love is at the end
of it all?
The suffering, the worry,
the joy and grace.

What if love is
the final destination
in heaven
and even in hell

the melted cheese
on top of Aunt Trish's
taco bean dip
the smile from the technician
when the dentist is finally done

the hand that holds us

Day 10 – Love

There is nothing simple
About love
Four little letters
A small word
But oh so hard
To understand

It embraces and tears
It comforts and wounds
It is the epitome of
Emotion
It is the very breath
We take

There’s nothing simple
About love
You can substitute the letters
And get

Give
Live
Riven asunder

Dove
Glove
Cloven feet

Above
Is love
Alive
We dive
Into love

Teri Coyne: how imaginative and pointed!
Connie Peters: beautiful.

like heat,
love is measured
in degrees,
starting at
absolute zero
and going only up.
no one has yet
discovered if
the scale has
a top end.

Two for Tuesday


1. Write a love poem.

Grow Old With Me

Grow old with me...
share my last days as if
they were my first...
give my solace when I
thirst.

share my anguish and my pain...
give my shelter from the
rain.

Grow old with me...
until I shall part...
my life, my love, my heart.




2. Write an anti-love poem.

Sisters

Blood thinner than water;
you creep about
distant from the
other...
three fathers
one mother...

Blood thinner than water;
hate interjects
into life
further...
jealousy seeps
around one another...

Sometimes colored pencils say
"I love you" clearer than words

Love?

you think
it’s love
you’ve read all the books
seen the movies
this might be like that
just a bit.
love they all say
is awful and
wonderful
and when this is right
yes it is
and nobody else
understands why
you care so much
just like the movies and books.
but you’re not some
heroine some plastic figurine
barbie or belle
cinderella
you’re not your friends
or the women in movies
and this may be
how it feels
you think
it’s love

Last Breaths

You lay in the bed,
the long length of you still,
chest barely rising
with each quivering breath.

I sat beside you
on a desk chair
pulled against bed rails.
Slid my hand
through the slender gap,
held your quiet fingers.

For hours we held that pose,
my voice murmuring
I love you, you’re free to go.
Told that you hear
while in coma,
I hoped it was true.

In time you gasped
that final breath
and, in that instant,
two lives collapsed.

Where you went
I do not know
but this I know,
you are still with me.

Is It Possible? (C) Rich Atwater
Muses by a “Foolosopher (Philosopher)

Is anything simple? possible? Some people think it’s not!
Questions, and answers! Answers and questions! When will it ever stop?
Why are you here? What do you do? When do I ever think at all---it’s true?
Where will you go if the answer is “No”? Who do you think you are?

Why am I here? What did I do? When do I ever think at all---for truth?
Where can I go with a “Yes”, or a “No”? Who can surmise my fate?
Nothing is simple, anything’s possible, At least I think it’s so!
But the questions remain, for the answers refrain, to determine the outcome of life.

I pass an old woman on a dusty road, and wonder: “What was her life?”
She stops to stare and look at me, and wonder “Who am I?”
A “sabaka” (dog) gazes on at both of us with disinterested animal thoughts.
I smell the wild white roses---sweet, as the bee just buzzes on next to me.

And “the meaning of life” is no longer a mystery to me at all!
But the goal alludes my grasp for love of one that’s true.
So I walk alone in the “shadow of hope”, and hang on to my faith.
But the “love of life” that I seek the most seems to pass me by each time.

A beautiful girl stands next to me as we ride along on the bus.
In the youth of life with beautiful hair, and a figure of feminine design.
But she is lost to the world with her musical headphones in each ear of hers.
And I think---“Why not her?” or somebody else, or anyone acceptable at all!

But time moves on at a faster pace, and passes me by at each glance.
And the one that I love seems only a dream, as our pathways seldom diverge
A separate existence of timing that’s off has left us each alone.
Except for occasional walks in the park, and a dim conversational tone.

Is it she? Is it I? Shall our pathways meet, or divide asunder in twain?
Is it possible---at all? To be “a man and wife” at any time under the sun,
Or shall I soon depart to another life, and have no wife at all?
The questions remain, the answers---not given; so I ask again: “Is it possible?”

Love and Thirst

Sipped or guzzled,
Misted, drenched;
Love and thirst
Must both be quenched.

An EXTRA previous poem written for my daughter at age 11 growing into a young lady: Eva-Valentina Richardovna "Valya" Atwater

MY DAUGHTER
(C) Rich Atwater written March of 2008

Eva-Valentina, my Valentine heart too,
For a father’s love for daughter can also be true.
True love has many faces, and also many hues,
Some soft and sweet and still replete as Mt. Carmel’s morning dews.

A babe in arms, in innocence, wrapped in linen fair,
Her Daddy’s eyes to meet her own with tender thoughts so rare.
A laugh, a cry, a soft repose while sleeping in her crib,
And then the thought, “My Baby girl!” adorned beneath a bib.

Then suddenly she walks and talks, is running ‘bout the house,
She’s climbing stairs with Teddy Bears, as quiet as a mouse.
Amidst her toys, in ruckus mood, they soon all come to life,
Both dolls and cats and elephants, and e’en a picture of my wife.

From bicycles with training wheels, to climbing in the trees,
To jump on trampoline out back, to scrapes and cuts and bruising knees.
With blue jeans on, and pony tails, in barefoot, ---sneakers too!
She runs and jumps, and skips and hops each moment as she grew---

From childhood into woman’s youth, Young woman of my heart,
My daughter: sweet reflection of my own childhood, every part.
For in her face, and in her smile, and in her youthful laugh,
I see the boy I used to be, though in a different half.

For she’s a girl, and I’m a man, but as strange as it may seem,
This lovely girl, MY DAUGHTER dear, is like a very dream
That comes to life before my eyes to reminisce the past,
For she is me, and I am her, As a Daddy-daughter cast.
===================================================================
Poet's Note:
A poem inspired by the motherly writings of Mirla Greenwood Thayne who wrote the book of poems, stories, and articles titled: The Little Things. She also composed the LDS Primary children’s song: “I Wonder When He Comes Again”. The book is from the personal library of Sister Shirley Jellum; loaned to me by her husband “Hoot” (Hugh) Jellum as my LDS home teacher. I knew the Jellum’s on my LDS (Mormon) mission about 33 years ago in Indiana as a Christian missionary. My daughter, Eva-Valentina, (known as Valya) turned eleven years old almost four months before I wrote this poem for her---in recognition of her approach to Young Women as a program in the LDS church—when she turns twelve. March 2004

My Special Valentine

By Richard-Merlin Atwater

Love is in the air today, and every day for me
Because my heart is captured by a soft and tender--- fair lady.
Her silky hair and downy skin of radiant beauty shine
Within my thoughts and in my dreams--she’s always on my mind!

The love within my soul is there to emanate through space
And send a message soft and sweet to the wonder of her grace.
“You” are “My Special Valentine” and will truly always be.
I seek your heart, I want your love, I express on bended knee:

That I may be the man to love and worship “You” forever
And you in turn will be “my love” for soft caress and tender—
Love that’s true, love that lasts, Love eternally
As man and wife with children dear---to be “a Family”!

THE LOVER'S CALL

© By Richard-Merlin Atwater 2009

From Abydos to Sestos the distance is not far.
But salty brine and treacherous currents hinder all the way.
Yet Leander's strength and love filled mind
Took him safely 'cross the Hellespont to Hero's waiting arms.

'Til moonless night with cloudy skies and winds and currents cold,
The swim across the Hellespont had sapped the lover's strength.
And in the morning from her tower she saw her lovers frame.
Thus jumped our Hero to the brine to join Leander's flame.

(Yet passion comes and passion goes, as Shakespeare has us know)--
For Romeo sought Juliet amidst the tribal clan,
As there in Verona's town the two of Montague and Capulet,
They sought to woo through love's own woes,
Despite the enemy of hate within the flame of passion tethered high.

Yet dashed their hopes upon the ground,
With post of letter to Mantua, but much too late,
To turn the tide of love's own call within the churchyard gate,
As each lie evidenced alone---Ah me! how sweet is love itself possessed!

And once again in Troy we found that Paris took the love of Helen there,
Yet she consent to stay the course, while Hector pay the price for fools.
Achilles, and the Greek besiege, remove the Prince from family life!
While Menelaus's unworthy search, through Agamemnon's hire, brings strife.

Yet Homer weaves the poet's web to show true love enshrined,
Betwixt the sturdy man who takes 'the Odyssey'---stalwart Ulysses home to go,
Still finds a loyal and faithful Penelope as wife to husband's bosom cleave alone.
True love as man and wife amidst the test and trials of life.

And I, Yes, I--- the man of hopes and dreams, past many trials of woe,
Depart from home in Florida to 'cross the hills and plains and mountain strand.
To cast my lot midway between the Carpathian mount and Sea of Azov shores.
I woo the damsel fair ----sweetest Anya my dear, who lives in Pavlograd renown!

True love at last, 'tis there I found among the Ukrainian clan,
To bend my knee and send my plea to heaven, and to the girl----
Beseech may I, to lay in arms of bliss and beauty’s face of love,
My heart, my mind, my veritable soul----To seek the lover's call.
==========================================================================
Copyright Richard-Merlin Atwater 2009
Poet's Note:
Great lovers of the past and present: (from Shakespeare & Homer, et al)
Leander of Abydos and Hero of Sestos along the Hellespont (Dardennelles)
Romeo Montague of Verona and Juliet Capulet of Verona (Italy)
Prince Paris of Troy and Helen of Troy (originally of Sparta as wife of Menelaus)
Prince Hector of Troy and Princess Andromache of Troy
King Ulysses (Odysseus) of Ithaca and Queen Penelope of Ithaca (Greece)
Richard-Merlin Atwater of Florida USA and The Most Elegant Duchess “Lady” Anya of Pavlograd, Ukraine

When the Heart Opens
When the Mind Closes

First flower,
On the peach tree,
Opens the possibility,
Of what is to come.

Innocence, freshness, beauty.

Hope in the very first,
Of something.

Well formed soft whiteness,
Tenderness,
Joy in motion.
Present in a subtle way.

Petals fall in a gentle whisp of wind.
To a gnarling end.
Awkward, ugly, dark.
Nothing comes . . .
For awhile.

Soft new bulb begins.
It is growing, becoming rounder.
A fuzzy feel, like the first whiskers,
On a teen boy's face.

Before long,
A peach of perfection,
Beauty restored,
Saying, "Pluck me, pluck me now.
I am just right, just for you"

Those still hanging on,
Mushy texture developing.
Decay sets in,
And they fall.

Fading into the ground,
For birds to pick apart.
Mashed into the same darkness,
That gave them life.

Hope gone.

A fall,
That has no more,
Opening in sight.

Gone forever,
The Love,
The Light,
That was life's,
Pure Delight.

An earlier written poem as an EXTRA from 2005 about The Greatest Love of All---the Son of Man giving His life that we might life in the eternities

GETHSEMANE
By Richard-Merlin Atwater copyright 2005

An ‘olive press’ by name they say is called ‘Gethsemane’.
But all mankind must pass this way into eternity.
Upon the rock, beneath the trees, within the garden fair,
‘Twas JESUS CHRIST with sin’s full load, He willingly did bear.

Atonement was the purpose, wrought to bring us back to God.
Through ‘test and trial’, the only way, to follow ‘the iron rod’.
Repentance, based on broken heart, for sins committed here;
That ‘broken heart and contrite spirit’, to wipe away the fear.

The fear of death, the fear of sorrow, the fear of pain and anguish;
The fear of Satan’s grasp and hold, for oppositions languish.
These all erased and made amends through forgiveness by ‘the Lord’.
If we but act in sincerity, and seek to do His word.

Then on the cross of Calvary, He sacrificed His life.
In time He conquered death and Hell, to hold the keys o’er strife.
The ‘spirit prison’ found relief in His appointed way;
And third day’s, first of week, had now become “the Resurrection Day”!

All power is given to ‘the Son of Man’ in heaven and in earth.
He conquered all as ‘King of kings’ to give us all new birth.
Eternal glory can be for those who through sacrifice and obedience
Let Gethsemane prevail anew with sanctified concurrence.

Robert, that was an incredible poem!!!! You were in the zone today, man. Totally. One of the best of yours I've read on a prompt day.

Choices: Day 10: Love/Anti-Love


Radiant

To love is to live.
I insist on love,
on my right
to love without restraint.
No father’s perfidy,
no husband’s wandering,
possesses power to
dispossess me of my birthright.
Outward, from the very heart
of me, love flows.

THE LEGENDARY BEAUTY: “MY Sweet Anya”
© 2009 by Richard-Merlin Atwater

1. She walks in the majestic glory of true feminine grace.
2. A woman of high caliber and world class distinction.
3. A heavenly wonder as seen in the beauty of her face.
4. Soft brown eyes like ‘reverie’-- and her long brown hair like a cascading waterfall attraction.

5. The voluptuousness of her ruby-pink lips my heart enthralls,
6. The womanly figure and mystique of a born "goddess from the skies"
7. She stands in pre-eminence among the souls on earthly ball.
8. As a wondrous lady to behold as I gaze into her eyes.

9. The marvel of her gorgeous body and serene beauty of her face
10. Make requisite the need to capture her essence in eloquent poetry, and melodic song.
11. The loveliness of everything about her as she's dressed in lace
12. Arouses passion, love, desire to have and to hold her in my arms, all night long.

13. This feminine glamour girl made to enslave all the human race in awe!
14. Has been given the wondrous and lovely name, as a Legendary Beauty: "My Sweet Anya".
15. My heart, my mind, yea, even my veritable soul throughout the draw.
16. Is captured forevermore by this goddess woman as I live eternally the dreamer.

========================================================
Dedicated to Lady Anya of Pavlograd, Ukraine
Copyright 2009 Richard-Merlin Atwater

I do not love
the heat of summer
winter leaves me cold
(my fingers blanch
and then turn purple
unattractive and unfeeling)
springtime’s for the birds
(and bees and nasty biting
things and pollen)
no: it’s just about
this time of year
I love

I Love My Biceps

I first noticed them in college when I started working. As I was lifting a tray full of frozen dough, my pink work shirt rose up into my armpit and there it was, a little mound of muscle underneath my skin. I wanted to show it off to someone. To say, see, I’m not all smooth fat and stunted shape, I have form. I still flex them and marvel at how they can hold my body up, at least for a time, as I move in and out of plank position or bridge. They give me hope even as my triceps sag and jiggle. My body has become the body of my grade school art teacher’s. The first fat woman I saw who could joke about her size. To tell a student to be quiet, she’d threaten to sit on them. As she wrote on the board, she’d talk in rhythm to the movement of her folds. But, I never wanted to be her. At least not her flesh. I would rather have taken her ability to sculpt, to take the cheapest clay and somehow from it into a bowl-like vessel.

another EXTRA written several years ago 2005 in commemoration of my newly invented Perfume: "ANASTASIA" the Essence of Sheherezade==based on the Arabian Nights storyteller---and the inspiration of a "lady-love"---and published in my book: Far AWay Places and Strange Sounding Names (Stories of a Seasoned Global Traveler) available at www.3swanspublishers.com complete with pictures from fairy tales of Russia and China and real world experiences of the author.

ANASTASIA: ‘The Essence of Sheherazade’
By Richard-Merlin Atwater © May 2005

To a far away place, in a distant land,
One may come to the ends of the earth;
From the waters shore, ‘cross the sandy plains,
Up the hillside slopes, towards the mountain peaks of God!

After sultry climb through the thickets brush,
‘Cross the plateau of an upward life:
Leads to jagged cliffs, and spiral crags with precipice,
To an ultimate crowning summit.

From this needle point of the pinnacle,
On a jutting promontory alp,
At the quintessence of danger, foolhardy love?
Lies ‘the orchid garden of Sheherazade’!

