Last Edited Inspirational Poems (148)

I have thought long, and hard;-

And the most lovable things; in this world;-

Are horses, women, and dogs.


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A goat or two is good for you;
They're better than Ayn Rand;
The Lord (you say) made all these goats;-
When he made the sand.

Well, your beliefs, are your beliefs;
And my beliefs are mine;
All I say, is love these goats;-
Until the end of time.

Whether one believes or not;
(It is a tricky thing);
Though, if one loves a goat enough;-
Your heart will truly sing!


© lovecanbereal
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Forced to study
Mathematics
I forced myself

To force that force
Of useless poetry
From my mind

The Beauty
Highest
Escalon the

Power
Of
Elegance in Her
Majesty

The paradoxical
And insoluble
Nature of her Voids
Has left me broken

Yet the finesse
Of her axiomatic
Logic is still
Beautiful

I stared too long
And hard
Into that
Abyss

And I am broken
And yet remade
By the Logic
Of the Great Men

Now I sometimes
Read her again
And find that
I still love her


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To feel too much is surely a tragedy;-
To feel not at all is a monstrosity.

Poets are sensitive, (this is a fact);
And that's a statement I won't retract.

So when you click, to read words deferred;
Some previous suffering may have occurred.

It's in the nature of Man, to make his art;-
And in most cases, it's from the heart.

We make our art to tell you something;-
There are times It'll strike as lightning.

So read words here with perception;
Feel the poet's skill and direction.

Thus poets must write to cure past ills;
We swim in words like fish have gills.

And words retained cause indigestion;
So write them down - (just a suggestion).

Some must pray, and some must grovel;-
And some must write in verse forms novel.

For me, I don't believe in much;-
(Though I have the poetic touch).

Metempsychosis of the poet's soul?
(Well, it may at least be possible).

Reincarnation? - mere poets as mystics?
Through the agencies of Quantum Physics?

And if it is true there's nothing after,
Then I will have the final laugh here.

Is Reality as deep as we imagine?
Or is Nature just a fractal pattern?


© lovecanbereal
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Be real is back in full poetic mode,
(And resolves to write a stanza per day)*,
Now off the drink, his verse is no more slow'd,
By hangovers, (which caused him much dismay);-
A poetic castle - his fair abode,
(And he wouldn't have it any other way);
So get ready, now, for another spiel;-
From the CS poet called lovecanbereal.

That's, to say, (of course), me, myself, and I;
It's why I voice my verse in the first person,
So you can have confessional poetry;
(Yes, indeed, that's what I voice my verse in);
As memories are drawn from my mind's eye;
And I'll not let the alcoholic curse win;
I now address the world and my fine nation;-
With verses that are fit for publication.

I've lived a life that I don't regret;
Does anyone read poetry today?
To write this down, before I just forget;
Another soul that dies and fades away;
For modern times you must have a vignette;
Readers wouldn't have it another way;
Attention span is short now - like our dreams;-
Getting shorter, all the time - or so it seems.

I would that I could write here with more space;
Although I must abbreviate my verse;
Maintaining rhyme, integrity, and grace;
Is brevity a modern poet's curse?
The outline of my story, I must trace;
To tell the truth for better, or for worse;
That's if I - (your poet and narrator);-
Can remember all that happened then, and later.

And just what is it, I will write of next?
Well, subjects - they are many - and incredible;
When I was young, I was quite highly sexed;
(Although I am now, these days, more cerebral);
And at peace with myself - no longer vexed;
By the things on this earth labeled 'terrible';
By being happy with what one does have;-
I'll never be, no more, just passion's slave.

Casting off the chains - alcohol and dr*gs;
And ev'ry morning, now, my mind does thank me;
Before, I'd down the glass to lees and dregs;
John Barleycorn would sneak up then and tank me;
Then crawling on the floor, passed out on rugs;
Before the morning's black coffee would crank me;
To a new day's destruction overwrought;-
If I had money, then alcohol I bought.

The anecdotes will still flow from my pen;-
My indiscretions make compelling muse;
Back and forwards in time 'tween now and then;
For I've gone and lit the poetic fuse;
Improvements in perception of my ken;
Makes for verse that no reader can refuse;
I'll tell of instances of impropriety;-
Now crystallized in mem'ry, by sobriety.

