When Cupid gets Drunk

The cherubic boy, with arrow, will strike;
Let the grog flow, so the self-obsessed;
May each then reel - and perhaps find delight;
(Then forget the way which they have transgressed);
With each drink, become as high as a kite;
It's all because a young imp, half-undressed;
Decided to join in the bright festivities;-
(Reflecting badly on cherub proclivities).

The cherubic imp's as invisible as air;
Flutt'ring on wings, with bow, and with arrow;
When you've thought you've seen him, he isn't there;
Though you may hear his wings swish like a sparrow;
Close to your ear, or to ruffle your hair;
No need to read your fortune with tarot;
Tonight our Cupid's got love sorted out;
(And it's good to know the young imp's about).

All this work is tiring in a nightclub;
The heat, the noise, the crowd, the music;
Cupid needs refreshment - and here's the rub;
He's not meant to drink, or he'll become sick;
Last time, at a dinner party, he fell into a bathtub;-
After drinking a cocktail, he fell like a brick;-
(Before this, he'd used the drink's swizzle stick;-
As an arrow, to shoot at the cat, the dumb prick!)*

Cupid's developed a taste for the booze;
(He thought it gave his flight extra verve);
Romantic liaisons were now his to choose;
(So long as he flies, and can keep his nerve);
And for this reason the grog he would use;
To keep his arrows true - for them not to swerve;
Though he doesn't fly too well when he's liquored;
And on this night, our Cupid is shickered!

For the first few drinks, the boy kept his eye;
Steadfastly on a man across the room;
Through angelic peepers, he did espy;
Subversive conduct going on all too soon;
The man with bad thoughts, well now he did try;
To spike a ladies drink** - (the bloody goon);
Cupid shoots an arrow (before he is pissed);
A damn good shot! - It hits the man on the wrist!

The "gentleman", well, he lets out a howl;
(The drug meant for her, is now on the floor);**
And despite being as pissed as an owl;
He feels pain in his arm, like nothing before;
The lady now sees his hideous scowl;
She gathers her things, then bolts for the door;
Well that's quite nice - a crisis averted;
The boy saves a lady who would have been skirted.

Well, being a boy of very high virtue;
Cupid does not hang around for too long;
He's busy tonight, and there is much to do;
On gossamer wings, powered by angel's song;
He flits 'cross the room, (after stopping this snafu);
But stops on the way - to drink some more grog;
As well as cocktails, the imp likes champagne;
(And sadly for him, again, and again).

Though just as a sylph, and angel in flight;
(The baby-faced cherub is pretty far gone);
He's conscious enough, to now find delight;
In promoting the odd drunken liaison;
(If he knows in the morning, at the first light;
Lasting love will come from reckless passion);-
The cherubic rouge's old, despite his young years;
He sees all the girls, through veils of their tears.

The coquettish boy - (harbinger of doom);
Is out of his mind, and in no fit state;
To do much after this, now that the room;
Is spinning and giddy, and the hour late;
The debauchery, and moral vacuum;
Increases; (and all the more insensate;
Grows the cherubic mind, with each drink taken);-
And now I despair;- Cupid's forsaken!

For poor Cupid's really on a bender;
(After shooing away young couples in love);
Now they all say: "the kid's a pretender";
(With flight no more graceful, like a dove);
He loses his gyros, and now bends a fender;
When he falls like a stone, from his high perch above;
From the floor, he sees all Bacchanalia;
I just shrug my shoulders, well, - this is Australia!


© lovecanbereal
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Sep 26
About this poem:
* Luckily, he missed!
** Let's be honest, it happens all over the world
Post Comment

Jacaranda trees at night

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
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Sep 17
Post Comment

Steady as she goes

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 bought 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
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 8
About this poem:
* Maybe, (lol) - at any rate, I'll keep writing!
** In a heatwave, I may have a beer, or two...it gets to 50 C, in Summer, out here!
Post Comment

Indifferent Star

I once was worshipped as the Sun-God Ra,
In that age, I was more benevolent,
But today I am, an Indifferent Star,
Heat, (trapped by emissions) grows more violent;
Born long ago - a birth in time afar,
I'm all fusion, and my heat cannot relent;-
So pray to what you will - it does not matter;-
As radiation to the Void, I must scatter.

A basic fractal pattern bought me here,
Generated quantum physics from the Void,
The human plague, I see, my burning sphere,
Does what it must, as fusion is deployed;
My hot ire is now what you all should fear;
And I care not one jot if Earth's destroyed;
If all must perish, because of human greed;
And the far too frequent spreading of his seed.

For in these Universes infinite,
I'm but one, of many trillion here,
There's other life - far more intelligent,
Each spinning 'round their own burning sphere;
The momentum in the System is irrelevant;
And burn, I must, as the Earth must sear;
For all this was started long ago;-
I cannot stop what is now causing woe.

Is there a chance, I won't incinerate,
The human primates, dwelling there below?
Your added gasses, that now incarcerate,
My heat - that melts glaciers, and snow?
The Laws of Physics, are quite inviolate,
And there's nothing I can do, to even slow;
What must burn, with my Atomic Fusion;-
I'm no computer pattern or illusion.