To pluck the flower of eternal love, and passionate circumstance,
I maneuver my hand, my foot, my life, to the point of no return,
And there midst the clouds and mists of heaven capture the royal bloom:
The perfumed ANASTASIA, a fragrant lass, known as ‘The Essence of Sheherazade.’

There are names galore to entice and excite, to capture and to enslave,
But ANASTASIA: ‘The Essence of Sheherazade’ is pre-eminent above them all,
To sweep a man from off his feet, and capture his wounded heart,
Shot by the arrow from Cupid’s bow, penetrated to the pit!

‘The pit of my heart’ was so wounded deep, that recovery was in vain.
Eternal love, mixed with passion’s desire, raised up in eternal flame:
For ANASTASIA: ‘The Essence of Sheherazade’ my soul was captured, entwined.
The perfumed essence of a ‘Goddess’, divine femininity, the scent controlled my mind!

Elegant dames from Hollywood may grace their royal scented skin
With ‘Sensual Being’ or ‘Contradiction’ or maybe ‘Sweet Violet’ too!
And in Parie the female aire no doubt enshrouds with ‘Fleur de Nuit’
Or ‘L’Air du Temps’ or ‘Maderus de Oriente’ or ‘Bergamot’ and Oeillet!

While high society class New York perfumes with ‘Obsession’s’ scent, and ‘Jasmin’,
Or ‘Uninhibited’ or ‘Eternity’ or ‘Giorgio’--- to smell the Italian fumes,
Or perhaps ‘Lucia-in-the-Spring’ sometimes, or ‘Morning Mist’ at night,
And daytime in ‘Diorella’ with ‘Beautiful’ and ‘Exotic Forest’ delights.

Milano’s models walk in grace and poise, perfumed by ‘Crepe de Chine’,
Perhaps ‘Bakir’ or ‘Memoire Cherie’ or ‘Santal Blanc’ and ‘Chipre’,
And London girls perfume themselves ‘Obsessed’ with ‘White Musk’ and ‘Amber’,
But go to shop in ‘Alma de Alma’ or ‘Drakkar’ or ‘Jade East’--- if found!

While ‘southern belles’ from magnolia trees take scent in ‘Gardenia’ so true,
But wish upon ‘Nag Champa’ and ‘Angel Wings’ to fly on clouds above,
Yet Latino maids prefer ‘Casaque’ or perhaps ‘My Sin’ or ‘Khadija’,
And calypso tune the dance about enshrined with ‘Shalimar’.

And common teenagers, world around, are seeped in ‘Ecstasy’,
And hope someday to once afford ‘Malvaloca’ or perhaps ‘Jarad’s Mix’---up in a tree!
But listen, my children, of ‘Blue Waltz Dime Star Store’,
And you from ‘Chanel’ and at Estelle Lauder, or even at Christian Dior:

The most heavenly scent, perfumed for gods to smell on goddesses “bod”,
‘Tis named for ‘sweet mother of flowers’, and ‘Arabian Nights’ of olde:
ANASTASIA: ‘The Essence of Sheherazade’--- the aroma fragrance: odoriferousness,
“Intuitus”, ‘smell to high heaven’, the most elegant female ‘eau de Cologne perfume’!

an EXTRA on the great LOVE of a mother for her children wherein she scultures them in the likeness of the Divine to follow the Master in truth for happiness

Sculpturing a Likeness of the Divine
(C) Richard-Merlin Atwater 2004

Ah, Motherhood, how sweet
the joy can be---
To teach her children right
from wrong;
And truth and righteousness to see.

There is a God above enthroned,
And if we but could part
The veil of doubt, released in truth,
Then one could see the chart:

For in the course of tutorship
A faithful mother shines
With light and glory in her role
To cultivate the youthful minds.

No other work can equal hers.
No skill important as may seem
Can take the place in eminence
What e’r the world may deem.

Not like the artist hers may be,
On canvas paint the beautied form.
Nor like the sculptor hers to chisel,
On marbled statute well adorned.

She may not place the noble words,
As author, with embodied thoughts of power.
Nor capture melodic sentiments
To express the musicians graceful hour.

But help of God, and Motherhood
Can rend the greater part, enshrine,
To develop a human soul for eternity---
Sculpturing the likeness of the Divine.

Many who have blessed the entire world
With light of genius, holiness, and truth
Owe the mainspring of their successful influence
To a praying, Christian mother, like the Biblical Ruth.
=========================================================================
Poet's Note:
Written on 5 July 2004 in my room at the Black Sea hotel in Odessa, Ukraine. Inspired by the observations I made while visiting Tamara Nikolaevna Buchinski, the mother of three small daughters. I had spent the previous week with her and her family in Mariupol on the Sea of Azov. Here indeed was a mother of distinction, one who was sculpturing the likeness of the Divine, in humble but circumspect circumstances with her posterity. In like manner I remember my own mother (Eva V. Atwater) as one who believed in Jesus, and as a mother of twelve children who made many sacrifices.

MY BEST FRIEND
(C) Rich Atwater

My best friend
is a dog named "ACE".
He's my pet,
and he lives at my place.
We go running
each day of the year,
And the things we do
bring happiness and cheer.
He wags his tail
when I call his name.
He makes me smile,
For friendship is better than money or fame.

My Love/Hate Food Relationship

I hate broccoli
although ‘hate’ is such a strong word.
Okay...
I thoroughly dislike broccoli
(is this the term that’s preferred?)

I loathe, abhor,
detest (hardcore!)

broccoli.

I love dark chocolate!
I cannot state this strongly enough.
Okay...
I am thoroughly stuck on dark chocolate
It’s so irresistible, that yummy stuff.

I worship, adore,
am mad about (hardcore!)

chocolate.

OUT OF LOVE

Why is she always the one – Sue, Debbie,
Elaine, whatever her name –
who disappears in tears and a huff
up the hill, cliffed-out, lost in underbrush, or
just thumbing a ride out of town,
to the main road, interstate, anywhere
but with that man – Bobbie, Jason, Frank,
whatever his name – who reports her missing,
says he has no idea why
she’s gone without a trace?

A long slow drive to this hardly-town
between mountain and river.
Corner store, saloon, a guy who works
on old trucks; scattered shacks; dredger piles
where they used to mine for gold.
Cottonwoods have spent
the last coin, tarnished leaves slick
underfoot. The river
where we start looking for a lover
who’s fallen out of love.

another EXTRA for your perusal on the love of friendship and all that God has created---LOVE---what a great subject!!! like the Beatles sang "All YOU need is LOVE" --- in all its various forms. LOVE makes the world go 'round---I know by experience as a 30 year career American Defense Intelligence officer---since I've seen the "anti-love" that exists "behind enemy lines" all over the wolrd---yet I prefer to acentuate the positive and center on LOVE as predominant--as it will prevail in the END!

RELATIONSHIPS
(C) Rich Atwater 2002

I'm related to you, and you're related to me,
And all of us together are travelling on a space ship through life's stormy sea,
Old mother earth belongs to us, belongs to you and me
And like a ship that sails the seas, she's the ship of relation trees.

We trace our kin, we trace our folk, we trace our ancestors too,
Our genealogical line is known by blood that's as true as blue,
It has roots below, and branches above, and looks just like a tree,
A tree, a ship, and relations too, are relationships for me.

To get to know, to communicate, and to empathize a while,
Takes time, and effort, and desire enough, and the wanting to become a friend,
It's the thread of life, and the major thing that makes it all worthwhile,
To have a friend, to be a friend, and a relationship that never ends.

To say "Hello", to say "Goodbye", and in between: "I love you", too,
Is worth more than gold, it will fill the soul with happiness in the end,
To talk with me, to walk with me, and to get to know me true,
As I in likeness do the same where e'er the road may bend.
Relationships, and ships and trees, and relations in between,
For the love of God, for the love of man, for the love of everything,
The meaning of life and of happiness requires a friend that's seen,
Who takes the time to spend a while and connect *the circled ring.
*(sometimes called the circle of life)
=========================================================================
(Written 19 January 2002 after a discussion with a 'true southern gentleman'
my good friend, Gary Harrell, in my home-made garden called "The Garden
of Heavenly Delights", under an umbrella palm tree (in front of my Florida
home) discussing the meaning of life and the significance of relationships.)
(Meaningful likewise in reflection of my friendship with Paolo & Julie Ammannati, "Hoot" & Shirley Jellum, and Norman & Mary Ann Smith.)

Nothing For Granted

Whispered secrets at midnight,
your hand at the small of my back,
forty-eight years
of laugh lines, heartaches,
and shock
when you betrayed my trust.

IN LOVE AGAIN
(C) Rich Atwater
composed as a pop-rock song recorded in the studio on a music CD titled:
ROMANCE, DREAMS, and LOVE by "Rich Atwater & the Astronauts"

Sometimes the one you love doesn't feel the same,
You give your heart, but all you receive is pain,
Time moves along, and brings with it new friends and change,
Soon you realize that love has come again.

You sing the same refrain: "Love again."
Well, I'm in love again. "Love again."
Yes, I'm in love again,
But this time I know that it's for good.

And when the feeling came, I simply held your hand,
You looked into my eyes, We were in paradise,
I've been in love before, I know the hurt and pain,
If you should go away, Would be a sad refrain.

I'm in love again, "Love again."
I'm in love again, "Love again."
Yes, I'm in love again,
But this time I know that it's for good.

=============================================================
available at www.cdbaby.com under artists name or album title

SOMEONE TO LOVE AND TO TALK TO
(C) Rich Atwater Country Song

I don't care if the sun don't shine,
I don't care if the train is on time,
I don't care if the rivers run deep,
I don't care if the mountains are steep.

As long as I've got someone to love, and to talk to,

I don't care if it rains in June,
I don't care if it's night or noon,
I don't care if it's dark or light,
I don't care if it's wrong or right.

As long as I've got someone to love and to talk to,

I'm just an ordinary sensible man,
But I've seen lots of trouble in time,
Seems life is hard and complicated enough,
But I just need someone to love,---and to talk to.

I don't care if the music is sweet,
I don't care 'bout the rhythm or beat,
I don't care about money or gold,
I don't care about growing old.

As long as I've got someone to love, and to talk to,

I don't care 'bout the governor's seat,
I don't care when the Senators meet,
I don't care if it's late or soon,
I don't care 'bout the man in the moon.

As long as I've got someone to love, and to talk to.

I'm just an ordinary, sensible man,
But I've seen lot's of trouble in time,
Seems life is hard and complicated enough,
But I just need someone to love,---and to talk to.

I don't care if the sun don't shine,
And I don't care if the train is on time,
I don't care if the rivers run deep,
I don't care if the mountains are steep.

As long as I've got someone to love, and to talk to,
Long as I've got someone to love, and to talk to.
========================================================================
Country song on my pop-rock album ROMANCE, DREAMS, and LOVE cdbaby.com
(Composed to music simultaneously when written-1991
in Shiloh, Illinois when I was a Major in the Air Force.)

What's this? An Atwater Avalanche! ;)

LOVE

We oppose
Yet we draw flames
We are opposite
Yet the same
Hands that fire my desire
eyes that burn my soul
I feel your presence
I hear your needs
Our love ignites
and burns pure
the blackness
that is my heart


ANTI-LOVE (not really anti-love, but what is anti-love,
is it the absence of love or is it fear of love,
or something else altogether?)

I see, I sense, I feel
akin to a certain part of you
that invites me to try again
to touch the chord that vibrates
in harmony with you
but my mind plays games
and I am uncertain
I hesitate, afraid to try again

J. Kuykendall

another EXTRA from the past "golden oldies"

IT AIN'T NECESSARILY SO
(C) Rich Atwater

It ain't necessarily so,
It ain't necessarily true,
It ain't necessarily fact:
That I'm in love with you!

But on the other hand, Honey, I say,
It ain't necessarily , Nay,
It ain't necessarily said,
"It's got to be that way."

But when you know that I'm in love with you,
And you want to hold my hand,
You can know that life's a heavenly place,
'Cause I'm your man.

You can dance and sing, and jump and shout,
You can stomp and clap your hands,
You can do 'the Heck!' whatever you want,
But understand:

Rome wasn't built in a day,
True love doesn't come overnight,
It ain't necessarily so,
That every thing's all right.
And when a friend passes you by the way,
And he asks, "How are you doing today?"
It ain't necessarily right
That you should say, "O.K.!"

You might think that I'm so mean and cruel,
You might think that I'm so bad,
You can think 'the Heck!' whatever you want,
But I'm so glad

That you think that I'm in love with you,
And you think that I'm so cool.
You can think 'the Heck!' whatever you want,
But I'm no fool!

It ain't necessarily so,
It ain't necessarily true,
It ain't necessarily fact:
That I'm in love with you.

But on the other hand, Honey, I say,
It ain't necessarily, Nay,
It ain't necessarily said,
"It's got to be that way!"

So I necessarily want to say that, "I love you!"
Yes, I necessarily want to say that, "I love you!"
===========================================================
album song ROMANCE, DREAMS, and LOVE cdbaby.com
(Composed to music simultaneously when written-1985)

MY RUNWAY MODEL
(C) Rich Atwater pop-rock song

I met a girl, She's my passion desire,
She sets my heart, and my soul on fire.
I took her dancing out in the street,
And then we stomped, and we danced to 'the beat'.

Her flashing eyes, and her shining dark hair,
Like silhouettes danced about in the air,
Her body moves as the music vibrates,
To the 'rock music' of Breads'-David Gates.

The clouds were up above,
The city lights,
Reflections of the night,
In 'Neon signs' so bright.

I met a girl, she's my fashion design,
My runway model, she looks mighty fine,
She's photogenic, and glamour it's true,
A 'touch-of-class', and a 'cover girl' too!

Her ruby lips, and her sparkling white teeth,
Refresh the scene like a new Christmas wreath,
She's standing still like a manaquin now,
But when we dance she stands out in the crowd!

And when she holds my hand,
I'm in the clouds,
Electric excitement,
Spins me around, and 'round!

I met a girl and she's a 'Number 10',
'Top-of-the-charts', she's 'a hit' with the men,
She turns their heads and they all give a sigh,
But she is mine, and I'll love her tonight.

I hold her close, and I whisper her name,
And then we kiss and I tell her again,
I love you so, and I always will,
We go together, just like 'Jack 'n Jill'.

And now I talk about,
My dream come true,
I want to jump and shout,
And give my love to you!

I met a girl she's my passion desire,
She sets my heart and my soul on fire,
I took her dancing out in the street,
And then we stomped and we danced to 'the beat.'

I met a girl she's my passion desire.
I met a girl she's my passion desire!
=======================================================================
Pop-Rock song recorded by "Rich Atwater & the Astronauts" on the album:
ASTRO-ROCK (C) Millennial Music Record Company www.cdbaby.com
(Composed to music simultaneously when written-1985 about
a news article I read concerning a local girl (Seabrook, Maryland)
who had made it big as a 'runway model'.) I was a Captain (soon
to be Major) in the Pentagon living in Maryland.)

BABY'S EYES

Much to my surprise,
I looked in Baby's eyes,
Much to my surprise,
What did I see, Woooah!, Woah!
Much to my surprise,
I didn't realize,
That my Baby is still
In love with me.

I found fortune,
I found fame,
I found Baby
Calling out my name.

I found love, so true!
I found treasure
In my baby's arms anew.

If you're looking for true love,
Go find your Baby, by stars above,
When you find her you will see,
True love is in your Baby's eyes, like me!
Much to my surprise,
I looked in Baby's eyes,
Much to my surprise,
What did I see. Woooah! Woah!

Much to my surprise,
I didn't realize,
Much to my surprise,
Where would I be without love:

I'd be sad, I'd be blue,
I'd be lonely, searching for a clue,
I'd be down, I'd be out,
I'd be lost, and drifting all about.

If you're looking for true love,
Go find your Baby by stars above,
When you find her you will see,
True love is in your Baby's eyes, like me.

Much to my surprise,
I looked in Baby's eyes,
Much to my surprise,
What did I see,
I found love,
I found love,
I found love.

