online today!lovecanbereal Poetry (146)

Beauty, its said
Comes from the soul
From within.

Those soul-mirrors
The eyes.

Her body may be old
The light of her beauty
Is in her eyes.

The curve of her lips
The dance
From within.

The flame of a passion
Long extinguished
From her youth
Still dances in her eyes.

Compassion
Acceptance
True beauty
From within.



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Swipe right
My daily rite
(For as a man
I need delight).

Swipe left
I feel bereft
(Although it's quick
As I am deft).

Swipe right
Maybe some night
She will let me
Be her knight.

Well, I'm alone
(And all out of fight)
Today I'm done
With swiping right.

Can this continue?
Well not tonight
(I've writer's block)
And so goodnight.



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For all who like tales of "Sex and the City"
Well here is another I wrote just for you;-
About a fine whore that I will call Kitty*
So read on, don't avert your eyes from view.
Good reader, I hope you find this poem witty;-
Do please read on without further ado;-
And my poesy can here resume with CS,
Now they have reCAPCHA with its safe finesse.

I therefore re-visit and expand my rapture
(Now that I know CS has security;-
https and now reCAPCHA;-
So I don't mind here, now writing for free).
I take some pleasure in writing now for ya,
Though why on these topics? - well, that is just me.
Writers a hint: protect your originality;-
When you post, copy poems to USB.

Well, there I'm again in a Sydney brothel;-
"We have three ladies," said the older Madam;-
"Why so few"? (I asked) "Well do now please tell";-
"Well" (she said) "My good man, it's past 4 am;-
"You're lucky we have three here - It's just as well;-
"For you're a fella who likes to choose 'em".
(So she asked them to come downstairs, that lot,
And the ladies were Kitty, Sue, and Margot).

Now Kitty stood there between two brunettes;-
Her hair was blonde (in a sunbleached kind of way),-
And as far as I could tell from her silhouette,-
She'd a figure just made for frolic and play.
She stepped out of shadow;- I saw better yet,
A buxom wench there in red lingerie.
"So what girl do you want"? (the Madam said);-
I told her 'twas Kitty whom I wanted to bed.

Well I told her Kitty, and so Kitty it was;-
(She turn'd on her heels, and I follow'd upstairs).
Why was I here? - I suppose just because,
I was lonely, h*rny, or caught unawares;-
(It's the same the world over;- no diff'rent in Oz;-
Sometimes an old bloke needs to banish his cares).
Where was this place I encountered my Kitty?
"T'was somewhere in the town they call "Sin City."**

The establishment was by no means expensive;-
The Madam was paid;- we got down to business,
'Midst cheap clapboard walls and posters suggestive;-
A victimless "crime" (as God is my witness;-
Consenting adults, by no means excessive);-
And the fact was, we both now enjoyed this.
(Unlike on the net, you can't really be scammed;-
Regardless, I write this: "Publish and be Damned").

Now Kitty's quite buxom (I've said that before);-
We lie on a cheap bed;- divested of clothes;-
She was a cheerful girl (I write on that score;-
Well society doesn't approve of those);-
Though none the less, we're winning the "war,"
With our "slap and tickle",- in s*xual throws.
Twenty-ninth September, two thousand fourteen;-
Was all this real?;- or was it just a dream?

Later, exhaustion on a rutted bed;-
With the lights dimmed low, for the final act;-
(I'm a single man, and I've never been wed,-
So where is the shame in what we enact?);-
And enact we did, (after our clothes we shed);-
Then a second occasion (that is a fact);-
About six months later;- that was my Kitty;-
I was gentle with her as I kissed her clitty.

Well, that is the story: I'll never turn down,
Occasions for love and "Sex in the City";-
In poesy quite factual, the truth I'll own;-
(And we both loved those acts;- me and my Kitty).
Well, such is the life when in lust we drown;-
(I'll not ask, evoke, or expect your pity).
I kiss'd her top, her middle, down to her feet;-
As we both enjoyed this s*xual heat.

So that was the case, (and I'm not too choosy);-
And that next hot time,- me she remembered.
On this second time,- me and my floozy;-
With passion and lust,- we both surrendered;-
(The repeat occasion was also a doozy;-
To the other girls me she recommended).
Well, such is my way;- you've another confession,
About myself, and the "oldest profession."



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I

I think of the Aborigine's last plight
To tell of the Rainbow Serpent* in its might
Wherein the ancient dream time lies your soul
And the strength of ancient myth becomes your all.

For my young country Australia -
I tell of my dismay and love for her
I sing my all and in my praise for you
Hear the ancient haunting rhythm of didgeridoo.

Generations old and lost in time
Rock paintings in the Kimberley sublime
Dot paintings are the desert's oldest art
The living Dreamtime spirit at its heart.

One day they'll be when black and white unite
To recognize the black man in his fight
To seek the white man's peace in destiny
We must first make peace with the Aborigine.

To put the Constitution right now in its laws
To love the black man instead of to abhor
And to the Stolen Generation, a treaty give
Will make our country stronger - live and let live.

To lift the black man up with helping hand
Like Gough Whitlam ** unto you did pour his sand***
From white to black we still have far to go
From black to white forgiveness we must know.




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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.




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I can't wake up!
These succubi
They haunt me-
Another broken love -
Or a forgotten dream?

Trapped in this
Kaleidoscopic maze
Old movie vision
Flickers in my head
From the cinema
Of my life

Exited and restless
Under the sheets
I jolt myself
Half awake
Only to slide
Back into slumber
As time folds over itself

Your spirit must
Be astral travelling
Our spirits
Now ether bound
Co-mingle in the night

I am awake
Or am I?
I toss and turn
In a tangled mess of sheets
And suddenly
I'm walking down the hall
Or am I?
I seem to be floating
I wake with a start
Now agitated
And burning with desire.


