lovecanbereal Poetry (146)

She holds relief;
In her hand;-
A few white grains of rice.

And down that river,
Now she flows;-
Forgetting all her vice.

Just half a minute;-
(Now before),
Her pain;-
It was so real.

Then the soft rose,
A plume of blood;-
And nothing now is sore.

She once believed in Castles,
And of fairies, and of Princes.

Now all she has,
Is this hot rush;-
And a dirty rented room.



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Our Nation young;-

Though still bound,
By convict chains;-

To feel that
Flogging blood;-

That goes down,
Through generations;-

And through
The years;-

Crime is in the blood,
They say;-
Bad genes.

Down through generations.

The bitter spite,
Against authority.

The gambler's curse,

And no one
Wants to go to jail.

We will fight you,
In Sydney.

All those Larrikins
And Hard Men

Nights spent drinking,
And brawling, in the Rocks

Now soft sounds returned;-
As the waves smack,
Against the Quay;-

Long ago;-
All those guts and gore.

And the flailing of the Cat*
On this newfound shore.

To see Police,
And still, hackles come up;-

Like a dog before a fight,
In bridled frenzy.

And Foveaux**,
On Norfolk Island was;-

The salty air;
And the salty taste of blood.



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The Demon Mistress of last night's horror,
Dreams away in sacred little fancies;
And sick the morning after to abhor,
Now that she has cast her necromancies.

The dark last night was one of restless sleep,
In the shadowland 'tween wake and slumber;
T'was dragged to sink in Morpheus' deep,
Arms there to forget and not remember.

She's a woman - (though I've not seen her face);
As floating gently, in seas quite fathomless,
I'm then roused a little by her unquiet grace;-
To be plunged into an ocean bottomless.

My life force and my energy desire;
Is taken by this ghastly Succubus,
She mounts me in my sleep - my rod of fire,
Thrusts upward, and into her nothingness.

She wants it all, to drain my energy;
The rhythm of her hips now grows more frantic,
I'm helpless to resist too young to die;
She stops me at my peak in taunting tantric.

I start awake now drenched in sweat and shaking;
I hear a she-cat shriek in piteous cry,
Mewling at the midnight moon and taking,
Weak souls to their dreadful destiny.




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A first blush of pink now heralds new dawn,
With strings of thin white clouds which burn away;
And as refulgent light hints at your form,
Four horses drag hot Sun into the day.*

First blush of pink, and that blush all too brief,
Now night has left upon a whim of blue,
Sky which lights now into stark relief;
And time, it seems, can hold no other hue.

The rising Sun a burning crown of glory,
I see his yellow disk now orb the sky;*
Another day dawns on our human story,
And still there's none who know exactly why.



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On the TV, my beautiful weather girl,
I see you in the morning like a dream;
Climatic changes, on your maps, unfurled;
And spread now before me - your beauty seems
Unfinished now - so has your lover returned?
Your secrets in the morning scarce revealed.
Now I see you hot, in your push-up bra;-
Though I can only love you from afar.


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I don't think I can fall in love again
It hurts too much - and I don't understand
Women all they want - my physicality
They want me - yet they don't - my animality.

Across the net, I offer up my love -
Or pain's miss understanding (now it seems)
Who wants this man who's haunted? (an old cove)
Who seeks affection - but a painful dream.

I cannot risk my love (as if a bet)
If only money - who cares if it's lost?
I cannot risk my heart upon the net
I have the price but cannot pay the cost.

So I'm alone and lonely - no more tears
After drinking feelings are but numbed
Washed away too many nights - no piety
I'm faithless even in my new sobriety.




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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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The red rose is touched by dew :-

Tears from a red rose
Blood from her womb
So few will know.

Known by so few
Tears from a red rose
So few will know.

Blood from her womb
Tears from a red rose
So few will know.



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That I could feign to make a sportive play
Or when I think a girl could be serious
Perhaps coming after feelings of dismay
Or last girlfriend becoming deleterious
So we broke up, and do then as we may
Her subtle signs becoming more mysterious
You or I have now said something wrong
Romantic visions I now put into song.

Sweet girl, I'd gone and left you for another
Sometimes large waves can from a ripple build
Routine can sometimes a first passion smother
Fires in other hearts are quickly kindled
Just maybe the next girl will make me bolder
Sometimes it seems so strong is now her will
Love first love now before it slips away
Or last love now - and come whatever may.