(Composed to music simultaneously when written- 1985
as a 'Pop-Rock' song while a Professor at BYU)on the pop-rock album
ROMANCE, DREAMS, and LOVE recorded by "Rich Atwater & theAstronauts"
Millennial Music Record CompAny

Silly Little Love Poem
(Any suggestions for a better title out here?)

Did you notice
That I noticed
You were noticing me too?

Did your eye
Catch my eye
When I eyed those eyes of blue?

Were you touched
When we touched
Accidentally (if that’s true)?

Did you see
That I sighed
As I saw your soul shine through?

Did you sense
The immense
Magnetism, me to you?

Do you know
You’re loved so,
And I’m glad I said “I do.”

speacial poem of long ago on the love for children everywhere

CHILDREN
(C) Rich Atwater

Blessed is the man whose quiver is full
Of arrows sent from God;
Such are the words spoken of old,
In honor of children sent from above.

Innocence, purity, candid, and cute;
Inquisitive folks in miniature style.
These, the reflections of days gone by
For grown-ups reminiscing the distant miles.

Suffer little children to come unto me,
For of such is the kingdom of heaven,
Gather around me the call of the Master,
The little one's who serve as life's leaven.

Laughing and playing, and dancing and singing,
These are the things that children do.
Whimsical cares of light-hearted people,
Passing away the days to youth.

But other children in distant lands,
Oft times forgotten who stand alone,
Hung'ry and naked, starving and cold,
Seek for the refuge only found in a home.

Suffer little children to come unto me,
For of such is the kingdom of heaven,
Gather around me the call of the Master,
The little one's who serve as life's leaven.

Standing on sidewalks, on corners of streets,
Playing in gutters and looking for food,
Shrouded in tattered rags that suffice
To cover their bodies, but not their mood.

Children who earnestly, longing for LOVE,
Find themselves lost to the world,
Let us reach out to the children in need,
And open our hearts like a flag unfurled.

Suffer little children to come unto me,
For of such is the kingdom of heaven,
Gather around me the call of the Master,
The little one's that serve as life's leaven.

Give me a dozen or more of my own,
That I and my wife might share,
To raise in our cottage somewhere in the vale,
In a happy home life that's sweet and fair.

Make us a father and mother to some,
A mixture of boys and of girls,
Give us the chance to fulfill our creation,
To gather our priceless pearls.

Suffer little children to come unto me,
For of such is the kingdom of heaven,
Gather around me the call of the Master,
The little one's who serve as life's leaven.

Joy in my kinship, posterity's line,
'Tis children I think of today,
And when I grow old and go in to eternity,
For my wife and my children I'll pray.

This is the counsel Jesus has told,
In spirit of contrite heart:
That heaven above is just like a child,
The humble and innocent part.

Suffer little children to come unto me,
For of such is the kingdom of heaven,
Gather around me the call of the Master,
The little one's that serve as life's leaven.

(Composed to music years after it was written-Sept 1985)

A FAMILIAR PLACE IN TIME
(C) Richard-Merlin Atwater

Drifting alone in time,
'Til I met you,
You are the only one,
Love so true.

Now that our time has come,
And you're with me,
We'll share our love today,
And through eternity.

A familiar place in time
When I met you.
Two hearts now beat as one,
Love so true.

The promise that we made,
To never part,
We seal our love today,
My sweetheart.

At the altar as we kneel,
Your eyes meet mine,
I hold your hand and feel
That we are one.

A familiar place in time
When I met you.
You are the only one,
Love so true.

We take our vows today,
Love from the past,
Revealed in covenants,
To be one at last.

In the Temple of the Lord,
Where time is not,
True love eternally,
Is ours sweetheart.

A familiar place in time
When I met you.
You are the only one,

Relish

your breath on my skin
rhythmic ins and outs
of sleep well deserved
after hours spent
languidly entangled
enveloped in passion

i stroke your face
the fringe of those long lashes
flutter
and you pull me tighter to you
sighing into slumber

as i lie there, feelings well up from within
where have you been and why had it took so long
to find the one -that true, true one

relaxing into dreams
realize that it's not why
but thank heavens
that he found me

A MAN AND A WOMAN IN LOVE
(C) Richard-Merlin Atwater

She runs her fingers through my hair,
I hold her close and say "I care!";
I kiss her lips so tenderly,
She knows the feeling to be free
As a man and a woman in love.
As a man and a woman in love.

I whisper sweet words in her ear,
She gently sighs and calls me dear,
As we embrace so earnestly,
She knows the feeling to be free
As a man and a woman in love.
As a man and a woman in love.

Time that stood still when we were apart,
Until that moment you captured my heart,
True love we'll treasure each sweet memory
Of just the thought of you and me
As a man and a woman in love, In love;
As a man and a woman in love.

I hold her body close to mine,
The rapture of our lives entwine,
We two 'as one' now move and breath,
She knows the feeling to be free
As a man and a woman in love,
As a man and a woman in love.

We hold each other Oh so tight,
She lays beside me in the night,
And in the morning there I see,
My dream of sweet eternity,
Of a man and a woman in love,
Of a man and a woman in love.

Time that stood still when we were apart,
Until that moment you captured my heart,
True love we'll treasure each sweet memory
Of just the thought of you and me
As a man and a woman in love, In love,
As a man and a woman in love.
====================================================================
(Written as a composition to music as a love song on the
greatest theme in the universe---LOVE---easy listening love song--
Title song on the album ROMANCE, DREAMS, and LOVE recorded by "Rich Atwater & the Astronauts" www.cdbaby.com Millennial Music Record Company
smash hit of 1985

LOVE IN A FOREIGN TONGUE

[All that Virgil said or sung you can read and comprehend
in the evenings of one week, without conjugating a Latin verb.
- Elihu Burritt, “The Poor Boy’s Inheritance”]

And all those years of spare moments you spent
learning Latin and Greek, German and French, was that
a waste? Could you reap Virgil’s fields

and harvest Homer’s apples in translation?
Perhaps. But the music, Elihu!
How "andra moi ennepe, mousa" and "Troiae

qui primus ab oris" – those tiding dactyls
lapping line by line the shore of poetry – don’t they
sail us on waves of a wine-dark sea?

Don’t you fall in love with the sounds
in another language? Think of "honeymoon," a pretty
enough picture – but how the heart swells

to "luna de miel." And what a different,
tinseled image comes to mind with "Flitterwoche,"
spangle-week in German.

English is a road to almost everywhere.
But, Virgil without a conjugated Latin verb?
Elihu, what lovely poetry we’d miss.

an EXTRA bonus on LOVE pertaining to the greatest example on that subject--JESUS CHRIST

THOUGHTS ON THE LIFE OF JESUS
(C) Richard-Merlin Atwater
composed to music as part of an Oratorio on the Life of Christ--titled: Atwater's "Life of Christ", sort of like Handel's "Messiah"

A Humble Man of Common Birth----

A humble man of common birth
Who lived in a far away land, (my friend)
Showed to the world the meaning of worth,
Of the heart and the soul of man.

Not as a ruler, not as a king,
But just as a teacher and friend, (Amen)
A message of gladness to all he would bring,
With LOVE from the heart, and an open hand.

"Peace be upon you", "My grace to attend you",
This was his beckoning call,
To every disciple, and not just a few,
For his invite was open to all.

Told to the rich man, and to the poor man,
To the women, the children, and youth. (my friend)
His gospel was offered to all as the Good Plan
That would alter the world if we'd live it.

Moved by the Spirit, and led by His Father,
Through supplication and prayer. (Amen)
All of His time He spent for His brothers,
For you and I were His constant care.

"Service to others", and "to love one another",
This was His message of old.
"For every man to watch o'er his brother",
Is what Jesus to all had told.

He lived by example for all to see,
And 'the Golden Rule' was His guide. (my friend)
"Do unto others as they unto me",
Was the standard that He would confide.

Born as a Savior, and herald'd by angels,
To shepherds in fields by the way. (Amen)
Honored by wise men of Eastern dangers,
Led by a star to the place that He lay.

His temple endowment from Priestly thoughts,
Were centered on peace for this earth;
Though men of influence had cast their lots
To counter His life from His birth.

Men of Influence and Jesus' Call----

First there was Herod, a king of the day
Who slaughtered the innocent babes;
The sword of his soldiers for Jesus had sought
In the town of Bethlehem's raids.

But Joseph and Mary were visited by
An angel sent from above;
And off to Egypt in exile they went
To protect their innocent love.

Home to a village, away from the strife,
Near Galilee's shores they had come;
Joseph the carpenter, Mary his wife,
Raised Jesus of Nazareth as their son.

Then to Jerusalem, off to the Feast
Of Passover, by the way,
Jesus at twelve with the temple priest
Taught them with power today.

Then as a youth in Galilee's plains
He waxed strong in body and mind.
Traveling down the country lanes
Of Israel's tropical clime.

Then in a flash, as it seems to us all,
To manhood He rapidly came;
Earnestly, tenderly, seeking His call,
And to bless the sick and the lame.

Then to His mission He set to fulfill,
By calling His chosen Twelve.
Only to do His Father's will,
And to completely give of Himself.

Counselor, Lawgiver, Prince of Peace,
These are the roles He would play;
Staged on a world where hate did not cease,
But the words that He gave could save the day.

"Come unto me, ye heavy laden",
And cast away all of your sins;
These are the words Jesus has baden,
To follow the Father and win.

Following Jesus' Truth-----

Win of His crown, Win of His glory,
Win of His Kingdom above;
Oh how I love to tell the story
Of Jesus and His LOVE!

Teaching with love, and to teach by example,
This was the way that He chose;
He'd given the Twelve a call and a mantle,
For compassionate service which grows.

Grows in the heart, Revealed in our actions,
In the daily deeds that we do;
Do unto others to gain satisfaction
By following Jesus' truth.

Out from the plains and the hills of Judea,
Jesus would teach the throng;
Words of redemption, to cast away fear,
He delivered His message all the day long.

Hailed in the triumph of entry to Zion,
Palms they would wave as He passed,
Shouts of Hosanna! The people were cryin'
As He rode on the foal of an ass.

Up to the Temple to cast out the changers,
In righteous indignation He moved;
"Out from my House you foreigners, strangers
To the will and the ways of God."

Then with the Council of Twelve He would sit,
To take of the bread and wine,
"This is my body and blood," Holy Writ
Would capture the words so divine.

Suddenly banished and quickly forsaken,
Jesus was left all alone;
Off to 'the Garden' His body was shaken
With trembling drops of blood.

Down to the Kidron, Gethsemane's vale,
Went Jesus to pray for the world;
But treacherous kiss his Master to hail
Led Judas to evil unfurled.


A Message of Hope and of Love----

Taken away to the court of the rulers,
In Caiphas's palace of sin;
And judged by these men, of spoilers and foolers,
With lies of false witness to win.

Fin'lly, to Pilate, for scourging and mock,
Jesus was crowned with the thorns;
Condemned to the cross, Oh what a shock!
Now mankind has reasons to mourn.

Walking the way of via Dolorossa,
To carry the sins of us all;
Condition: Repentance; This 'man of Joshua',
Willing to lead us away from 'the Fall'.

Up on the cross; "Father, forgive them!"
"It's done!", Was the cry of this Man;
As soldiers cast lots for His garments hem,
While the nail prints remained in His hands.

Off to the sepulcher, His body to lay,
Three days it would seem in the tomb;
But off to the spirits in prison today,
To teach them the truth, a release from their doom.

Suddenly bright, an angel would sit,
Next to the rolled away stone;
The message to give in Mary's ear; It
Was that "He's risen!", " Atoned!"

Oh what a glorious message to give,
A message of hope, and of LOVE;
For all of God's children someday will live
Through the resurrections above.

Jesus, my Savior, Jesus my Master,
It is He that hath led the way;
Oh that we all may pursue ever faster
His hopes and truths someday.

As the world approaches another Easter time,
With stories and mem'ries of old,
These are the thoughts that fill my mind,
Of Jesus, my Savior, foretold.
=========================================================================
(A poem in Tribute to Jesus Christ, Our Savior, The Prince of Peace.)
In Commemoration of the Easter Celebrations that recognize His
triumph over sin and death through the atonement and resurrection))

For All Eternity

My heart, my lips
My body knew
That somewhere in
The world was you
All other loves
Would cease to be
The day when you
Took claim of me
Be assured
My heart will be
Yours for all
Eternity

K.E.

Tiny fingers
entwined
in mine
soft unsteady steps
lead my own
innocent giggle
as I stumble
wise eyes sparkle
"owie"
so proud of understanding
simplistically pure truth
confidence unbound

gentle breaths
eyelids flutter
hands curl around my own
my nose brushes yours
your baby scent
soothes my soul
soft skin kisses mine

I love you

MY BELOVED "ACE"
(C) Rich Atwater 1985
(A Eulogy in Tribute to an Irish Setter dog)
(But More Significantly Thoughts Pertaining to the Resurrection)

Oh death where is thy sting, they said
To speak of resurrection's morn.
The thought still haunts me night and day,
Now that my beloved "ACE" is gone.

Kindred spirits bound in love,
Man's affection for his dog.
"Sarge" and "ACE" were sent to me
To lift life's shadows and its' fog.

A veil of tears, a place of sorrow,
Earth's condition we must bear.
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest",
Every living thing will fare.

The tragedy of life is that
We start…..begin to love too late;
And only after one is gone
We realize our mortal state.

Time is fleeting, soon to vanish
All our hopes, and joys, and pain,
Overcome by time and distance,
To know truth, and take heart again.

Time is short and life is fleeting,
Only LOVE will last the day;
Love of life that is eternal,
Both man and beast will pass this way.

Beloved companion, faithful canine,
Mutual love won't let us part,
Temporary separation
Holds you close within my heart.

Truth and justice for the earthbound,
As we slowly wend our way,
Onward, through this veil of sorrow
Towards the resurrection day.

When that happy morn arriveth,
Friends and loved ones' will unite;
There I want to greet my best friend,
To see my "ACE" in radiant light.

Wife and children gathered 'round me,
Sealed as one eternal band,
There with "ACE" to join our union,
I will hold him in my hands.
================================================================
("ACE" was my favorite dog. Born in Utah county, UT he was my
dog while a Professor at Brigham Young University. He died in
Oxon Hill, MD under suspicious circumstances of neighbors. I
buried him at my home in Oxon Hill, shedding many a tear. 1985)
My current dog is Bandit a Daschund-Terrier (actually my 16 year old daughters dog, She is owner, I am manager--you know what I mean???)

A PORTRAIT OF ATHOUGHT
(C) Richard-Merlin Atwater 1970

My thoughts are of true love
Like flowers in the Spring
And dew the grass doth bring
Her beauty is unfeigned.

My thoughts are of true love
They fly on golden wings
Of palaces and kings
Her beauty higher reigns.

The seasons in their change
The tempest when it reigns
The sun in radiant power
The passing of an hour
The song of birds in spring
The majesty of kings:

They all have their place
But none can match the face
And beauty of true love

Of all things He did create
But one, more perfect than a snowflake
My thoughts are of true love.

My thoughts are of true love
Of princesses and queens
And happiness and dreams
Her beauty them exceeds.

My thoughts are of true love
Of misty clouds and song
My love for her is strong
That one and matchless true love.

The wisdom of a sage
The history of an age
An Army with a banner
A tree in stalwart manner
The rushing of a stream
The happiest of dreams:

They all have their place
But none can match the face
And beauty of true love.

Of all things He did create
But one, more perfect than a snowflake
My thoughts are of true love.

My thoughts are of true love
Faith, hope, and charity
Of kindness to a friend
And to an enemy.

My thoughts are of true love
The kind that Jesus knew
Compassion from the heart
And love in servitude.

The wild and blowing wind
Seems nothing can transcend
The terror of the sea
Solitude, peace, tranquility
Drinking from life's fountain
To climb a mighty mountain:

They all have their place
But none can match the face
And beauty of true love.

Of all things He did create
But one, more perfect than a snowflake
My thoughts are of true love.

