Last Edited Poems (1,141)

Women - that's why I write poems about them
Because they drive me crazy.
To remember everything thats happened
Before memory is hazy.

All I can do is think of memories made
To treasure each moment of sweet seduction.
Oasis in a desert are each maid
(Though the logic would seem non-existent).

Now experiences go tinkling like glass
Through the infinite;-
To be made a part of memories
On love's sandy beach.

The infinite, the abyss
Perhaps just a blind chance;-
Crevice of ice - long for that kiss -
Or if you'd love to dance that all-night dance.

The outer essence
Which hides the package within;-
This evanescence
Where time outlasts our sin.



© lovecanbereal
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I think in some past lives, I was a girl,
Swept down that river - Sacred Feminine;-
And like the shell which once contained a pearl,
Was washed by Time, and freed of all my sin.

Some men say I am hard - and others strange,
They do not know the half of it I say;-
Great Cosmic Engine, where atoms re-arrange,
And Energies disperse and go their Way.

Many times re-born, and died, great wheel of Time;-
That spins the stars around - great light of day,
And when it's night, those stars begin their climb,
To shower Earth and Heaven with each ray.

I feel echo of past lives, which once were mine;-
Feel the sense of some great Eternity;-
I feel it as my pen construes this rhyme,
Made of stardust from some distant Galaxy.

I feel it when I meet a lady's eyes,
(I'm happy in the body I'm in now);-
Although it never comes as a surprise;-
To feel afresh, what I already know.


© lovecanbereal
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Drinking Saturday night - Arncliffe* Hotel
The usual crowd set out to drink their fill,
I was amongst them doing this as well
(Like so many pigs at their yeasty swill).
Though drinking is its special brand of hell
It's something that I will do sometimes still.
I was alone indulging in my sin
When suddenly (it seemed) that love walked in.

Insensible of this I saw her not
In my own little world so unaware.
Alone with my thoughts in polyglot
Just drinking at my table sitting there.
Poets - sometimes - they talk a lot of rot
And go some places that you wouldn't dare.
I was twenty five, and this was long ago -
Memories are cold now - like a drift of snow.

An innocent request - a game of pool
(She didn't need to ask me twice) I said:
"Of course my dear Sydney one shot rules"
(She had designs on taking me to bed).
I could see it in her eyes - like sparkling jewels -
And sense it on her pouting lips of red.
Although neither of us was very chaste
Sometimes its nice to be the one whose chased.

One thing lead to another (so you see)
"Your mine tonight" (she told me more than once).
Events I now recall in poetry:
(In these kind of situations one must pounce
Or miss forever opportunity).
I slowed my drinking of the fluid ounce
(To let her catch up now in her imbibing) -
And marveled at my luck; - it was surprising.

Before I go on now I best describe
This damsel of the night from long ago.
The compass of her beauty circumscribed
In this my muse (good reader) for you now.
Her hair was dark brunette, her hips were wide
An hourglass figure, and fuzzy down below.
Her skin was white - like the stone alabaster -
When I asked her name - she told me - it was Lisa.

Why hang around in pubs with such strange girls?
We didn't stay there long (needless to say).
And like a love match was this game of pool
To serve a purpose - this was our foreplay.
Her hair was long in ringlets and in curls -
(We felt the spark that night - our chemistry).
And luckily (for me) she lived not far -
Who says you can't find beauty in a bar?




© lovecanbereal
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One day I'll put my poems in proper order -
Until then, you must now bear with me.
Making sense of my life's general disorder
And to write on until I become free.
The stories that I paint with my words were
At one time true - as you will come to see.
Bit by bit, by means of each digression -
Compose the whole (in full) my life's confession.

The World these days is not in proper shape -
The basic fact there are too many people.
Too many souls for destiny to rape
As we gather like timid mice beneath the steeple.
The wine is spill'd from life's fermenting grape
To blast the Godhead with this heady tipple
Which lays us to ruin, and from whence -
We call this our life's experience.

