Last Edited Elegy Poems (1,148)

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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The arctic tern wheels the sky;
All the lonely Summer through;
Sailing on the sleety wind;-
And most accurate his view.

In fields of desolation;
Of white and polar caps,
Seals lie lazy on the rocks,
And whales beneath, perhaps.

Though lonely is the tern;
The world grows ever warmer,
As meridians he turns,
Habitat grows ever smaller.

Yes, lonely is the tern;
Skwarking cranneries on cliffs,
Cruising on the eddies;
Thermals now the tern uplifts.

Looking at the wide blue ocean;
And with that bird's eye view,
He cares not for Man's commotion;
Just his ever-clear purview.

Alas! the graceful tern;
Who lives upon the wing;
Would wish for her return;
To write just one more thing.

Before the tern must face his long migration;-
To Southern parts across an endless sea;-
So she flies in my imagination;-
Safe travels;- seagull - wherever you may be.


© lovecanbereal
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I sought to find, I sought to find - and found,
Lost innocence, that was newly shattered;-
When, now that I had seen Old Sydney Town,
In her cloak of darkness, nothing mattered.
When all I wanted, was to find my own
Identity; my senses now were scattered,
Into the stars; now down in Old Kings Cross,
(My memory now grows a verdant moss).

So young, (they say), so young for a "street kid",
(Well this is what it makes you - if you stay);
Something to shock the Ego, and the Id;
To shock your very soul into dismay;
Where in this shady place, in corners hid,
Were ev'ry type of vice, and wicked way;
There's things you shouldn't see when your fifteen;-
Things that are a nightmare's waking dream.

So now up gaudy William Street, I walked,
Past glitzy showrooms of luxury cars,
Past girls on corners (before whom I balked);
And by each corner, with their lonely bars;
Past the trannies*, whom their wares they hawked;
(For a Mountains Boy, this may as well be Mars);
Past the Coke Sign**, and into her den of vice;
And anything you want - if you have the price.

Bright lights, big city, (so they say) - it's true;
Many moths to a flame, many moths destroyed;
And once it's seen, there's none forget the view;
(Even if thereafter, they then, the place, avoid).
Here's another street fight, here's another blue;***
And before too long, here's police deploy'd;
A gangster's paradise - men like Neddy Smith;-****
Now all these years later, we have Neddy's myth.

I'm on Darlo Road^, (I'm in the "Cross proper);
Past strip shows, f*ck shows, nightclubs, and such things;
With drug dealers paying off the bent coppers;^^
And all is well, and good - till someone "sings";
Then you'll see "what gives" - when they "come a cropper";^^^
(Their blood on the street - is what this brings);
They're called a "dog"^^^^; and bashed there in the street;
And afterwards; their face is like minced meat!

Still there's virtue, in the worst of us;
When the tattoo'd arms, of some criminal,
Would pull me back from the danger, and the fuss;
Away from things which scarred the mind subliminal;
And swimming in societies' worst pus;
With prostitutes strutting in their clothes minimal;
And most of them off their heads on smack;
Which was guaranteed to keep them coming back.

Though in this place, there was a kind of beauty;
Sometimes mix'd in, with the vice, and dross;
At fifteen, I was innocent, as could be
Expected; when I first saw old Kings Cross;
Still things run deep, and deep runs the cruel sea;
And many things must die, to pay the cost.
Some things, which died, inside me, at this time;
Now form the very subject of this rhyme.

So at fifteen, (and also still a virgin);
A young kid's eyes are opened to the world;
My education, somehow, had to begin;-
And so it did - in this underworld.
Drinking underage - most pubs let me in;
(My young mind swimming in the alcohol);
Of course these places also paid police;-
To operate in this place of vice.

So there you have it all;- "it takes all kinds";
And of this saying's truth - I have no doubt;
At my young age then, I missed the land mines;
By keeping quiet - a whisper was a shout;-
(Or could become one - in some other's mind);
It took so little for a fight to break out;-
Which could then cascade into a mighty brawl;
That was "all in" - a violent free for all.