My thoughts are of true love
That comes from God above
He is the God of love
And Jesus is His Son.

My thoughts are of true love
My Savior and my King
With healing in His wings
He is the Lord of Hosts.

The swiftness of a horse
To change in life your course
Freedom in a land
Creation by His hand
The heavens and their glory
All but tell one story:

They all have their place
But none can match the face
And beauty of true love.

Of all things He did create
But one, more perfect than a snowflake
My thoughts are of true love.

Then are ye My disciples indeed
If ye have LOVE for one another.
================================================================
(Written when I was a 'Mormon missionary-1970 in Michigan)
Sent to Miss Jean Erickson of Clinton, Utah a college classmate

Time to quit and take the dog for a walk, then help my daughter with homework---a double expression of love--

sorry for all the EXTRA's but Robert you hit a "chord" on the greatest subject in the world---LOVE. more than half of my 500 poems (and nearly all of my 100 composed songs) are on that subject from 40 years of writing--nothing supercedes LOVE. Rich Atwater

Twenty-two for Tuesday (22) no more until tomorrow on another subject
RMA Poet Laureate of "the Maine Woods" and Romantic Psalmist of "Tampa bay"

Papercut Descartes

She opens the pages
and sees
the object of her desire
in the curve of a type press snake;
a river of white space
reveals his profile:
his nose, his lips, his chin

she wonders
if he can sense her watching
for who was it said
that the object of attention
is changed by the attention
so surely he must sense her reading
of his deeds and exploits
and his skill
with the little sharp knife
he keeps in his waistband
close to his spine.
And look! Does the book
not have a spine also?
she hisses
with the sudden pain of a paper cut
and a bloom of blood on the cover

I've often thought that love is far too many words

I love the gentle glow of my wifes soft smile,
the silly way she mis-pronounces words,
sweet nectar her soft lips impart,
and the silky feel of her velvet skin
imparting magic to my hands.

I love root beer floats,
tasty froth and creamy fizz.
cool sweet liquod flavors dance upon my tounge.
while the taste of ice cream
streaked with icy root beer crystals
makes my senses sing
with fizzy goodness on my lips.

I love the Dalai Llama,
radiating yet another kind of love
like light of noon day sun. The very sight of that great man,
it washes me in peace.
And in that holy presence
I become the love I feel.

There are other kinds of love of course,
and others still that masquerade as love.
The burning longing of instinctual lust
that blurs the mind and drives the loins to hunger.
It isn't love,
but who among us never thought that it was love.

Which of these are truly love,
or are there many kinds of love.
Can one word do them justice?

Love is such a schizophrenic word.

Love poem for a son

Will you love me
When you’re older
When you’re bolder
Little man?
Will you leave me
When you’re colder
When you’re older
When you can?

Will you comfort me
My stranger
When the world leaves
Me alone?
Will you rescue me
From danger
When my days have
Upped and gone?

Will you love me
When I’m weary
And can hardly
Get around?
Will you hold me
When the dreary
Tears of ages
Get me down?

Will you love me?
I have loved you.
I will love you
All I can.
I will love you
Through all seasons
You’re the reason
Why I am.

Hearing your cry
For the first time
Feeling your touch
For the first time
Breathing in your scent
For the first time

Knowing you were part of me
A continuation of my life
Not a child even more
The next step in my life
Grand

Doing the math...today's Poetic Asides prompt (Love/Anti-love) has an Atwater Content Quotient (ACQ) of 27.7% (22/83). Now, thems some fine writin', I reckon!

This Is a Love Song for Henry Andrew

This is a love poem
for my grandson, Henry Andrew,
who was born last night
and lived, I suppose,
for a few moments,
outside the comfort
of his loving mother’s womb.
And this is a poem of love,
for my thoughtful son Andrew,
and his lovely, and intelligent wife Mel,
who hoped and dreamed of this birth
for several dozens of long months.
And this is a love poem for Zahra,
who wanted a baby, a sister or brother,
to play a thousand games with her,
and to sing, and run and laugh with her,
on weekend mornings, and weekdays,
after school is done all winter long,
and fifteen loving summers in the sun.
And this is a song of love
for my sensitive and dreamy wife Sandra,
who has loved every child she has ever met,
and every child who has ever lived,
even the short-lived babies of dreams
who weigh less then a dozen ounces,
and have hand and footprints
no larger than the nails on her fingers.

“The Stoop”

Stories, laughter, caring, sharing
Starlight softly, kiss each face
Reinvent time, duplicate fashion

Denim covered legs, hug concrete
This slab, our memorable place
Friends and family, tales we fathom

Unrecoverable, love so sweet.

Ninacarole
11/10/09

New school,
New friends,
New relationships.
Laughing, talking and sharing our days
Often holding hands, our eyes ablaze,
The intensity of new found love.
It was all ours.

New town,
Odd schedules,
Those first new jobs
Stressing, coping, questioning our choices
Strengthening our stride, finding our voices,
The reality of adulthood.
It was all ours.

New baby,
Old house,
Child number two
Shifting, juggling, not getting enough sleep
Becoming a family, love growing deep
The joys of new parenthood.
It was all ours.

Sports teams,
Scout troops,
Homework needs checking
Running, driving, our careers taking flight
Talking and laughing at dinner each night.
The routine becomes the life.
It was all ours.

High school,
College search,
Yet another car?
Hearing, learning, daring to explore
Proud to bursting just watching them soar.
The deep inhale of letting go.
It was all ours.

New life,
New jobs,
Our relationship now
Laughing, talking and sharing our days
Often holding hands, our eyes ablaze,
The comfort of long term love.
It's all ours.

WHO COULD LOVE ME THIS MUCH?

You look at me with
those liquid brown eyes,
one ear up, one down.
You place your little paws
on my knees, beg me
to see you there.
You quiver.
I am busy, I say.
Off!
I push you away,
keep typing all those
important words I spin daily.
Before I complete
a sentence, you’re back.
You cock your little head
to one side, stare at me.
Do you get frustrated
by your lack of vocabulary?
You lick my hand
with your warm, rough tongue.
A poke from your nose forces
me to look at you,
gives me pause.
A wordless plea emanates
from your very being.
Finally, I succumb.
You sigh contentedly
as if my lap
was always yours alone.

Sometimes,
in my
dreams, I
remember
that once
I loved you
enough
to seek
your skull
even among
the leaves
of the
cacahuatl
tree.

Once my love
even filled
an entire
bag with
maize
kernels from
a single
stalk and
even being
pursued
did not
frighten
me from you.

Now when
I wake
restless,
Your breath
lying heavy
against my
ear, your
arm across
my breast,
I remember
my father's
halls, red
with flowing
blood and
wonder when
my hands
forgot
the shape
of your
skull,
when my
hands
began
counting
the maize
kernals.

(based on Xquic's myth)

"Strawberry Dreams"

I stare at the floor til my eyes come unfocused.
I think we are made of guesses and if possibles are all we have why are we here.
I watch my eyes draw spray paint patterns on the floor and drip purples on the wall.
I hold my hands in an irrational attempt at pretend games, can you guess who it is?
I cross my legs and I say it's for warmth in the wintertime but actually it's because I
don't want anyone to see I have ladders just above my skirt.
I pick at the skin around my nails incase there's a bit I haven't eaten yet. I wonder if
nail-biting is a form of self harm and if so why you never diagnosed me.
I chew the inside of my cheek like I have a scar there. I unconsciously ply it with my
teeth until I realise it makes me look like half my lips have gone.
I listen to your songs, and your voice, but my friends don't understand.
When I say I can hear you, all they do is laugh.
I wish they had a mind like I do.

You stare at the wall til your eyes come unfocused.
You watch your eyes while you chase after your thoughts in the hope that if you
pretend everyone's dreaming, you will too.
You fail to prevent your gaze from landing on me. You realise, and take a moment
as a memento in your mind, trying to imprint what you see onto the blackness
behind your eyes.
You hold your hands still as casual clubs in your lap and prevent them from giving
anything away, even though their unnatural posture gives away everything.
You advance in tiny shuffles with your closest limb, wanting to pour out your soul,
but with the tentativeness of a wounded deer.
You want to trust, but your brain is letting you down.
You want to hope, but your dreams are always unfocused murmurings.
You want me, I hope, but I trust you will not let me know, today.

Tomorrow will come with all the sedentary of a tide.
We shall look each other in the eye at the same time, for just a second, but it is
those half-moments that mean the most to me.
I can see in the beauty of your just open mouth, your lips flushing with blood, the
sparkle of real emotion in your eye, the chance of something I cannot name.
You can see the answering call of my dilating pupils, the way I completely forget
whatever I was saying and give up the cause just to savour your own breath and
the world you left behind, you can see that I do feel.
You don't really have to ask me, do you,
friend of mine, and ruin our chances,
when we share these strawberry dreams?

"Falling in ... "

A mistep, turned
fall a leaf
flips I am
searching my
eyes are two
torches in the woods.
I send a beam out
batman, come.
Waves through my dreams
smoke signals
can you hear me?
Burning, I search for
ice leaves
flame I disintegrate
piece by piece
ash gives in
to gravity.
I'm waiting for you, honey
to glue me back together.

LOVE
©Rich Atwater Nov 10, 2009

Linger
On
Veracious
Excitement


Doing the math...today's Poetic Asides prompt (Love/Anti-love) has an Atwater Content Quotient (ACQ) of 27.7% (22/83). Now, thems some fine writin', I reckon!


Walt Wojtanik


Sorry Walt: "I cheated" I used "my corporate empire" of previous written works of mine from yesteryear--not immediate "impromptu takes for the day". But just added them for your enjoyment, since the subject matter is the greatest in all the universe. The one above came to me during my walk with the dog today when we got caught in the rain-- 2 miles from home. I sang all the way home "Singing In the Rain" from the old tyme movie!
The above little poetic vignette is a philosophical play on WORDS, since we all HOPE that LOVE will "longer on" in truth, to our excitement of feelings that transcend all else.
See what happens when you wear spectacles (because of so much reading--turning myoptic)--- a 2 for Tuesday becomes 22. Seeing double. Happy reading and writing (no rithmatic--except for ACQ--thanks for adding the third "R" from school days of old "RRR" "Reading, Riting, Rithmatic" from the fourth "R" Rich

A tribute to the 40th Anniversary of Sesame Street


The Chorus Girl

Their’s was a love-hate relationship.
She was small town Iowa girl seeking stardom.
He the first of 2,365 siblings to leave home.
They first met on the road
She had just won the Miss Bogen County contest.
He was headed to Hollywood with a ragtag group.
They became the Burton and Taylor of their set.
She would karate chop him and then kiss the hurt.
He would walk out on her tantrums but then return.
Their love would be legendary.
She would always be his little chorus girl..
He would always be her Kermie.

YOU’VE COME AND GONE

a wet patina on the surface
of the table told me
you had come and gone
the empty glass of white wine
lying on its side in the cluttered sink

you could not wait because
life is too short; it needs to be lived
with or without me
once more you are off and running
to see the wonders of the world

I can see you now, your shoulder against
the rush of the fleeting seconds
as if somehow you had the power to
wrestle time down for the count
apply some full-nelson pressure
sing and dance forever in the moment

#

Exhale of Love

I've placed my heart
Within the strength of your palms
Knowing you have held it safe before

I ventured far into your private sanctuary
Where you allowed me to feel at home

The darkness of night was brightened
By the stars like a crown about your head
As I watched the earth move within your eyes
The cold end of winter, heated my soul
Which has been lost and alone for an eternity

Within your arms I lay, holding tight to this moment
Gazing at you, my desires, wants, and needs fulfilled
Love encircled us beneath the stars, and the dawn broke
As the naked mountain, breathe in
The crisp clear exhales of our love

Forever etching this moment upon my heart

Love’s Little Rain

When the time goes towards pain
When love’s little rain
Begins to pour
Is it time to talk it over
Once more?

Yet the words are just the same
Over and over with all our tears...

You need me,
I need you
You don’t need my individuality,
I don’t need your jealousy,
But we keep holding on

We try so hard
To keep this love afloat...
But, when the time goes towards pain,
When the love’s little rain
Begins to pour...

Is it time to talk it over once more?
Our words are spoken with fire in our eyes
Our voices screech at each, with fury
Our arms cling for each other,
And our hearts feel all the pain
Again and again,

It begins to pour

When the time goes towards pain
When love’s little rain
Continues to pour...

How much longer can we last?

Will you and I feel together once more?
Is it just a crazy phase?
Talking and trying to change
Who we are in love’s little rain?

Yeah, I'm caught up! Now if only 16000 words would magically appear for the NaNoWriMo, I could get some sleep tonight!

Hey, if anyone knows someone who is disabled who might be willing to give me feedback on my poetry so far this month, please let me know. I'm writing blind on most of these and want it to ring true...thanks.




Air leaves me like a punch in the gut.
Why's a boy like him talking to me?
What's wrong with him, that his eyes

pick me out of the crowd which surrounds
me? Impassive, I wait for him to walk away,
my armour too tough for him to breach.

But I don't want him to go. Let him look
to my eyes for what my voice can't say.





Warchild


Desire, lost.
Love, abandoned.
Intimacy, over.
Trust, gone.
Past, bound.
Present, hollow.
Future, dead.

The perfect prompt for the form I've chosen for this month: the sonnet. Here's my entry.

Love Poem For You

"Are you going to take a knee?" one student
asked, when talk had moved from Adrienne Rich
to our relationship. I hadn't meant
to speak of our nine years, of how we'd each
been hitched before, were in no rush to do
it once again, but there I was, open,
bare before twenty-seven kids who
now want to know. "We have four children,
cats, that is, to care for. What's marriage next
to that?" They laughed, but it's true. Kids are less
a tie that binds than pets. We've also mixed
our libraries, had books signed to both of us.
Divorce is not more painful that that kind
of separation. I'm yours and you are mine.

J.A., I'm a fellow muppet fan, and wrote to celebrate Bert & Ernie's long love/hate room mate relationship last year. Loved yours!

BTW, The Muppet Movie was the first one I saw as a tadpole, in the theater.

Long-Playing

I’m holding a record album
entitled Legendary Performers,
a vinyl classic, some cello music spun
years before this memory appears.

I was passing forty-six that year,
entering the middle ages
without a friend,
enduring an unending struggle,
something to do with what love was
and what love wasn’t.

I had two energetic daughters,
a husband muted and paralyzed by stroke,
an impressive career with two thirteen-story towers,
53 employees and 458 residents.
I had colleagues, board members, regulatory overseers,
architects and contractors, maintenance
experts and fund development gurus.
But until the afternoon she came,
I had no confidant, no giddy laughter,
no one to muse about the day, sip coke
out there, somewhere beyond responsibility.

She walked into the dreary circle
we called a support group for survivors,
each one taking their usual turn to say
what was most difficult with
their chronically dependent spouse.

Why had I come again?
Where was the support?

I wasn’t listening to their stories,
so much the same, not as my own perhaps, but
the same as the month before,
and back and back...

How long had I been coming?
two years now – six – thirteen?
How many times had I vowed
never to return?
None of us were moving.

And in she came carrying her instrument.
All talking ceased as eyes focused on
this petite black-haired woman,
as she gently placing her huge case
in the far corner beside the table
with the drying donuts. Their eyes
followed her to the single empty seat,
their faces intent with a solitary question
which won out in some odd spoken unison,
“What -- is -- in -- that?”

“Oh!” she said, looking back
to the gleaming curve of that cello case.
“That’s my husband.
I have to take him -- you know --
where ever I go.”
A startled gasp leaked into the room,
as she dropped unconcerned into her chair
and I clamped my hand across my mouth
to contain the laughter loosened by some
unspoken secret between us now.

Eleven concerned faces stared at her.
Leaving one’s spouse inside a case
was serious and not condoned. Leaving
him in the parlor staring at TV
was however acceptable.

I stilled my face, yet uncertain,
thinking I was mistaken, when Rosa asked,
“How can he breathe?”