And nothing scandalous if not salacious -
For sometimes we must make our feelings plain
A compromise is sometimes deemed most gracious
Or being left to stand there in the rain.
Within a generous heart, her love is spacious
I caught your look of passion on a train
And at the times we feel our most forlorn
Love will save us - if love we do not scorn.




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Lying on the grass in Newtown Cemetary
To see the setting Sun in his hot ire
Drown in a riot of colour - soon sparkling sky -
As Titan sinks now in a sea of fire.
Bright trace remains- although the day must die -
The sinking sun to night almost retired
In what will be a darkling mess of stars
Which mix full soon in moonlight's shining bars.

The dying light, with pink and scarlet shot
Through with indigo, and purple fading rays
Spans the sky now - above our Earthly lot
With colours dancing as the twilight fades.
This Sydney night hangs still and heavy - hot
The gloaming gone as darkness now invades -
Then all around me tends to soft charcoal
As true night time comes upon my soul.

Gravestones lean in odd black silhouettes
Jumble stones which cover these old lives
So old now that their ancestors forget
To tend these plots where memory survives.
With all feelings gone - of joy or of regret -
There is an angels face which now contrives
To show her rotten features old and pitted -
As the full Moon haunts her broken visage.

Where once she was an angel on a grave
She's now a broken whore - with hair cascading -
With nothing left of looks except to save
So little of for which she was created.
Maybe her former beauty now she craves -
Her weathered looks I stare at facinated;
With orange sandstone sparkles in her face
Now lending to this moment a strange grace.

The dark water stains from lost ancient rains
Run down her face - to etch and pock each feature -
For she cries black tears now - nothing remains -
To the ravages of time she doth surrender.
Broken lips over broken teeth - her lost refrains;
And nothing I could say would ever reach her;
Time flows endlessly - in rivers of deep sorrow -
And a broken angel, weeps for a lost tomorrow.


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She saw me walk into a morning lecture
Though at the time I was so unaware.
(I didn't know how I did affect her
As I strolled in that day without a care).
Circumstances - so it seemed - now perfect were
(Like a rabbit in a trap she set a snare)
Then found me in the bar that afternoon
And made her feelings plain then in a swoon.

So who was I to resist unto now?
Some things are perfect - as you soon will see.
Events which I'm relating now (and how)
Extra curricular our activity.
This stories true - this I will avow
(And such it seems is my proclivity).
She introduced herself, her feelings plain
Said she wanted to f*ck me - her name? - Lorraine*

I asked what she was drinking, and she said:
"It's rum and coke, and double - if you please"
The look now in her eyes it spoke of bed
And set a fire in my heart with greatest ease.
The rings on her fingers showed she was wed
(This didn't stop her being such a tease).
My hand got busy under the table -
Soon we are both willing and quite able.

With a figure full - just about mid thirty
Strawberry blonde her hair to shoulder length.
We continued thus growing now more flirty
I felt a rush of blood in giddy strength.
Please don't condemn my poetry as dirty
(I must write on before my talents spent).
Before you say that I'm such a bad bloke
Just read the rest of this - my anecdote.

The University, it was at Wagga **
And students were from Australia wide.
She told me that her husband often flogged her
(I saw the hint of tears now in her eyes).
I have no guilt if so he did mistreat her
(She must have felt much safer by my side).
Bastards, there are with no respect for women -
As low as they come - and all too common.

What happened next there's no surprise for guessing
Her room was ten short minutes' walk away.
The story that I am now here confessing
Must happen to someone most ev'ry day.
Morality I am not here addressing
Will I repent? I must say now: no way!
She lead me to her room, took off her rings
And placed them by the bed with other things.

I can't respect a man who hurts a woman
The "man" who thinks it's his almighty right
To get drunken as a sot and become wanton
Then bring his strength unequal to the fight.
If she could leave him then I said she should then
(Though with me all she wanted was one night).
We interlaced our fingers now sans rings
She told me that she came from Alice Springs. **

Is this what they mean by s*xual healing?
When two souls get comfort in a troubled World.
It would happen less if men they had more feeling
Women are not chattels bought and sold.
These sad facts are those with which I'm dealing
(Her husband is most deserving to cuckold).
I sometimes think how unhappily she wed
To someone most unfit to share her bed.



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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.



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