And these experiences I now gather -
Each is a little vignette of its own.
Read them all (or none) if you'd rather -
It's something that I never will disown.
I'm proud of my verse - I am the father
Of all I write and gather like a gown
About me as a blanket - woven stars
Poetry's not a prison - rhymes not bars.




© lovecanbereal
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On the cusp of beauty, you were born
Before this World had its modern form.

Atavar and Spirit much older than us
Existence formed from the deserts' dust.

Imprinted in time, dissolved on the wind
Generous in spirit, eye that is kind.

Giving your blood to the World's other breeds
Improving the type, producing proud steeds.

Your form is beauty, power, and grace
Down storied time your bloodlines I trace.



© lovecanbereal
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Not really a poem (although just to say)
Your top Aussie poet is now back today.

Now three weeks offline, has been long enough
(My old laptop crashed - indeed it was stuffed).

I did all I could to fix the old thing;-
Tried this and that, and repairs on the wing.

Wasted three days and four nights on repairs
But the old girl was gone - it seemed no one cared.

So I bought a fresh laptop - a great new device
And set the thing up for some more CS spice.

And to be honest - how could I keep away?
When it's part of my life to write a poem a day.

And if not one a day, then one a week
To all CS poets - you make my life complete.



© lovecanbereal
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A Woman is
Eternal mystery.

See through
The heart
Of Man
In one
Swift glance.

Can you remember this
Men - in your vanity?

All that we know
in our history
Has happened
When a woman
Took a chance.

Without a woman
Man is incomplete.

All that we know
In our profanity.

My soul
My veins
My blood
Because of her.




© lovecanbereal
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Why is it men must sometimes beg a woman?
(That's even worse than on a bended knee)
To grovel like an insect on a common -
For something that should basically be free.
At twenty-two and feeling that day wanton
(T'was not a thing I should have done for thee)
And only once - two hours to get it on
So beg I did - and her name was Sharon.

Well at last that girl she then relented
(Just maybe out of curiosity)
You say by now that I should have repented -
Not mired myself in promiscuity?
I say this: to refuse an ego dented
Is to plunge in black despair - monstrosity!
I wheedled and I begged and I pleaded -
Just so I could give her what she needed.

She about the same age in St Peters*
And we were young and not at all in love
Well I'm just glad that no one came to meet us
(As we stole into a bedroom up above)
An act designed by nature to complete us
(And something to myself I had to prove)
At least that day we had an empty terrace;-
Wherein - and very soon - our hearts did race.

Good reader, I should spare you the profanity;-
The act performed - and that act only once.
On her part t'was a form of charity;-
Go through the motions - defy common sense.
Well, what is young lust but insanity?
A fever of the blood (our recompense)
I met her years later at a funeral
Where she thanked me for that single numeral.




© lovecanbereal
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When music speaks, it speaks unto the heart; -
Where poet's words may fail, music talks.
When two lovers; - they are so far apart
Fine music now to bridge that farthest walk.
It's something that I know before we part; -
And something that may make the staunchest balk.
You say that money talks; - it's treachery -
The sole haven of the weak - in lechery.

When music speaks, the soul it now awakes; -
(It's something that we cannot quite explain).
Gods have left us to our various fates
(And time will leave but few there to remain).
History will remember those few greats
(Like the gentle kiss of seasons in Spring rain).
Byron knew this, and so did Shakespeare -
They trod the ground to walk where others fear.

And poetry, it seems, is a lost art
Something, maybe now, from a bygone age.
Woman I have loved - now we're far apart
(And remembered they, only on my page).
When I was young I thought I was so smart
The older that I get, more life it's strange.
I long for bygone times - where poetry
Would tell my lover of sincerity.




© lovecanbereal
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One day I'll find the right girl
She will be my one and only.
If I have to search half the World
Then I'll be no longer lonely.

I know my wants, and my dreams
For my heart's desire.
If love is true then it seems
To burn like hottest fire.

Good looks may run a distant last
To what she has inside;-
The superficial has long past
And my heart could never hide.

What is this World without love?
It's empty and it's hollow; -
Oh to find that treasure trove
That gives meaning to tomorrow.



© lovecanbereal
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