I laughed because I couldn’t hold it back,
because this woman named Renata
had demonstrated something I had
not dared to speak.
I laughed because she didn’t know
I intended to join her and her cello,
spend other afternoons giggling
taking irreverence seriously, listening
to this sound, like balloons rising, strings let go,
floating soft and free.

Renata had her turn to smile
as I chased her and her cello,
through the parking lot,
my high heels sticking
in the softened asphalt
of that Georgia summer day,
me calling, “Wait, wait,
we’ve got to talk.”

For years we talked and listened
let that cello smooth a ragged phase.

We are legendary performers,
long-playing roles of lovers
wives carrying what we won’t put down,
smiling in the space that laughter opens
in the heart of speaking yes
to what is impossible
holding all we yet possess.

...okay, so the first one's kind of a creepy love angle, but let me tell you, after some research, there are just about zero Greek myths about love that are not tragic/weird. :P

...

SIGNED, YOUR DEVOTED FAN
(Pygmalion)

I've seen you incognito on the street; no doubt
you're on your way to photo shoots and interviews,
the supermodel turned philanthropist, an icon for the world to love.
But they don't see you. They don't know what I perceive,
a glorious muse,
a queen, a goddess,
statuesque, magnificent.
I've drawn you, carved you more than I can tell, those pale blue eyes,
that marble skin, that smile; I could kiss those lips forever.
Magazines and television,
movies, benefits, they're shallow trade, your image peddled
like a prostitute. Let me appreciate you, let me admire you:
I know you so well, downloaded photos papering my walls,
pathetic shrine adorned with prints and ink,
your eyes reflected hundredfold on me.
I'm working up the courage just to talk, to stop you on the street.
I'll make you see how much I need you, far-off muse of mine.
You'll bring my simulacra all to life, I'll show you.
You will understand.
You will.

...

WIDOW-TO-BE
(Clytaemnestra)

You said it was an accident, when she went missing
on your watch. Our golden child, our firstborn daughter:
kidnapped, maybe dead, hypotheses unproven--
but I have suspicions, husband.
Needed time alone, you told me, threw yourself into your work,
with business trips and long vacations, left your wife
to mind the other three.
I'm not an idiot.
I can take adultery, can cope with your affairs, but I know
who you run around with: girls a third your age, just like our daughter
when she was--misplaced.
I've raged in secret through the lonely nights, considered all the possibilities,
revenge, destruction, how I'd make you hurt.
I've taken lovers, too; and when they sleep, I hold the knife
up to their throats, pretend your hateful, lupine face is snoring there.
I have premeditated, husband,
but before the end,
you'll tell me if she wept and begged, if you felt shame.
Your passions stole my daughter. Mine have
eaten me away.

MY LOVE

Jet-black hair,
lanky stride.
Quiet manner,
giant hands
stuffed in the pockets
of his Levi’s.
Scent of Old Spice
and dimples
sent me into orbit
fifty years ago,
and still does.

AC-Hits the nail on the head!

Friction

I want the kiss of fire.
Without darkness we don’t see
stars. Without forgetting
there’s no ecstasy, so kiss me
until my mind goes blank.
Secrets callous our skin
and strain against their ropes.
Let’s cut the ropes and dervish
together to our marrow. Love
is both knife and plush pillow.
Set a hydrogen cloud on fire,
leave it alone, and you get starfish,
peonies, humans. Out of fire
we’re born and we dissolve
into fire, these stunned bodies
the kindling we learn to ignite
again and again and again.

Little Things

Mini dates at midnight:
he makes the bacon,
I scramble the eggs.

Scraps of sweet nothings:
scribbled notes on torn envelopes,
jokes only we will understand.

His hand on my back:
rock-sturdy during the call
of her death.

Glances across the room:
knowing before we say
exactly what we thought.

Little things, I know:
but I’ll keep them,
these silk-strong threads
weaving our tapestry.

I am so enjoying reading everyone's poems. Love the wide variety in styles and subject matter. Thank you, Robert, for creating the PAD Challenge!

The Journey: Day Ten: Love or Anti-love


He Called it Love

but she couldn’t tell
anyone, so the secret
stayed and grew
denial, defeat.

He said, come here, sit
but she couldn’t see
the chair was never
big enough for two.

He said I love you
but she couldn’t hear
any truth to words
both bitter and sweet.

He touched her there
but she couldn’t feel
any sense that this
was right and true.

She can still taste
the bile, still smell
the stench of innocence
burning her grandfather’s heat.

The world needs more true love poems, so I may have to write another response to this prompt.

Or maybe, I need a few more true love poems . . .

Two for Tuesday

One Day
Twenty Four years of marriage and going well
Anniversaries say, “Be grateful for all you have.”
Cards exchanged smiles and kisses. Couples go out occasionally
Some stay home and enjoy. Love is different, love is kind, and love is patient.
It takes time to heed those words. It takes time to be in love. Go quietly.
The Other
Clouded mind and soul, life takes a toll.
Too tired when you come home, too tired to care
Routine days and weary nights, no effort is made to love
Smiles are strained, faces are worn, and hands are exhausted of holding fate.
Don’t let go too long, it is easy to forget how to feel affection for others when you allow life to trample you.

YOUTH AND INEXPERIENCE

I adored you, worshipped you,
"understood" you felt obligated to
another - at least for a time. After all,
it was a very long year
before I could join you.
But we had our own history worth savoring.

Would I do you a favor?
Of course I would.
Anything for you. Attend a party...
with a friend who needed
a date. If you'll be there, yes.

With "the other" standing by your side,
a well-executed side-step revealed
your "friend". Wow!
Willing to give benefit of doubt -
first impressions being what they are -
to be fair, to please you. I tried so hard!

It wasn't the teeth thing,
the smell thing, not even
the spit thing when talking. It was
the incoherent speech,
the touching,
the vulgarity.

Love's death knell rang
in my ears as you laughed
when I turned my back -
ever-so-outwardly-calm -
and walked away. Time of death:
when I turned the corner and
never looked back.

W

Thanks AC. I used Wikipedia to look up their bio's. Isn't the internet wonderful.

Friction
(a Fib)

She
sees
the words
‘I love you’
as if they were not
penned in a hand far from her own.
Holds them up to the light and feels
their heat burn her skin
throws them in
and lets
them
burn.




Fiction
(a Fib)

He
says
the words
‘I love you’
as if they are true
but her healing heart hears secrets.
She closes her eyes, says nothing
because after all,
she can lie
as well
as
he.

Evol

Love
Misused emotional intrusion

Evol
Much better
Smooth roll of the tongue

Love
Tied to an emotion
is shaggy pink skin
sowed to my porous shell

Evol
I crave it and cannot be extracted
from this letter-swollen web
it invades me,
seeps into the origami folds of me

Love: shell to shell, oil sliming along water

You
Try
Force
Hate no, abused little word etah

Love
Scrolls of indentations
Wave’n weave my hair
Millions
So alert
Electrical pulse
Pain
Pleasure
Meaningless

Evol
Cocoa butter body
Bleeds into
My pale existence

Evol
Love

No

Evol, yell
Love, push
nickel plated metal
break

Sound,
your sound
Enters
My sound
Our
Single shell
Silver slippery warmth
shadows…lines…swirls
red, blue, shades

One sound
slender murky rivers twined
about hills & plateaus
Mine
our

Jouissance

Love
Do not love me

Evol me
Tie ribbon white champagne neck bubbles over……..

no

just evol me

First love

She fourteen, feeling foolish,
tongue-tied with timidity,
sees him, sophisticate,
certain what to say, cocksure.

He, sixteen, saying something
just to break the silence,
sees her, so self-possessed,
tranquil, feminine, aloof.

Love reaches out between
the two to show the truth,
and age brings laughter,
sentiment, nostalgia.

Jenny Doughty

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
That’s an out rightly outlandish pursuit:
you’re a person; it’s a day. Rather say
compare apples to oranges. At least
they’re both fruit, and more juicy than July.

Now in fall, I pick words for your portrait,
sifting memories, rhymes and persimmons.
My body holds desire more ardent
than any metaphor or season’s span.
(summer autumn winter spring…went their came…)

Syllables make a game for our fingers
and tongues, a dance of untrimm’d poetry;
and the turns of time, we feel in our bones;
thus, comparison’s unnecessary.
Sans verse conceit, then, here is the check, mate:

so long as I have breath, and you’re with me,
this life is all the love I give to thee.


DA

Apologies for small correction...


Friction
(a Fib)

She
sees
the words
‘I love you’
as if they were not
penned in a hand far from her own.
Holds them up to the light and feels
their heat scorch her skin
throws them in
and lets
them
burn.


Fiction
(a Fib)

He
says
the words
‘I love you’
as if they are true
but her healing heart hears secrets.
She closes her eyes, says nothing
because after all,
she can lie
as well
as
he.

Love

Love is not what its cracked up to be.
Love has many faces, and scares the hell out of me.
Love is unfair to the weak hearted.
Love can ruin your life.

Feeling of Love

Love can feel every ounce of your heart and make it feel a warmth
you can't describe. Love makes you feel like you can do any and everything
Love can make a grown man cry, thinking he may lose it.

Love

Love
Take me
Back
Love
Heal me
I need to forgive you
Again

DAY 5- Growth
You Came
You came into my heart one day and made it smile.
You came into my thoughts and stayed.
You came into my life and made it better.
You came, but you did not want to stay, you wanted
something better instead.

Maybe Sex is just sex

Maybe sex is just sex for some of us.
Maybe I shouldn't fuss.
When you only have time for us, when you feel the need.
Maybe sex is just sex, and means nothing more.
Maybe I do snore
Maybe I want to come to your door naked and be a surprise.
Maybe sex is a french door that opens and shuts.
I can see right though you sometimes.
I know when your interested or not.
Maybe sex is just sex and nothing more
Maybe you have shut the door on any possibilities
Maybe sex is just sex when you want it that way
Maybe your to scared to feel anymore.

No Love

No love there
Where pessimism reigns
And paranoia trails after
feelings of inferiority.
No love offered, none given
Furthermore none wanted
It would just complicate a life
Already in the throes of clinical
Depression, feelings of self
Loathing and desires to keep
From interacting with anyone.

Gyroscope

To the world
that attempts to unbalance,
to the people
who undermine our foundation,
we toast your inventiveness
from within the gyroscope
of love we spun to keep the
magic of our hearts
upright.

Marcia McLees Bogaert

Physical Plant
At a small Liberal Arts College there is a crew of hardworking individuals.
The physical plant consists of 23 people- HVac crew, housekeeping, and general maintence. Several of the crew have worked there for many years.Some have even put there children through college there. But, the ecomony has hit us too. Our jobs were outsourced and we work at the college but not for the college anymore. Its weird, being apart for so long and now a lot of us feel we don't belong. Bosses have changed but the rest of us are still the same. Why do we feel that things have changed so much. When really their the same.

Retrospective

If I could start over again
I’d wreathe your ankles three times
like a cat who’s found her milk.

I’d nuzzle your neck
and play with your hair
until you told me to stop.

If I could start over again
I’d watch you sleep
like your guardian angel,
Somber, alone,
never terrified.

If I could start over again
I’d take back those three words
spoken too soon.

If I could start over again
I’d leave you guessing
and never let you go.

Forget Me

How do I tell the
World that my heart
Broke the instant you
Said you didn’t give a
Shit about me or where our
Relationship was going?

How do I tell the
World you were my first (if you don’t take family members into account)
How do I tell them you tricked me into thinking you were
Single when the truth was you were
Married and she was
Pregnant with your
Child?

How do I tell the
World that a
Large part of what’s wrong with
Me has to do with the
Video you posted
Yesterday
How could you forget
I’m the one you
Broke?

Overworked Topic

Sometimes there is nothing
more to say about a subject
or nothing more one wants to say
anyway, like trying to write about
old news. It is hard to contemplate
what would give the subject a new
perspective, a slant that hadn't
been used before. The subject
tires me, and, damn it, I can't
imagine I am the only one who
feels this way about the
overworked topic of love.

Mayflies

Nymphs, sink in freshwater
a year flying by so quick and cold
into the depths of Superior.

Emerging spontaneously
in swarms large enough
to be recorded on Doppler radar,
they bloom, a spring water flower.

Undulating in the air
meters above the ground
with their upright wings,
they are a decadent lunch
for bass, walleye, and trout.

Polish call them
jętka jednodniówka,
a one-day fly,
on their springtime sojourn
for a lakeside courtship.

They grasp females
with double the effort
for a mid-air mating
letting fishermen know
the water is fine.

Exhausted,
they cover the sidewalk,
and I crunch them with guilt
at the end of their day.

MR. MOONLIGHT

Six years had passed.
The chasm between hearts
had not been breached in all those years.
Your smile was a sunset on a far distant shore
that remained with me for those half-dozen years.
Still the people we were, transformed by age and heartache,
looking to dress the wounds of love’s transgression with a salve,
numbing and soothing, healing and concealing, but none existed.

So to see you again was
a pleasant surprise, to say the least.
We both disarmed, laying our lances at the feet
of the one so loved and offering an unconditional surrender,
that rivaled the love we had espoused. “Can we get together to talk?”I ask.
“I get out of work at ten” you offered. On my return, brandishing a
bountiful bouquet of flowers for my “wild Irish rose”, you exited.
It all cascaded back from the recesses of my memory. Smile. Eyes. Hair. That walk.

Your jaunty little promenade
had me riveted. And you knew it.
There was more wiggle and giggle in that walk than
I could remember from way back then. That distant place
where WE ended and returned to be just you and I again.
But here in the evening light, your beauty outshone
whole constellations, a galaxy and a couple super novas.
It hurt my eyes to look at you, in a good way!

“Let’s go for a ride” her suggestion,
“I know the spot” my seduction?
And we drove for forty-five minutes along the Lake Erie shoreline
to a private beach I knew. Nothing to see after eleven,
except for shimmering stars, soft sand, and the sounds of the lake
and seabirds. Throughout, the glowing shadows wrought by a full moon,
gave the presence of a magical night about to unfold. Even in the darkness
your glinting auburn mane flashed brightly as I took hold of your hand.

Meaningless small talk gave way
to disinterested chatter about lives without
this connection. Eventually the question came.
“Where did we go?” you queried to confirm your suspicions.
“Why did we break up?” you said with finality.
My eyes must have adjusted enough to catch the sadness
that halted your playful glances. An eyeful of tears became all offering.
“We just stopped being” I replied. And when I took you into my arms, you found your long lost comfort.

That night I found all the reasons
you had remained the love I had come to cherish;
the woman who possessed all for which I wished and dreamed.
I drew back and wiped the moisture from your eyes with my thumbs
And planted a gentle kiss on your forehead. A kiss that wandered.
My lips graced your eyelids. They touched your freckled nose.
One cheek, then the other, landing full on the soft alabaster fairness
of a swan’s neck, full of its grace and purity.

When our mouths found each other
passion exploded for the length of that brief eternity
we would spend on that warm sand. The stars stopped twinkling
long enough to spy on our embrace. The gulls ceased their incessant song
long enough to hear our breathing become shallow. The waves crashed in perfect
time with our lovemaking. And the moonlight illuminated the beach around us and
highlighted the droplets of perspiration that marked our skin. There on the beach of
our repossessed relationship, we found everything we had come to lose over that time apart.

And you teased me afterward.
I became Mr. Moonlight for the rest of our time together.
Even now seven months after your passing,
moonlight takes me back to our sands of time.

There it is. Beautiful Incredible.

The prompt: 72GET

I "get" the '72, but does the rest mean anything?

Antidote

I'm not sure if I'm for or against it any more
this thing that's rocked my bed and my boat,
the lullaby about pro-love, anti-life
In all my cradle stories I nearly drown
and turn mermaid, sacrifice my voice
fishfall into a fairy tale
slick sea, which plays tricks on me.

