Last Commented Allegory Poems (898)

The only thing that matters in this cursed dark universe...
Are things unseen in sick dark dreams that bring what surely hurts...
Invisible stars too far to reach elude me every time...
Dark matter is the element that can make your dark stars shine...


I love the feel of stardust when it falls upon my face...
I love to steal the taste you place in places of dark space...
I hate the feel of gravity when it pushes me away...
Away from you, my love so true, away from your embrace....

she looks at me, mid pub, and asks
in a way, rhetorical
as if she knows something
I don't and will never

"why do you live on a boat?"

for the sounds of raindrops
above my sleeping head
for my conversation with dawn
always the same woman
uniquely dressed

for ebb for flow for light
light such as it is
it informs, comforts, and listens
for breeze, whipped

for a wild mirror
pitched at an angle
past me
to show truth

for the lone swan
whose visits mean more
to me than it

for the years that should have taken
yet didn't.

for the woman I'll know I'll meet
who speaks in the dialect
of unaware kindness
dresses in the clothes of realism
and sings in the key of smiling

for ropes for knots
bowline
single sheet bends
carrick bends
reef
anchor hitch

arteries around
this chamber of peace

you and me
sitting on the edge
of memory

the radio sings
about the things
we want to do

your kisses bring
a rising spring
of honeydew

its gonna be a long memory

searching for the taste
of your sweet love

it's been a long time
since I tasted new

a girl like you

you and me
a bittersweet
elegy

the headlights tune
the sun and moon's
durability

and all the world's
a beautiful girl
as far as I can see

its gonna be a long memory
searchin' for the shape
you left behind

the air is blue
and I am too

inside my mind

There are several visible evidences of your true beauty...
Some are invisible, some are half-seen...
Maybe I'm fixated on all the wrong things...
Regardless, I regard you as my Supreme Queen...

What a blessing it is to have the ability to see...
Through sparkling black marbles made just for me...
For they are the windows into your sweet soul...
A place of pure comfort....a space you control...

As a child, I loved to play with glass spheres...
I've never grown-up....I still have my fears...
Your eyes, they have hurt me, I shed forth my tears...
I'm still just a child after all of these years....

I start the year now nineteen eighty three,
In verse now strictly chronological,
If you want to know the plot just read and see,
In my life story, you will have it all.
I''ll try to tell of my strange destiny;
And hopefully my words will now enthrall;-
Poets must, (at least try), to be honest: -
To this I hope my verse will now attest.

T'was year nine, in school, (a long time back there);
A fourteen year old boy - quite innocent,
In this year of study some demands were,
Placed upon myself, who trusting went,
To the library to read with pleasure,
All things on the shelves, which were sent,
For our instruction (surely were intended);-
The world's wisdom - fully recommended.

Curiosity, (they say), it killed the cat,
(Well, in my case, I'm not entirely sure);-
Inquisitive, I was - and all of that;-
Though something else, I wanted - not censure.
Still in the library, reading, there I sat;-
An interested boy though still wants more;-
It is natural, in our adolescence,
To want the world, and it's experience.

Perfectly, I sat there uncorrupted**,
Young minds, they grow at such a rapid rate;
Teachers pleased? that I am now instructed,
To repeat such things, that I here relate,
And so I was by little now inducted,
As such it was, I tell you now my fate,
At fourteen and a half years of age;
P.N, a friend and I had Mary Jane.

We always want what we have never got,
This is true from man unto the infant,
Our human envy, that's our human lot;-
It seems this way since Adam first there went,
Into that sacred garden, and forgot,
What was at first a laudable intent;-***
Sometimes, it seems, that somethings never change;-
Only time, places, people re-arrange.

Carl Jung once said we have Collective Soul;
In this, I think, he wasn't far from wrong;
And in and age of Sex, Drugs Rock n Roll,
What was in books is now found in a song;
Such aural things do most of us enthrall;-
As teenagers - we must at first belong;-
Indeed before we do at first rebel;
We need our friends, who will do this as well.

P.N, P.N^ - Your'e so intelligent;
Of this I'm sure - (and could you tell me now);
Have you been living off the Government?
(I tell this story, as best as I know how);
The world's against us as an adolescent;
(I was not at that age holier than thou);
One thing I know is I will tell my story;
Not fearing now embarassment, or glory.

Where was I now my much detested Son?
(Though not that I do bear now any grudge);
The war that we were fighting could not be won
Though smoking grass at school was quite a bludge;^^
Now at fifteen years old in year nine;
We try a little worldliness to fudge;
Though truth be told - surely I must be joking;
(We were as green as the grass we were smoking!).

PN's place, 'twas when Spring was now through half;
We'd managed to find our selves a stick of pot,
Of course we'd only smoked it for a laugh;
And between ourselves, we soon had smoked the lot!
Although, (I thought), I might have had enough;
I was inclined to just that bit more scoff;-
For a while, (at first), nothing really happened;
Then all of a sudden the floodgates opened.