Now the 'Cross is nothing like it used to be;
(Though some things do not change up there - I'm sure);
And She's expensive - in her gentility;
(No longer will you find the dozy whore).
With a veneer of respectability;-
And a little more regard for the Law;-
Pubs close early - with Lockout Laws in place;^^^^
And less young kids there, getting off their face.



© 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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Waves of time moving across Space
Memories formed that
Trail behind us like a wake;
The future yet to come;

As glitter stars shine light,
Opon an Immensity;
We cannot comprehend


© lovecanbereal
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The purple petals darken in the gloaming;-
In their flowered elegance, belles' dresses,
Fall in a slowly darkling Summer night;-
To the fecund loamy softness of the earth;
Where the purpleness dissolves into the air;-
And creatures stir.

Soft velvet carpet, clear Summer skies;-
Stars circle above, in the black eternal vault,
Mysterious. A full moon shimmy-shines,
It's radiant silver, to shower the trees.

Sparkle stars, hours pass, soft dawn encroaches;-
Diffuse flower fragrance kisses the sunrise;
Crystal dew drops refracting tiny rainbows;
And soft mist, from the ladies' purple dresses.



© lovecanbereal
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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
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A mind's reflection casts a thought out wide
Something wherein the ego breaks its banks
Like a river in a flood or swelling tide
(As for that we do for love and not for thanks)
Forgetting P (my mentor), I went outside
On transports of delight - which now outranks
Any former feeling, that once I knew;-
Though I had a lot of growing up to do.

And so it was, I walked home in the sun
Feeling the kiss, Apollo's gentle rays
Wherein my mind all fancies newly ran
And my imagination did cascade.
The light of afternoon becoming wan
Ripples of thought now waves the mind has made
Exaggerating some, depressing others;-
Waves dash to the shore and wetness smothers.

Relishing at first this new sensation
Which opened up interesting new worlds
Subtle thought now held up for introspection
As fancy upon fancy now unfolds
I took the course for home (or rough direction)
The sun had now dipped low, and gilded golds
Sparkled in the soft whispering of trees
Phoebus' rays now dying with the breeze.

At Wentworth Falls* I now approached the station
For I had to go to Lawson* on the train
Though time had lengthened somehow in duration
The dying afternoon and it's refrain
Now sitting on a seat, my observation
Became acute - (though harder to explain)
And almost when I thought that time would stop
The train I waited for, at last, showed up.

I saw the sun's last rays were dying now
And mirrored in that thinnest sheet of gold
The windows of the train reflects its glow
A transport for the passage of my soul
Something that time much later would avow
When I could bring back reason to its fold;-
The train now creaked, and made a lurching sound;-
With carriages in twilight girdled round.

I found a seat on that conveyance and
Thus seated, tried then, to my thoughts, to follow;-
Like the hourglass with its tiny grains of sand
That trickle down through time to find their hollow
In that inverted vessel, wherein they land
And with their neighbors countless now do wallow
Marking mounds of time on shifting hills;-
Heaped and sliding down those little rills.

My train of thought was a train off the rails
(Something I thought I could at first contain)
To smoke this dr*g, and all that that entails
No longer I a virgin could remain;-
Like a plane in flight - its white contrails
Unfold now in the vortex of my brain;-
I felt like an explorer - such as Mawson
When off that train I did alight at Lawson.



© lovecanbereal
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In this soft woven skein; - a chrysalis,
Nests the close-swaddled fabric of her young;-
As life grows ripe with Nature's catalyst,
In a soft downy womb - that's silken-spun;-
Now with the dew of morn is crystal kiss'd,
The young worms glow, as first rays from the Sun,
Bathes each swelling grub in morning light;-
Caterpillar gold, from the depths of night.



© lovecanbereal
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