If there's a chance, then Man must act alone,
Take responsibility, for his own actions,
The overpopulated planet now must groan,
Because of Man's more stupid infractions;
There's no point praying to the skies, to moan;-
To beseech a non-existent god's reactions;
Man must face the nightmare he's created;
And his greed - which is never satiated.

For - you see - I'm but an Indifferent Star;
(With just so much hydrogen to helium);
And burn I must - as Man must drive his car;-
My ultraviolet burns his epithelium;
There's a slim chance, my rays, they will not mar;
Those humans to escape my hot delirium;-
Though Man must help himself - that's the principle;
For burn, I must - I cannot help the crucible.

That animals must suffer - it's a shame;
The "Twilight of the Idols"* is at hand;
There's not much hope that Man can raise his game;
Whilst he talks to an Imaginary Friend;
I've been called the Sun-God Ra - it's all the same;
It's time Man faced the Facts - to not pretend;
That a non-existent man, in the skies;-
Would care now, if he lives, or if he dies.


© lovecanbereal
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 5
About this poem:
* Nietzche
Post Comment

Mathematics

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


© lovecanbereal
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 24
About this poem:
What price poetry?
Post Comment

Some Things Rhyme With Orange!

She flew her glider off the Blorenge*
For she had a bird-like skill;-
And the flimsy craft was orange;-
('Twas launched from that mighty hill).

It took a long walk to arrange;-
This courageous act of will;-
To first mount this rill (or range);-
(The braveness does impress me still).

Her name was Angela (or 'Ange');-
She lived down by the old stone mill;-
Her surname could be "Gorringe"?**
Yes, I think that fits the bill!


© lovecanbereal
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 16
About this poem:
* A hill near Abergavenny (in Wales), popular with hang gliders
** An English surname....note: any resemblance, to any person (living or dead), is purely coincidental
*** (Naturally this poem contains some assonance)...
Post Comment

For the love of Goats

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
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 16
About this poem:
Goats!
Post Comment

Be real: Ace Poet Part 2

The words of be real
Are smoother than silk
There's very few poets
Who are of his ilk

As the casual observer
Can quite clearly see
There's precious few poets
That are finer than he

His verse and meter's
A fine-tuned Swiss watch
Words flow from his pen
For this bard is top notch!


© lovecanbereal
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 3
About this poem:
Original lcbr poem (edited slightly)....from the blogs....(A bit of shameless self-promotion!)
Post Comment

Be real: Ace Poet Part 1

The literary spirits alive here I see
Though I doubt you'll ever be as good as me
It seems I've started a poetry slam
So give it your best, cos I don't give a damn!

My verse and my meter are finer than yours
Be real is a poet whose muse never bores

On poet's corner his high accolades
Increase as the posy he writes there cascades
So give it your best I doubt you'll compare
To a poet whose words can dance like Astaire!


© lovecanbereal
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 3
About this poem:
Shameless self-promotion, but I think it's pretty good!...
(mostly) the standard of poetry, here, is Excellent!
Post Comment

The blogs are ok

The fella's ok, he's just a bit old
A maths geek comes in from the cold
It's not representative
When he's argumentative
But when making maths blogs
He outdoes most the slobs.

These blogs help me relearn
Mathematics I've spurned
When my wild days
Left my mind in a haze.

But now I am sober
(Much like a judge)
Notation is clear
For math, you can't fudge.

Knowledge comes back
I once thought I'd lost
I'm on the right track
I've paid off the cost.

Be real is now here
With a laser-like mind
Soaking up figures
And things of that kind.

Maybe in blog land
Things would be more pleasant
If those would understand
Who act like a peasant

The lady's mostly ok
(She is good too)
So on with this blog
With less hullabaloo!


© lovecanbereal
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 3
About this poem:
An original lcbr poem, (from the blogs)......
Post Comment

Be real on Poets' Corner

Don't knock the poet
Who puts work here for free
Just so you know it
That poets me

My words not obtuse
Or like Dr Seuss
I'll leave that to others
To act like a goose!

With wit and with flair
Be real has been there
The verse of Bereal
The poetic real deal!

If verse is sub par
It will not go far
Others may read it
But they will not feel it

Bereal's been around
the block once or twice
He's an excellent Poet
So take his advice:

Drop into the corner
(As I do the blogs)
Widen horizons
And don't be a snob

I'd challenge some here
To a poetry slam
But then their fair faces
Would be covered in jam!

There's other ace poets
On the Corner with me
So don't be a bigot
Click on there and see!


© lovecanbereal
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 3
Post Comment

The Old Codger

I talk to the old codger
But he's an old dodger
As sly as a wisp of smoke

In due proportions
Not gross distortions
I now beseech
You old bloke

To present the question
(That's just a suggestion)
In format that's not from Mars

Or have you been reeling
From lack of feeling
And falling down in bars?


© lovecanbereal
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 3
Post Comment

This is a list of lovecanbereal's Poems. Click here for lovecanbereal's Poem List

back to top
We use cookies to ensure that you have the best experience possible on our website. Read Our Privacy Policy Here