Where at this age, more innocent, I was;-
Although (it seems) not innocent enough;
Curious (more so) - and now because;
It seemed the going was now becoming rough;
Senses once dormant - now became aroused;-
To do with sex, and drugs, and all that stuff;
At Sixteen, I found my fist lay, in the Cross,
As they say, a rolling stone has no moss.^^^



© lovecanbereal
All rights reserved

So you think that perhaps I’ve lost my ability?...
I’m stable, I’ll never lose my agility...
I’m docile, with twisted sick fragile fragility...
But seriously, I’ll twist the best that you can throw at me...

I’m fully accessible to those that can accept me...
For those that can’t, I do have some humility...
I’ll flex what seems inflexible at the moment...
For example, I suffer pondering ‘The Atonement’...

Some here have known me for quite some time now...
Most of you haven’t, ....I feel your highbrow...
It matters not either way what you think...
These wordplay words, are the last missing link....

My intellect detects...
The things that I select...

I inspect what I inject...
To protect what I project...

I correct what can't connect...
And reflect what can deflect...

I reject all your respect...
I dissect what you protect...

Emotional detector, the supreme protector...
Dissector selector...
Deflector respector...

Corrector connector...
Protector projector...
Injector inspector...
Expect hurt...

A perfect reflector with a painful rejector...
You are the ultimate emotional detector....

Only you can

Open my eyes

You can see

Nothing to hide

Better than one

Day by day

Let just say

We’re on our way

Each of us

Here to stay

For ever

And ever

Can you feel

I am near

In your head

In your heart

We all arrive

To survive

In a world

Flags unfurled

In a swirl

A majestic ride

Drifting out to sea

We make believe

What we conceive

Rising on waves

Setting out

Towards tomorrow

And beyond

Should I drop U a note
naturally again l am eating alone
waiting on a bowl of gumbo.
Ur a no-show
likely doing the three famous maestros
Larry, Curly and I hope
U choke
on Moe.
I'm sorry but feeling pretty low
losing my Piedmont pillow.
I remember U long ago
U tried to corner the market playing the blues on a banjo
Made sense nobody knows
Maybe since lock in cellar sits a dusty jazz piano
Then Lock jaw denied U fame and fortune blowing the piccolo
always known for Ur solos
this was before wearing out Ur welcome on the cello,
Started as a joke
writings odes
to The Twilight Zone
staring the fallen saint, Billie Joe
who had an episode
when she lost her halo
when rain turned to snow
It slipped from her dome
while dipping her bent toe
into the dark cosmos
but caught the eye of fire breathing hippo
in mid-pounce on a giant translucent minnow
So the story goes
like a Viking's fine paid thru the nose.
Plunging halo
now traveling at speed of light heads for ground zero
was caught on film in slow mo
oddly snatched up by a swooping sparrow,
but dropped like a dirty ho
on seeing a dancing scarecrow
doing the tango
with a Hispanic gringo.
Never scare off any crows
Each of them having a mind of their own
Scavengers are at home
grilling up some squirming lizard toads.
on the sun baked roads,
like on US 95 thru Mosco
not in Russia but Idaho
and yet the halo continued to roll
for years through God only knows
til it finally landed in Chicago
on the Antiques Roadshow
shown off by an old crone
or St Joe incognito
with big nose
who lived alone
making a cameo
drooled over its host
a fat sweaty fellow
who smelled like pork roast
sampled his ear lobe
on toast
out doing Van Gogh
Anyway my hat off to poor bloke,
with necklace yoke
now a foot off the flo,
at end of his rope,
swinging low
to tune of Desperado
fading in and out on solid state radio.
Once again The Silent Landline Telephone
takes another mofo.
dreams he gives up the ghost
but wakes up surfing down an ice flow
in hills of Glasgow
tripping too much Gingko
staring past where horizon aglow
but alas seeing nothing that doesnt show

Park was the head officer on the border crossing between North and South Korea. He had a problem.

Two weeks ago a woman, let's call her lin, pitched up at the crossing gate with a jute bag of soil attached to the front panniers of her well maintained Honda 50 motorcycle.

The inevitable menagerie of sniffer dogs, hard bitten counter intelligence staff and regular army, checked her story.

Her papers checked out, she had permission to cross.

The soil was.. well.. just that.. soil. No contraband.. no diamonds.. nada.. zip.

Odd? Yes. But illegal? No.


Lin altered her days, but usually twice a week, she made the same journey:

Same bike
Same colour
Same bag of soil
Same papers
Same checkpoint
Same result.

It pissed the men off. Lin was beautiful and smart, and it seemed she had someone on high who was protecting her. The word from Park's superiors was simple:

"Unless you find something illegal, let her pass"

I guess it was tough (the first year) for Park. He was a proud man. A nagging doubt festered in his subconscious..

"What is she up to?"


Then, somewhere north of year three it stopped. No more Lin. No more bags of Earth.

No more reports by Park about the square root of nothing.

Park retired. Life moved on. Except.. not quite.

He tracked her down.
He confronted her.
He explained his retirement.
He wouldn't prosecute.
He just wanted to know.

"What was in the Bag!"

"Soil" said Lin.

"But.. what were you smuggling?" said Park.

Lin took a long look at the frazzled military man... and spoke a single word..

"motorcycles".