It's the great debate -
Spit out pomegranate seeds
and spend winter in the coldest dark,
thinking about a land where everyone
eats fruit carelessly,

or let the cure be my comfort,
remembering in love, the election's fixed
and the ballot box is locked away from the
blindest voters, and regardless
beats wildly at the thought of a landslide.

On the Calming Water

Minute foam orifice
dancing cautiously
on the glass cut
edge of sand.

Teal-wind fingers
pressing ripples
on the
dripping wet
touch of pain.

Near frozen splashes
chilling water
on the never escaping
drops of shame.

No solid feet
washing clean
on the
stand up
trees of strength.

Soft cheeked dunes
trickling down
on the
dripping down
streams of tears.

Black tint despair
lurking deeply
on the
crying wet
collection of me.

Slow lingering sadness
hiding barely
on the calming water
covering of time.

Darlin

I met you darlin back in 92
We little knew then
The heartaches we’d go through
The roads been rocky
Not an easy one
But believe me darling
You’re still the only one

The world seemed against us
When we’d go out any where
They couldn’t picture
The love that we both shared
But one day darlin
They’d see a different light
For one day darlin
I’d take you for my wife

You’d come to me
And lay there in my arms
Surrounding me
With love and all your charms
We shut the world out
Placing hurts behind
For in near future
I was going to make you mine.

Now days darlin
When we walk downtown
The folks that shunned us
Walk with their heads down
We just ignore them
Their guilt has hurt their pride
We have forgiven
Offense we’ve set aside

I love you darlin
You play the leading part
You are the sunshine
That glows within my heart
I want you darlin
Plus all the world to know
I’m proud of you
No matter where we go.

1. Love Is

going forth on a journey
with another soul
with your eyes and ears
open,
and the courage to leave
if it brings you harm.


2.Density

When he turned from her tears
she knew that
when they sat by the pond
lit by the moon and the stars;
when he drove her to the hilltop
to gaze across the city lights;
when she sat on his stoop
surrounded by his warm thighs and music of the crickets;
the nights he held her feet in his hands and stroked,
it wasn't love.

Shadow
(an anti-love Shadorma)

Heart in hands
she stands in the dark
waits for him
to light a
spark within her, make her whole…
gives away her soul.



Light
(a Love Shadorma)

Heart held high
she waits for His touch
to find her
remind her
much, of who and Whose she is…
whole and holy, His.

CRY FOR A SHADOW

You live in the shadows,
that Peter Pan place between
dreaming and wide awake.
I feel you in the warmth of
a summers breeze, I see you
in an auburn sunset in late July.
I notice your absence whenever
I exhale, and the sound is empty
and vacantly in the shadows.

You resided in the shadows,
from our youthful introduction .
Wide-eyed beauty with equally
wide grin that spoke my name
with a symphonic accompaniment.
You were the girl of my dreams
long before I closed my eyes at night.
When you fell into the spiral of
Anorexia Nervosa, I lost you the first time.

In that wretched disease,
you became a shadow of yourself.
And I was helpless in your descent.
All I could do was stand witness to
your self-destruction. It became mine as well.
We were diverted to distraction
and when you nearly died from
your short sightedness, you were
forced to embrace life while I occupied the shadows.

Thirty-Four years in passing,
you reluctantly returned to your shadows.
Your eyes showed their decline, and your grin
although still warming, had lost its magic.
The music of you played in my ears with
every whisper of my name on your lips.
You had again become the woman of my dreams.
When you came out of remission from your cancer,
I was destined to lose you again.

In that heartless disease,
you once again became a shadow of who you were,
and my role was to once more witness your departure.
I was determined to be the strength you had lost
in your struggle for life. Through it, you gave me life.
My words and music distracted you
and when you died at the hand of your faceless executioner
we had ended our un-promised commitment:
Until death do we part.

Now, you live in the shadows,
that dark corner where your spirit
watches my unraveling.
I feel you in the warmth of
each breath I take, I see you
clearly when I close my eyes.
I feel your absence daily.
When I sit in silence the room is empty
except for the sound these tears for a shadow.

72 was when I would GET Janet, and she me. Significant enough? Thanks for waiting for it.

Love (a Sevenling)

As you fall into love’s embrace, symbols stand
clearly in view. Hearts painted red, cupids
aiming arrows, bouquets of roses, and for those

lovers of poems, gilt-edged collections
of Byron or Shelley, and if, perchance,
humor prevails, the wicked world of Wilde.

But you know; you have seen the films.






Anti-Love (a Sevenling)

When relationships go down the drain
pulling trust, respect, and the last dregs
of kindness, humor is no longer flush.

Words are unspoken, deeds left undone,
except the routines of taking out garbage,
burping and farting–that’s all there remains

of pretense, or putting on airs.

(prompt- anti-love poem)

Please leave

I look at you
and question why
my heart still craves
what it can't have
still wants you here
yet Prays you'll go
our love has died
this I know

There is no magic
in the air
songs have silenced
disappeared
crumbled dreams
now laid to rest
the wishing well
fell short of test

Stars above
no longer shine
stormy weather
clouds that blind
tarnished life
a demons hold
lovers warmth
now icy cold

Could it be
I had no chance?
was it but
the devils chant?
foolish pride
a million tears
swollowed up
some precious years

Can't take back
your hateful words
like cement
they molded hurt
'n can't erase
deep bloody scars
or that glare
within your eyes

Here with you
yet all alone
your heart
is loveless
made of stone
shards of glass
consume my soul
emotions lose
all self control

Silken threads
have turned to dust
respect has vanished
left with trust
absent now
is friendship bond
depression strangles
lingers on