So Bereal's been sober, now, for a year;
Never will he waver, or relapse;
Not touching whisky, wine, or a beer;
That brought him close, to a state of collapse;
His mind works best without boozes' veneer;
In a heatwave, he may have an ale, perhaps;
But only for emergency hydration;-
Of fluids, lost by heat, in this hot nation!**



© lovecanbereal
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I stand at North Head*, and the sea,
Spreads its arms, in most joyous blue,
Horizon's edge; - infinity,

Now drops away before my view,
As I extend my gaze beyond,
To imagine a clear purview;-

Of dreams in magic fractal frond,
Distant white caps, sapphire blue sea;-
Far from this land that is my bond;

As I find an epiphany,
In Nature's rills of seamless waves,
That seem to dance there just for me,

And this is what my spirit craves,
Cyan water, powder-blue sky;-
Where some have gone to watery graves,

And, we will never know just why;-
They sing now in the restless deep,
A siren's song, a plaintive cry,

The endless waves sing them to sleep,
In Old Poseidon's seething chains,
Don't think of them - for them, don't weep,

For they leave no Earthly remains,
Their spark of life, back to Nature,
And echoed in the waves' refrains,

The Sun wheels in a sky of azure,
Beneath my feet are craggy cliffs,
Waves burst in each rocky fissure,

Of ancient sandstone monoliths;-
I love my life - for I choose life,
And not the cruel sea's endless drifts,

Although I've had my share of strife;-
For me - I never will cave in,
And though this world has troubles rife;-
Pessimism will never win.



© lovecanbereal
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Lost among the algorithms;
Is some verse profound;
Buried in archival pages;-
That you may not yet have found.

Some profiles deleted;
(By members who have gone);
Now Endlessly repeated;
By the algorithms song.

Hark the unknown Poets!
In this sea of cyberspace;
(The question marks don't show it);
But the words retain their grace.

Much, this verse is excellent;
(Though they have sought not fame);
And some poets, - they don't care;
If they leave behind a name.

Next time, you are stopping by;
Just spare a thought or two;
For those fine unknown Poets;
Who wrote just for me and you.


© lovecanbereal
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Now my love, a little bit co-mingles;
In that wide and deep digital sea;
I'm just another guy - Connecting Singles;
Is enough social media for me.
My heart is lonely - yet my body tingles;
With some love past, or future destiny;
As through the clouds, I see the Moon break cover;
And I wish and hope for a new lover.

My wide reflection on a life been lived;
In a dozen ways, with many people;
I've always found - yet never could forgive;
The aloof side of me - just like a steeple;
And these lines of verse that will survive;
Myself, and so unlike many sheeple;
I'll write my life, as best as I remember;
Gee, to think it is already now December!

Twenty twenty-one - how Time does race!
And no love I've had, since 'twas Covid;
The world has changed, has changed its very face;
(Although I don't intend to be this morbid);
So where is love, amidst this new disgrace?
Where's love in my poems? - I'd write "ibid"
Which means "look above" (at older Poetry);
Now I'm fifty-three, nothing happens, and I'm lonely.

Shortly to my story - I digress;
In speculation purely metaphysical;
I let in a little light, to now ingress;
Into the darker shadows of the mythical;
My Soul's Odessey must now confess;
The ruin of the passion of the animal;
That was 'oft myself, as a younger man;-
Temptation led me, where ever tempting can.

Beauty, like the world - it's often true;
Is mixed with cruelty, ugliness, and vice;
Sometimes good hearts and souls must go askew;
Before we realize we should be nice;
My chequered path in life, I must review;
And so I have, and so it will suffice;
To give here, so much, ample material;
(I relate each vignette, as a serial).

That this is rough and ready - perhaps I've told you;
That I'm Australian, (and so I must be frank);
Good reader, I would never mean to scold you;
For reading this, I must then you now thank;
On the wings of Poesy, I'll uphold you;
Tall tales, and true, right from the memory bank;
I thus continue this poetic story:
Despite the odds, I've lived life in its glory.

This is a type of internal monologue;-
An anecdote to sketch a wasted life;-
I'm sober - finally lifts the mind's long fog;-
Now clarity can shine amidst the strife;-
With renewed poetic force my thoughts I log;-
For this, my muse, my muse it is my wife!
Through some Arcady, where I may yet travel;-
As from the pen, my story does unravel.


© lovecanbereal
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A speck of flysh*t floating in Infinity,
What are we more; (from a cosmological point of view)?

A question no one knows,
Though some will say.

In this amazing world,
Theories, they abound,
And beliefs are many.

Yet no one knows an
Atom of the truth.

Quantum fields collapsing
In Deep Cosmic Time.

Photons of light,
Billions of years old.

Light years into the void,
And into Infinity.

Although, (Unlikely);
There is a chance,
That we may be the only life out there.

So why don't we,
Look after it all,
A little bit better?



© lovecanbereal
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Take a hike you horrid troll
Go and dig yourself a hole.
You're no good to one and all
Not even to yourself withal.

You pour upon the World your spite
And when insulting finds delight.
You really are the foulest skunk -
Is it because your manhood's shrunk?

You must belittle all endeavor
Then you leave thinking you're clever.
I would not even p*ss on thee
You monster of inadequacy.




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