I look at you
and question why
you claimed my heart
with fake disquise
hear my words
'n set us free
allow me please
an inner peace

~~~~~

(Prompt- love poem)

Rainbow's Hue

When we make
love in the rain
it bathes me
with
a beautiful essence...
as if our
very first time

never before
have I felt so loved,
'nor have I allowed
deep inner feelings
to be set free

as each raindrop
caresses skin
desire builds
stronger...
showers with kisses
'til ready to burst
with nectar...
sweetly inviting

hips girate to meet
you halfway...
blood pulsating
with rhythmic
melody
as breaths dance
in syncrony
we move
one into other
hearts pounding
like thunder

whispered words
echo
a lovers serenade...
satisfied sighs
escape our throats
to lay nestled
within breaking
clouds

your love
completes me...
surrounds my soul
with rainbows
of the brightest hue

and darling...

long after the rain
subsides
I'll be loving you
still...


(prompt love poem/anti love poem)

11/10/09

(c) Rose Marie Streeter

More standouts: Lexi flint; Brittany Toledo; Tim Snodgrass; Sheila Deeth; Laura E.; Carole Katsantoness (love your way of capturing tender memories); Maryann Younger; Kathleen Cassen Mickelson; Eli; J.A. Jenson!! ; Salvatore Buttaci; Ellenelizabeth Cernek; Brian Spears; jane penland hoover (bravo!); Joseph Harker; Amanda Fall (I, too, love the little things … they are not so little at all.); Willy; Daniel Ari; Patricia Hawkenson Tthe water theme suits you well. Um … no pun intended.); Carla Cherry;

De: Love it all, as usual, but especially your Shadow and Light.

J. Hugh McDonald: I feel as though I’m an outsider, watching events unfold. “Events” is not the word I search for. Events are impersonal … what you have shared with us is tender and private; lovely and poignant. May God hold your family close, draw you together, and ease your pain.

Walt: I don't even need to say it...

One more anti-love poem

All the poems
have already
been written
she said,
slamming
the door.

Not this one.
I replied.

"Sometimes Love"

Sometimes love
is the dog nudging its nose
into the crook of my arm
as I try to write
in my journal

and sometimes
it is the warm sheen
when Barbra Streisand
holds a note long and slow
fumbling your way
though the first
slow dance together

sometimes love
is the ache of incompleteness
and accompanying hum
anticipating reunion

sometimes love
is letting the rose sing for you
the unrestrained joy
as the sweet cream slides down
or firecrackers bursting
in a slick alley
after an August rain

lately love
is holding her hand
as I drift into
the cool
dark void

and trusting
that if I never awaken

it was well-spent.

Shared Soul

I will let my eyes speak for me
When they drink of your soul so deep
We can share a moment of stolen pleasure
A moment that will linger even during sleep

A simple shared eye contact
Can speak of things untold
Can say more than a million words
And say them directly from my soul

The shared communication
Shares more than I can ever say
In a lifetime of words and poems
Speaking only stands in the way

The gentle sharing of feelings
The unspoken truth is real
These feelings conveyed to you
Are yours if you choose to feel

For words and life can muddle pure truth
The complexity of sharing and caring
Can mar the beauty of connection
That is yours my love for the taking

Love
knows
no bounds
counts no cost
takes no hostages
true love harbors no resentments
extends hands of peace
forgives all
true love
is
God.

Old friend

I am perching
on the arm of a chair
to see the road
scanning each car
will it slow, will I recognize
hair, face, gesture.

Across the city
her car is jammed
to the tail of another,
inching down
the flyover, past
the evening post clock.

I am expecting
awkwardness, more agro
from the kids, I had to march
out of the art gallery this afternoon,
past 6 now, I ring
half hoping she’ll cancel.

In a moment she’ll be here
the kids have climbed on the wall
to wave, she’ll drive us back to meet
her family and we’ll talk
as if 20 years never passed
or we grew in step
without knowing.

The Art of Love

Bartholomew Foggerty, the brilliant weasel
Lay on his sofa neglecting his easel
His mind had turned to thoughts of love
Him of all people! Heavens above!
He’d never forgotten how the mariner’s lass
Had made him look a total ass
Leaving him high and dry like a fish out of water
Jilted by a seafarers daughter
The pain had stung for many a year
And even now could bring a tear
But recently he’d spent hours
Painting endless vases of flowers
He painted blood-red hearts as well
And when he did his breast would swell
His heart at his breast bone hammered
For in truth he was enamoured
With a delightful young filly
Who though pretty was quite silly
When we say filly, of course
This lass was no kind of horse
No! This splendid looking piece
Was in fact the Badgers niece
They met at the family sitting
(The soft lass had brought her knitting)
Bart had struggled with the portrait
As he couldn’t keep his eyes straight
And so for her he began to hunger
Although she was so very much younger
But her aunt didn’t seem to mind
For she knew old Bart to be kind
The couple would go for a walk
And the girl listened to Bart talk
Much better than the other way
For the poor thing had little to say
But Bart swooned for her beauty
And the fact that she was quite fruity
At last the family met
And said a date could be set
But at the sudden prospect of marriage
Bart ran out to his carriage
He ordered it drive very fast
Til’ he’d left the town at last
He stayed at a cousin’s in Kent
And for his luggage and easel sent
He realized it was better to stay
Out of the uncle’s way
For badgers can become quite vexed
By a weasel that’s over sexed
After a month he came to his senses
And set about mending fences
He sent an expensive token
To the girl that sat heart broken
And when the family calmed down
Old Bart returned up to town
The discussions at times were heated
But at least they all remained seated
At last Bart did the right thing
And produced a diamond ring
And so they came to an arrangement
A nicely extended engagement.


Iain

I'M IN LOVE

Sweaty palms,
short of breath,
my heart beats in my throat.

Stutter, stammer,
nervous clamor,
up the creek without a boat.

Cards and roses,
I supposes,
fits her like a glove,

Now we're bonding,
she's responding,
it looks like I'm in love.


SHE LOVES YOU

She tells her friends
he's nice enough,
although a bit intense.

We go to dinner
twice a week,
he offers no pretense.

He seems to say
just what he means,
he's quite poetic too!

You're in her ear,
I think it's clear,
it looks like she love you.

I just can't get enough of that weasel! Oh ... not you, Walt.

De and Theresa's fabulous fibs (spot on, btw) inspired me.

For
This
Is love:
Deciding
To act lovingly.
Not falling in, and falling out.

Mike Barzacchini, I've noticed the consistent quality of your work.

Love Poem
By: Meena Rose

Images of Love are many;
These stand out as uncanny:

The willing surrender of one Soul unto another;
Two hearts coming together.

The undemanding pleasure of someone’s company;
Sharing Life’s journey.

The physical proximity of another;
The exchange of a knowing look, a squeeze of the hand, a special smile; all meant for me and no other.

Bridging time and space;
Distance is meaningless, in this case;
The free exchange of positive thought and energy, is the fuel for the human race.


Anti-Love Poem
By: Meena Rose

Contained silence;
Stiff upper lip;
Standing rigidly;
Glowering impassively.

Your look of
Anger,
Disgust,
And Confusion;
Baffle me to this day.

Your voice growing louder;
Condemnation coming through;
You kept demanding,
How could I do this you?

Let’s review the facts here,
Spinster, you did not want me;
You clearly told me to “settle” down,
If I could not, you would force me
To marry one of your friends’ sons.

Control of my life you have had plenty;
This notion of yours was totally unfair;
I had to strip you of your power.

So I raced around maddeningly,
Trying to find the ONE,
Before your crazy deadline.

I simply came here to tell you,
That I found the ONE.
It will be him with or without you.

Seriously now, Dad,
What does it matter that he is not a Muslim?

Meena Rose, I'll simply repeat what I said in Poetic Justice: Your life experiences and way with words make for gripping reading. Outstanding, my friend.

ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE

You don’t need much to get through life,
all you need is love.
The antidote for all your strife,
you don’t need much to get through life.
It can sometimes cut you like a knife
Even though you’re well thought of,
you don’t need much to get through life,
all you need is love.

The world becomes a better place
All you need is love.
It puts a big smile on your face
and the world becomes a better place.
You feel your life is full of grace,
It is a gift from Him above,
the world becomes a better place,
all you need is love.

HEY! I RESEMBLE THAT REMARK!

Mr. Atwater:

Through the eyes of your poet’s heart I see this: you love simply, completely, purely, adoringly. Your family is blessed to have you.

God bless you.
Marie Elena

The tentative touches
of our beginnings
are now long replaced
by knowing looks,
iconic words
and gestures,
touch as mutual
ownership

I miss
the sense of discovering him,
the what-will-happen-next
tingle that belongs to
dates and first overnight trips

Our joy together
rises
on long drives,
our shorthand playing
back and forth
between bucket seats

We snack,
watch each other nap,
reach out for a neck rub
or caress of the thigh,
our boy
in the back seat
mostly unaware
of our microclimate

Sharing our
what-will-happen-next
musings
about the next curve.
even as we (usually)
know what will be said,
when the next
moment to stop
is likely

Biology tell us
sensations
are usurped
when other sensations
(take a clamoring 7-year-old)
compete with them

When his Ford pulls up,
if the moment is quiet enough,
I can recognize a
buried tingle

I still want to climb in
I still long for
a rambling drive together
on roads we don’t
completely know
by heart

;)

Forever and a Day

When the wine is bitter,
become the wine. Rumi

Make a list
of things you loved
no longer in your life.
Make another
of things you love
still. And a third
of things you want
to love, things you’ve
missed along the way.
When you’ve finished,
toss them in the air.
Walk away.
Come back in a year
and see what’s changed.
See if you remember
which list was which.

LOVE LINE

Before the days of caller ID
and cell phones —when we
had to be brave, pick up
the phone without knowing
who was on the other end— she
could tell who was calling
by the ring (not ringtones). Sometimes
it was a hunch, a feeling. But
when her lover called —she knew.
His ring seemed to lift the phone
right off its hook. With all that love
pushing, whole, through the wires, power
enough to down the poles, how could it
not?

Through the Eyes of a Poet's Heart? Seems I've heart that one before!;)

Yep - flattery, for sure!

Hey guys, the new prompt is in...

Day 10:
Another brillant day of prose...

A Man to Savor

She could taste
Him
The warm air
Brought
His essence
To her lips
And she closed
Her eyes
And
Picked every
Morsel off
With her tongue



Soul Less

His words
Left her
Reeling
Like he had
Reached inside
Her being
And ripped out
A piece of her
Soul
Then tossed
It into the wind

Maril Crabtree, and Missy McEwen: LOVELY!

"Love is a Vacuum"

You give your heart
you give your soul
readily to those you love
ever the shoulder
to cry on and lean on
the one with a helping hand,
your ready smile and
words of encouragement
help them on their way.

But after a time
a switch is thrown
and things get out of hand
You give and give,
they take and take
til nothing is left of you.

Tired and drained
a shell of yourself
with nothing more to give
you now reside
in the pit of hell
til the power's cut
and you can recharge
til the vacuum's
turned on again.



"Please Don't Say You Love Me"

Please don't say you love me
I've heard it all before
words aimlessly
tossed about
without thought or care
are void of substance
void of truth
and swept up by the air.

Show me, darling
that you love me
by action and by deed
for tender kisses
in your embrace
mean much more to me.


"Your Love"

Your Love is quiet
in the night
words whispered
"I love you"

Your Love is tender
in your hand
as you squeeze
"I am your man"

Your Love is high
upon the clouds
drifting in the sky

Your Love is deep
as oceans blue
far from prying eyes

Your love is solace
to my soul
as mine is balm
to yours.

Love Sums

Love math is everywhere— carved

into trees, Sharpie'd

on the back of bus seats,

graffiti-ed

on junior high walls—

plus signs

all over

Antoine + Nikki

Corey + Quetzy

Chris + Leslie

all this unfinished

math, unfinished business,

empty equations

adding up to

nothing. Where are

the equal signs, the sums?

How about Shuggie + Cookie =

over in no time. How

about Guy + Rashida = 15

years and still

no wedding. How about

James + Sarah Nell =

Shana, Joyce, Melissa

Michelle.

Love Spelled Elusive

I was born into a family filled
with hate. My parents beat
me and mocked me and touched
me in ways not talked
about, then left me to raise
myself. When I stumbled
in shyness and fear, men saw
a vulnerable child in a grown
woman’s body and approached
me with lies of love, getting
what they wanted and then leaving
me shattered. I soon learned
to plaster on a fake smile and fooled
anyone who didn’t take the time to see
beyond the mask and I raised
a daughter with the love eschewed
me, and today I remain… wanting...

CAMOUFLAGE

Moments camouflage into daydreams,
casting shadows across the twilight
in search of answers
to the profound question of love.

How is it then,
that you have remained in my heart
throughout the years,
never wavering in the depth or boundaries
of the affection we’ve shared,
yet I can’t touch you or caress you
here in the dead of night,
sense you lying next to me
in the bed we shared,
entwined,
and lost in the shadows of daydreams. . .
camouflaged moments
of a life meant to be shared,
meant to be united as one.

YOU LEFT ME

I don't care what your excuses were - you left me.

Your heart had stopped its music for me,
and I wondered if the rhythm inside you
drummed for someone else.

I didn't have to wonder long - your face said it all.

When you looked at me with vacant eyes,
the truth stared back.

There was a blush in your cheeks that was never there before.

I don't care what made you leave me.

I just care that you left.

A Spice Called Love
~ for Mom

I’ve always wanted to cook dinners like you;
homemade spaghetti sauce, dumplings in the stew,
turkey stuffing ingredients I never knew,
afraid to ask about the missing kidney or two.

You mashed your own potatoes, my sister does too,
white mounds like clouds I loved digging into.
Tender pot roasts, chipped beef on toast, and a slew
of ways to make gravies ~ always something new.

Your gifted fingers pinched salt with measurement true
Taste testing, basting ~ Amish through and through ~
doing with love what we knew you’d always do
no matter how tired you were when we came home to you.

“Falling again, yet”

Crinkly pink panties peeping
Over her blue-washed denim waistband
And now I am falling
Falling again yet
My heart is tired
Of beating so fast
Please find me a cure
An antidote
To stop me falling again

A Love I wish had never been

There are times,
I will never feel her warm fur again
There are times with her
I wish had never been

That I miss her warm purr
Just goes without saying
That I miss her
is an everyday feeling

To some just a cat
To me so much more
so much more than that
until god closed her life’s door

She died almost two years ago
the pain I feel for her
Just won’t let go
as if I can still hear the whisper of her purr

There are times we shared
I wish had never been
No one ever cared
from so deep within

Oh, I might seem crazy
To feel this for a cat
my memories may be hazy
to remember all of that

But, she is gone
this is true
every day that goes on
no other cat will do. . .


©Ralph J. Fitcher, November 11, 2009, anti love poem. Based on the loss of my cat Misery. She
died about 2 years ago. I was the only human she liked.

Cupid’s Arrow

Sometimes Cupids arrow hits the mark
sometimes it’s a strike in the dark
I was lucky
meeting she who would be

She would become my wife
share the rest of my life
now fifteen years later
I still like to date her

We still hold hands
While walking down the street
while many fail to understand
how she makes me complete

To some fifteen years is just too long
to me, it’s just not enough
What’s right to me, others see as wrong
I would guess, they have really found true love. . .

©Ralph J. Fitcher, November 11, 2009, Love poem about my wife.

Safe Harbour

Glad to have reached the age
of love as a gentle lagoon,
trouble breaking against reefs
we passed coming in.
Here sandy crescent moon
beaches hold soothing
turquoise waves.

Pleating waves hold me
to surface rhythm and sun.

Glad to have reached safe harbour,
love's helm weathered by wind,
patina rubbed in from our years
of gripping the storms
that brought us in.
Hand in hand we walk
the arc of our lagoon.

Never regret loving,
for it shall be your homecoming.

DAVID

I was there
when you were born,
when your baby-boy body
rushed out from the inside,
being pushed out on blood and water,
into the world
wailing!

It was 7:11 PM when you,
the seventh child of eleven children
made your miraculous way
into the life of magic breathing.

Jane Beal
sanctuarypoet.net

When Did You Fall?

When was it over?
Did you know it when I first said hello?
If I recall you couldn’t be bothered.
You were busy looking somewhere else.
Said you couldn’t give me what I wanted.
When did you fall?
I’d really like to know.

You didn’t need anyone
Would never give away your heart
Make promises of love or devotion
Or think about tomorrow
Miss me when I’m not around
Care too much about my feelings

My, how seasons change.

When did you fall?
When was it over?

SOMEONE NEVER DIED FOR ME.

Someone died for me,
But he was not that someone-
For there were many someones
Who shed their blood bravely on the battlefiel

That one brave soldier
Who, like his friends forsook his precious books,
Lovingly kissed his bride goodbye,
And marched off to France - the land of love,
Twisted into the land of hate in World War I,
The land of poetry
Where German bullets
Silenced the voices
Of his fellow poets.
Every second that could have been his last,
He wrote his stirring saga
That might never be finished.

His life was spared,
And the love of his England
Still burned fiercely in his heart
As he continued the labor that begun
Amidst the bloodshed.

Forty years later, he raised his hands
And set free the saga into the four winds
And into hearts transcending time and space:

The Lord of the Rings




THE PEN

If the pen is mightier than the sword,
Then perhaps those who can wield a pen
Must do so- often as well as the sword,
Or else be penned up
In the pig sties of their own apathy
To land and country.

The Flow

Natural
unconscious
he reaches for my hand
or I for his.
We stroll unhurried
knowing we've had thirty years
hoping we get thirty more.
Under our feet
a long splash down
the river flows on.
So do we.

You are so beautiful and
I love you very much
But don’t you think you
Can just come and go
Around here getting
You hair cut whenever
You want,
No you stupid bitch.

I will tell you what you
Need to know when
You need to know it
And by the way,
You really need to
Start working out,
Stop spending so much
Time writing those poems
And books of yours.
You’ll be homeless
If you keep that shit up.

I’m worth millions
And you’re lucky I
Haven’t killed you yet.
I don’t know why the
People in this town
Still like you, but they do.
I can’t trust anyone
Because what I say
Always gets
Back to you.

Hey, how about we go
Have dinner together?
I just said those things
To try and get your attention.
You know I love you
And would never really hurt you.

I know I’ve made mistakes
And I’m sorry but now
I think we should talk
About your problems.
Do you think you could
Dress up a little for tonight?

I’m not mad
I just think you have deep
Psychological problems.
But, I want to make it clear,
You’re my Little Lady,
My Wife, and I’m trying
To make you see how much
I love you.

But you don’t even listen
So why do I bother?
I think you’re too far gone
To understand what
It is I am screaming.

Hello?

Stop crying and
Start listening

And know that I Iove you,
Bitch.

There on my pinky where
the original tiny gold
ring moved from ring
finger
There in the place where
it has sat since growing
too small as the years of
marriage grew large
There were it always is
even as other sparklier
flashier companions come
on and off
There on that pinky
Only flesh
The ring gone
No flash of panic
no sudden sting of
tears instead a too
immediate acceptance
a cursory look under the bed
beneath the duvet
no pounding heart no
sense of irreplaceability
it is after all just a ring
and this calm objectivity
a sign of maturity
of solid connection
no more thoughts of love
so beyond those thoughts of
where and when and if and
if not and what does it all
mean?
It's just a ring - lost as
most are after a time
Among the freshly folded laundry
in a white undergarment it sits
and the sight of its plain simplicity
whirls us running into Macy's hours
before the wedding finding somehow matching
rings his in the case this one somehow
"in the back" fitting perfectly only
two fitting perfectly
back out into the night ...snowflakes
fluttering laughing...cold holding hands
at the ceremony
in bed intertwined fingers on a shared pillow
night after night year following year
the almost inaudible clink as hands touch in
almost unremembered intimacies
held together in doctor's office awaiting results
and hospital rooms for each other
together at a father's funeral at graduations
at small and grand gatherings, holiday dinners
the small shared joke "oh you have the same ring"
clasping fingers slippery in the heat of the Carribean
sun under aquamarine water pointing to an angel fish
a hammock swaying gently cradling ring glimmering
a hand on a tuxedo jacketed shoulder as we
whirl
in dance, in music, in life
in love
found



After 25 attempts to post here's another............

LOVE AND NOT

Tiny toes
perfect half moons
white on pink
entrancing, enthralling
enlivening endless kisses
magic and sparkling reality
converge

and later I'll step
lightly over your
father with his swollen
knuckles and tear fat eyes
crying apologies again
on the kitchen floor

LOVE/HATE
She dreams gossamer and gold dust
butterfly breath upon her neck
two spirit trails along the path
and June days in the sun
It is night, her head pillowed in sleep
she remembers…

She wakes to ash and concrete
Acid etches her face in lines
two spirits cross paths and quarrel
in November fog and rain
It is day, her anger deepens
she dreams forgetfulness
but she remembers.


Carol A. Stephen
November 10, 2009
PAD Challenge poem

A WIDOW ‘S TALK

I used to say some day you’d drive me crazy
You used to say I’d be the death of you
Maybe I was, you left while my back was
Turned. You were behind me on the couch
Watching the evening news. I didn’t realize
The news was going on without you
Until it ended & I went to change the channel.,
You looked so natural, dozing off like that.

I’ve moved away from the house
but I still can feel you bending
Over my shoulder when I’m sitting
At the computer. Often at night I’ll
Awaken and the bed is heavy with your.
Presence. So often I will turn, believing
I’ve heard your voice, your cough, a sigh.
Between you & our daughter, my place
Has become the apartment of the spirits.

When I go, I’ll probably hang around here, too.
The woods are beautiful. Four seasons now
Have come and gone. I love the trees.
We shared that, you and I, our love of
Nature. Our children share it, too. The
World is crowding ever closer. Another
Of our old pleasure spots was bulldozed
To the ground and replaced by still more
Condominiums. But things are getting rough
The economy is doing what you always said
Would happen. And the war,
now barely mentioned, still goes on.
As I go on, alone, I didn’t know
That being old and tired would be
This lonely. You watched my face turn
Wrinkled and sag before your eyes. I
Hate to look in mirrors. Time, that old buzzard
Sits and waits. In some ways, going first
Is better. Saying good-bye was the hardest
Thing I’ve ever done..

Love

I've always wondered
What elusive butterflies
Of love really were


Anti-love

Alas, first comes love
Then comes quarreling over
Petty little things

Faculty Road Trip

“. . . love was near the only thing worth singing about.”
--Ron Rash, The World Made Straight

We wouldn’t have guessed where
our difference would surface--
and not like a stiped bass
leaping for willowflies, but more like
bubbles from under rocks
where crawdads take cover,
signs of life, no more.

Two days into a four-day trip,
we turned loose our charges,
now acclimated to the Metro,
and headed out to a late-night club
just off U Street. The gaps in our ages
barely perceptible from inside our skin,
though we must have appeared
a motley crew—late twenties,
mid-thirties, and me—far enough
into my fifties not to mind.

The band rocked, on that we agreed,
but the crowd was stiff, shushing
our chatter even before the band began,
objecting to movement even resembling
dancing, muttering comments not quite
loud enough to start fights, but enough
to cramp our style. We couldn’t have
blocked their view: standing-room-only
afforded no view, just a glimpse
now and then when the guitarist cut loose.

On the train back to the hotel, though,
the youngest of our group (the one
who noticed and complained amid all the din,
of one man tapping his wedding band
against the rail upstairs) spoke up,
critiquing the lyrics: Just whining, he said.
Every song’s about being bummed out
‘cause some chick just left him
or might leave him.
Aren’t there bigger things in the world?

I just smiled and listened, nodding my head
but not in ascent, maybe just releasing
pent-up energy held back by disapproval
of the young DC crowd. Why tell him?
Let him figure it out: When you’ve lost it,
or even fear you might lose it,
love is all. I saw his downward gland
and realized I was tapping my wedding
band against the window pane.

Grasshopper love

Under the sun pops
a spring green jewel, a hop
of new grasshopper.

Grasshopper anti-love

Ten thousand bent jaws
Break the night to strip the corn
And leak tobacco.

LOVE

Glue that binds us
puts us in touch with
the true inclination of our souls

Like the homing mechanism
of migrating birds
we are attracted to it
Nourishment for our hearts

Sometimes though,
Too rich or
flowing with unsuitable current
we break filled with agony

and

like a magnet turned
to its negative polarity,
we push away
as far as we can get

DNR


It is the ultimate
expression of love
to let someone die

to be willing to be there
to stay, and do nothing
when hope and comfort
have departed, and
the most you can coax out
is a weak smile, a lame laugh,
the best you can offer, the
absence of tears

To do nothing,
when all you really want
is to grab hold with both hands
and never let go

It is the ultimate
expression of love
to let go

On the Bus

She wanted to be on the same bus
it mattered not, the seat or row.
Only the same bus shared with others, he rode.

The LIFE CYCLE of LOVE


At the top of LIFE
LOVE is LIFE FORCE.

LOVE is LIFE's true FORCE and is creating it.
As LOVE is a CREATIVE FORCE with LIFE to it,
LOVE enables most wonderful CREATION with.

At its high points
LOVE is OUTwards.

LOVE is creating outstanding COMMUNICATION.
As LOVE is outgoing INTEREST and ATTENTION,
LOVE creates a detailed outward PERCEPTION.

At a lower point
LOVE is INwards.

LOVE is received within in form of ADMIRATION.
As LOVE is the quality intrinsic to CREATION,
LOVE is inside all, part of every GENERATION.

At the bottom of life
LOVE is DEAD MATTER.

LOVE if deprived of LIFE becomes a lifeless thing.
As LOVE gets deeply intermingled into everything,
LOVE becomes a solid mass created into anything.


© November 2009 by Martin Anthony Dorn

Oculus

The ancient Egyptians
Learn to make
Glass but lost
Ptah’s gift.

We melt sand
Making bottles to
Hold the water
We ignore.

She walks huddled
Across the leaves
To the shore
Now cold.

Though this window
That I love
Her form recedes
To fog.

For Love


But what will you do,
he asked, not unkindly,
for social life?
Will you go out,
take courses,
see people?
What will you do?

(Without me, what will you do
for love?)

What can I say,
in truth or in kindness?

I will take out
everything hidden:
people and dreams,
unfinished puzzles,
all my life—
this I will do, and do it all
for love.

Redeemed Fatherhood

Angry and ambitious,
his thirties shaped my adolescence
by teaching me about abuse.

Gentle and sensitive in his youth,
life pushed, and when he pushed back
my mother was in his way.

Sarcastic and irreverent in his forties,
the biting insults began to bite him back
when I seldom called home in college.

I never knew he loved me
apart from my achievements
because I’d failed so much.

Broken and restored in his last three years,
the gentle sensitivity returned
just in time for him to die,

granting me the opportunity
to wipe my own slate clean
at the age he was at his worst.

I love that he found himself again,
but I hate that it was just in time
for me to lose him

when I’d only begun to see him
as God meant him to be in the beginning
before life pushed him to violence.

Swell

On a log dark-hued as this ocean night we are cloaked.

The murk and mist mask
a too-big nose and
knobby knees.
Everything is the ocean.

When I close my eyes, you sing "I Want You to Want Me."

I will darn socks someday, some
day, and you will forge pots and pans out of
iron, but that life is thousands of
nautical years away.

What would it be like to wave, to ripple across the
surface headed nowhere in particular, to vibrate from
moment to moment? Veiled in water, waves,
name and number withheld.

Never Written

This is the love poem
I have never written
Because I always get stuck
Pondering the love

That came before
That didn’t work out
When we broke each others’ hearts
And bank accounts

When we lost our way
Lost the faith
Prayed for more
But got less

So much less but still hoped
Only to be disappointed again
In one another
In ourselves

Falling into your Baby Blues

I stare with gaze hypnotic
into your guileless unblinking
unwavering regard

And fall, not for the first time
tumbling, tumbling down deep
I am lost in fathomless blue

A-swirl am I, lost in love
with such crazed abandon
I should be fearful but am not

Is it possible I see your right mind
already formulating, creating, thinking
while the left is summing me up

Of course it is, young blue eyes
In the womb your brain was fully formed
Born, you immediately gazed around

Lifted your wee head you did, at birth;
not supposed to be possible the doctor said
but there you were, taking a gander

And of course, I was a goner
sent for as if by seraphim and cherubim
But it was you and it will always be - you

and on the flip side:

he loves me not

don’t ask me how i like
to be touched, just take me
as if you don’t care

love is over-rated but
lust will not be denied
i grant you that

don’t pretend things that
aren’t true, use me
abuse me, then leave

in alone and out the same
you know it’s true, so
do we all, so care not

life’s a game of lose and lose
he who cares least wins.

(here's my love poem)

Riding Through Maples
by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

Our horses’ manes whips
blonde against our faces, their
coats the color of dappled sunshine
underneath a grove of sugar maples
deep along the eastern seaboard.

The rhythm of fetlocks
slapping at meadow grasses
stirs up grasshoppers, as well as
old primordial feelings
between us,
Comets running fingers
across the skins of heaven,
as if we’d always been Lovers.

Though I concentrate on the
path laid out before Adam & Eve,
I can still feel the heat of
your eyes upon my flesh,
gauging the best time for which
to wrestle me to the ground
in a daring array of sparks
and tomfoolery, your
enthusiasm slung back
over one shoulder like the
Zorro I know that fuels you.

But I am not yet ready to
give in to your fantasy,
preoccupied instead by the
acoustics of birds dancing in
the canopies above us,
the sweet cadence of which
seeps slowly into the vein
just below maple bark
singing with
nectar.

© 2009 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

This is my first attempt at a sonnet. It didn't start out as one, so it is not the traditional a-b-a-b format. Forgive me.

This love does not deserve clichés
Yet why is everything I say
I do not possess the vocabulary
For this love is more than ordinary
I might go on of nature’s beauty
Or the brevity that is humanity
I could speak of the moon and far off sun
And hold the universe to you in comparison
The path by chance on which we met
I would declare was Heaven sent
Who understands except the few rare before
Who’ve loved like me and that I adore
But nothing describes to you how I feel
Still my heart to yours shall be revealed

LOVE IN THREE STAGES

STAGE 1:
palpitations
sweet, slow dances
anticipation
secret glances

STAGE 2:
disillusion
tears and fights
sad conclusions
empty nights

STAGE 3:
understanding
comfort keep
holding hands
joy runs deep

THE LONELY COUPLE

Once upon a morrow
In a land far, far away,
There lived a lonely old man
Who was miserable every day.

He always woke with a scowl
And greeted the day with a frown;
There was a lovely lady
Who wished to turn it upside down.

She loved this man with all his faults,
She saw what others could not see,
She saw the heart of gold beneath the stone,
And by his side she wanted to be.

She did her best to make him smile;
She showered him with love and kindness;
She loved him with all her heart and soul;
And her love for him was timeless.

But he did not budge, the wall remained;
He'd been hurt before, no one was allowed inside;
His heart stayed hard and it stayed cold;
He was lonely but his heart had died.

But still she persisted, she would not give up;
She tried to melt the ice;
She did everything in her power;
Even trying some things twice.

Years went by with more of the same;
And he still would not let her in;
One day she finally realized
That she would never win.

So she walked away and turned her back;
Prepared for future lonely years;
She would always love him;
But now her days were filled with tears.

She hoped that he would find some joy;
Only wishing him all the best;
She knew she would never find another;
She wanted him and none of the rest.

Time passed on as time will do;
They both grew older, both alone;
She thought about him all the time;
And many times picked up the phone.

The old man never did find joy;
And after she had gone;
He realized he had missed his chance,
And realized what he had done.
He realized that he loved her too;
But now it was too late;
He had lost her forever;
He had refused to open up the gate.

He sat in his lonely little world
And stared at the phone;
Wanting to call her
And tell her to come home.

Anti-love
They’ve always said that the opposite of love isn’t hate,
but apathy and I believe them. Yet I find it so easy to be
Apathetic, to find that place of not loving,
like the bed I always leave unmade, the charity
emails deleted without even the pretense of reading.
Apathy just seems too lazy
I have to work at not loving you.

.A small red bench
handmade from wood scraps
padded with red leather
built for sitting on the car seat
long before infant car seats
and even seat belts
sits now under my desk,
reminds me of my father.
.

Anticrostic

Leering, grimacing faces
Odious invectives
Violent emotions
Everlasting hatred

Happy. smiling faces
Altruistic actions
Tender compassion
Eternal love

Love Poem:
When you're in love, it shouldn't be
so difficult to write a simple love
poem. But there are so many
expectations and so much pressure to
be romantic and brilliant, especially
if you're writing for or about
someone in particular. Well, I'm
neither brilliant nor poetic, but
I do love you. I just don't have
a creative way to say it. I don't
know if love is worth all of the
trouble, but I am glad that
I have you. I love you.


Anti-Love Poem:
I've been up all night long
crying my eyes out. He
stood me up, then dumped
me for being too demanding.
What is the point of all
of this? It clearly isn't
worth it. I'm just
exhausted, and my time
has been wasted.

November Poetry Challenge day 10 Love or Anti-love poem

Getting to the end of the day

Evening is the best time, when everything
Winds down to its basal state and the book
On my night table is calling and now I can listen,
Because I have readied the coffee maker
For the morning, taken the dogs out for their
Last bathroom break, checked the doors,
Turned out the lights and finally can slip upstairs
To a bed that overlooks the moon-sparkled lake
Where for half an hour or until my eyes shut
I will read some fiction that has nothing and yet
Everything to do with my life.

Do Not Leave Love

I want to tell you how much I love poetry.
I thought we had left each other over the plots
of my novels or short stories
until one day I received the letter
I had waited for for years.
Signed from poetry, the memo warmed to me
“Dear do not leave me,
I’ve been waiting for you for years.”

Choice

“I can understand you not smoking
or drinking or doing drugs.
I can even understand not having sex.
But giving up the person you love
for religion – I don’t understand that.”

The night we broke up I didn’t tell you,
and so you didn’t understand.
It didn’t have to do with giving up
or about religion or about love.
It had everything to do with choice.

1. Love Poem

Love Song


I waited for you
forever. Today you came
to me. I am lost

in desire. Love haze
surrounds me like falling leaves.
You make me smolder

I waited for you
forever. Today
my new life begins.

Stars, trees everything
becomes new, delightful.
When you whisper love

to me. I know heaven
resplendent with harmony
contentment and joy.


2. Anti-love Poem

Auntie Love Poem

My Aunt Sarah
loved me. Dead more
than forty years
it doesn’t matter.
She made the best
chocolate pudding,
didn’t care that I ate
only the skin.
She let me nap
in her big bed tucked
under a cozy silk
and satin quilt.
When I was small
she visited every day,
took me to see
the lions in the zoo,
told me how much
she loved me everyday.
When we moved away
she travelled two hours
by bus and subway
to see me. Sent a letter
and a dollar every week.
Each note ended
with Xs and Os.
She loved me with a perfect
Auntie love. I remember
her smooth cool hands
the last time she touched me
so long ago, just before she died.
I dream of her still.

Love's laughter taunts me
Not even a smile heard

Love's warmth cools me
A blanket of polar ice

Love's embrace cuts me
Arms made of roses thorns

Love's words lack sound
Fractured waves pass through me

Love's kiss leaves me hungry
Passion fruit minus the core

Love's promised dream haunts me
I now sleep with eyes wide open

Kú-tsándza (Swazi for Love)

Morning rises softly over the distant mountains
Drawing shades of gold over your delicate brownness
Tenderly, she kisses the tips of your lashes
As you wake to a new day, filled with promise



Kú-tsándza…Not! (Anti-love)

Like yesterday’s trash, they tumble from one
Dusty corner to another, searching
Searching for some crumb, some tiny morsel
To stave off the demons of hunger -
Hunger for a gentle touch,
A kind word, a bit of food for body or soul

:My favorite forbidden fruit:

Mm, the sweetness of you. Planted
on my crimson tongue, I gently lick
the flavor that buzzes, cherry soft,
against the tiny o of my parted lips.
The blossom, the plum greatness of you.

Something to savor straight to the core,
you pomegranate flush of bee stung
apple ripeness rolling through stranger’s grass.
You are the seed that dances behind this liquid
smile, the taste that lingers in my familiar lap.

***

(it's not every day that The Godfather gets to weasel its way into my poetry. but for some reason, when i saw "anti-love", i instantly thought of this classic Godfather-character)

:Love a la Luca:

“He’s a man who goes around life
with a sign that says 'kill me' painted on…"
~Don Corleone

They call him the Luca Brasi of love. Casting fear,
jilted heart, the granite rush to the head
like rock through window. They call him flash

flame, ash that falls like phantom, ice
that splinters and shoots you down. They call him
kindle, the douser of fire with gasoline. Who

makes you stammer, finger pressed
to the shattered artery, the wilted crush of stone
that breaks your faltering tongue to shards.

FINALLY got around to doing this one! Sometimes I like to combine "Two for Tuesday" into one poem:


The Admirer

O Dawn, you are truly a goddess of morn,
I celebrate the very day you were born.
Your lips, full and luscious, the dew on a rose,
you eyes, clearest blue, your cute button nose,
your hair, long and golden, as smooth as spun silk,
your skin alabaster and purer than milk.
When you talk I hear music, when you walk I see dance –
Oh please, dearest Dawn, won’t you give me a chance?

--------------------------------------------------------

So you are the guy hanging out near my yard,
leaving notes in my mailbox, scrawled over a card?
I know that you’ve followed wherever I’m walking -
There’s a name for that pal, and they call it stalking.
I’ll never be yours, that you can assume,
even if you’ve built me a shrine in your room.
I’m sorry for you and your mental disorder,
but back off – I just got a restraining order.

Origin


Hear that chuckle across the room,
infused with joy,
bearing momentous
messages:
this way adventure,
Ccome and see.
Life and luaghter
live with me.



reality


As "Asian Moon" pushes toward port,
ponderously clumsy
under the Willemstad bridge,
freight boxes weighing her deck,
the romantic notion
of a slow boat to China
loses luster.

May 4, 2009 would have been your 98th birthday.
You left us in December 1984 - so many years ago.
Has it really been almost 25 years since I last saw you?
Yet I still wish you Happy Birthday each and every year.
I sit here today just a little more than 5 years younger
than you were when you passed on -
when you physically left me.

Momma,

what made you the way you were?
What drove you to threaten to abandon a young child?
“If you don’t behave, I’m going to leave you forever,” you screamed
as I begged and tugged on the purse you grasped.
The purse that only hung on your arm when you left the house.
Did my misbehavior really deserve such rejection?
Was I so bad that I wasn’t worthy of a mother any longer?

Only

when I promised through my tears to never be bad again
did you relent and go back into the house
declaring that you really would leave if I ever misbehaved again.
My fear of losing you was stronger than my guilt over misdeeds.
I tried so hard not to give reason for desertion
but I guess I failed because that scene was repeated for every perceived infraction, no matter how minor, until your threats finally lost effectiveness.

I

no longer cared if you stayed or went
so I told you to go ahead and leave.
A gaping chasm formed in our relationship
that remained for the rest of your life.
When you finally did leave forever,
our relationship still was not mended.
All these years later I have not been able to heal.

Can

carrying on your writing legacy
bridge the gulf that your threats and death have left?
Can I at last put to rest our estrangement
through setting words to paper in rhyme as you did?
Will our poetry join us in spirit and heal the wounds of the past?
I hope and pray this is true.
I hope I can understand what made you the way you were.

Help

me understand you so I can understand myself.
Help me to understand why I feel unlovable.
Will understanding fill the cold emptiness deep inside
that nothing or no one has been able to touch?
Through your poetry can I forge a path to your mind?
A path that will awaken awareness of what drove you
to reject me so I can accept your words and actions.

Find

my way back to the mother I had as an infant.
Back to feeling safe and secure.
To the mother I knew loved me no matter what.
Away from rejection and loneliness,
I want to feel whole. I want to heal.
I want to be able to fill that hollowness.
I want to have had a loving mother. I want to love

Myself

So others can love me.

Love in two phases

new Love:

Dandelion Lips

A gentle breath blows
Dusting my lips with spring promise
Seeds of love to come

well you can figure out the anti one:

My love for you is dead
and buried all that is left
is a banked bonfire of memory.
You cannot hope to blaze it
alive with false lines in
the morning. I know you now,
you are false hope – I will
avoid the first jolt of you,
touch the promise of being alive
for the day. By noon, I crave
to hold you in my hands inhale
your essence. My first evening alone
I stagger, my need for you
shaking my resolve, but I hold
firm and keep the coffee pot
unplugged.

mkm

Oculus

The ancient Egyptians
Learn to make
Glass but lost
Ptah’s gift.

We melt sand
Making bottles to
Hold the water
We ignore.

She walks huddled
Across the leaves
To the shore
Now cold.

Though this window
That I love
Her form recedes
To fog.

Laerning to Love

In all my tribulations and my joys
you have been the steadying influence;
In all my explorations
of a frequently pained mind
you have been a beacon in my distance.
We are conjoined by our son and daughter,
eternally by their own handsome boys.
You say you are not beautiful.
You say you are no thinker.
You say you are not special.
- in this you say too much, dearest woman.

You have wanted so little
and in me you have it granted,
but you have given me everything
a thirty six year lesson in love.

Inept Enumeration

As if maker of the genie-granted
Request, “I wish for a million
More wishes,” I nurtured
The naïve belief that no matter
How much of your love
I squandered, tomorrow
I could call upon another
Allotment of stored-up supply.
My fatal mistake lay in computing,
Failing to make that millionth wish
Count.

Day 10

Love


Is love really our birthright?
Is love really unselfish?
Is love really pure?
Is love really forgiving?
Is love really more powerful than hate?
Is love really uplifting?
Is love really healing?
Is love really all that matters?
Is love really possible?

THE MEANING OF LOVE

Is love…
Molecular electricity?
Hormonal audacity?
Optimistic tenacity?
Reproductive complicity?
Necessary veracity?
Spiritual synchronicity?
Yes