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In the pride of his knowledge,- he soared too high;-
His wings of wax and paper come undone;-
He plummets down now;- from that same blue sky;-
(And I am cow'd as Icurus' son).
Who feels the mortal damage to his pride;-
(And so I write of how I've come undone);-
The splitting and the splitting;- of wounds that run so deep;-
As sentimental tears course down his cheeks.



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It is universally known
(As a de facto theory)
That women judge a man
By his shoes.

(Or so they say) ; however;-
What would the reverse case be?

Are us men to make
Value judgements
About high stilettoes
Or a woman in moccasins?

No! I maintain it's her handbag
That shows her class
(Something elegant need not be expensive).

A tote bag
About the size
Between an A4 and A3
piece of paper.

If it is elegant
An imitation is OK,
(Provided it doesn't look like
A cheap knockoff).

Which of course would give
The game away.



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I've given myself to many women,
Although I am not cheap.

My heart is hard, from life common,
(Although I still can weep).

I'm damaged from my childhood,
(That black emotional sin).

Every day I stay alive,
Is a day I win.

And I don't fully know myself,
(But then again - who does?)

I'm scared sometimes to show my heart,
(Wounded from a lack of love).

I spend most days writing here,
In silent introspection.

I know one day, I'll heal myself,
And find a new direction.

Maybe it's my nature,
And maybe it's my curse;-

To see the beauty,
In most women;-

For better,
Or for worse.



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How can I say that sex with you was poison -
When it was some of the best I've ever had?
Sometimes two lover's hearts must swell with treason -
Maybe such sweet deceptions always sad.
Feelings of this kind must defy reason -
Like a hit of d**gs - the short term state is glad;
To blow our minds in this our sweet escape -
It seems the devil had both our souls to rape.

Two damaged hearts - and drinking - always drinking -
We drank the chalice to sublimate our pain;
Reason's out the window - lust is smirking -
And in the morning falls a bitter rain.
Then at it again - neither of us thinking -
We held each other in this our secret shame;
Our relationship in eighteen months went nowhere -
And desolation's angel hovered there.

What can I say that would ever make a dif'rence?
Who had the best of whom? - I c'not say.
Of lust this strong - intense as it is senseless -
Sometimes, two lovers - both must have their way.
Let's blow our minds - then look into the distance -
(And embrace again to cover our dismay)
For when "love" becomes affection's artifice -
When neither loves - then both must drown in vice.

T'was not so long ago, I heard you died,
Roughly three months ago (it was) so I
Thought that I'd extend this poem. (I could have cried
It was a shock, but I kept my eyes dry).
This life to you unhappiness supplied,
So I'd rage on your behalf up to the sky
For all of the injustice, and abuse
Done to you as a child, but what's the use?

S*xually abused when you were nine,
And by a distant uncle, in his teens
Which lay in your subconscious like a mine
To detonate, and blow away life's dreams.
When we first met, all of you seemed fine,
(But first impressions are never as they seem)
With you for about a year and a half
Though we couldn't save each other, or ourselves.

Still, we clung together, as two lost drunks
(The sex was good and I have no complaints)
From the start, our relationship was sunk
(I could cry, or howl, or yell;- invoke the saints,
And nothing could have helped with your blue funk).
Well angels (if they're any) they would faint
If they recalled (or saw) the damage done
And how your life was robbed of any fun.

I was with you for eighteen months, before
You moved away, to go live up the coast.
(Lucy never in your nature like a whore
And I don't of just another conquest boast).
If I met that c*nt, I'd even up the score,
Then they'd put me in jail (five years at most)
So I'll damn him in my verse here instead,
And Johnny, you'll be punished when you're dead.

Well Johnny, now I know that your a liar,
Who destroyed Lucy's life, then went your way
I know that you'll be burnt by Karmic Fire
And live in guilt, unto your dying day.
Dead ladies tell no tales, they don't require
That truth be told, but you'll suffer someday
In this life (or the next) and cast in flames
For what you once excused as childish games.

I won't go on much further - except to say -
Lucy, I don't know the details - how you died;
(All I can do is speak of my dismay
And write in lieu of tears I may have cried).
For posterity, I may record the day
We first met, now you have to death retired;-
The thirteenth of the seventh two thousand and two;-
I hope you're reborn in the next life high and new.


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Another tryst, I'll now commit to verse
(To be specific, 'twas a double tryst
Not a threesome;- well maybe that is worse
'Twas two encounters;- I now consult my list)
It seems that fleeting love, it is my curse
About a week apart, and do I miss
Her? No - not as such; though it would be nice
To see her again, and make a double thrice.

How did it start? You ask me?;- so I'll tell
I'll "kiss and tell" (although not be specific)
(I must protect her name;- and mine as well
In stories that I tell you, quite terrific).
So I'll "cut to the chase", and no more dwell
On beginnings (lest they are soporific)
As many times before, 'twas in a pub,-
Where I first met Victoria* - my "love".

About eight months ago now, to the day
I was feeling bored, and wandering around
Then fate befalls two lovers; - that's fate's way
(It was not so far from my local town).
So in this pub;- in the beer garden's shade
"Twas where I saw her (now love lost and found)
The pub, as I recall, was in Leumeah**
And in that pub, last summer, I did see her.

Well, she sat there, in the garden, sweet enough
Now by herself, and toying with her drink.
You've guessed correct: I like a "bit of rough"
(Of a pickup line, I now must quickly think)
Or perhaps lose this hot blonde "piece of fluff"
(As last Summer's afternoon, the sun did sink)
She sat alone, in high surpassing beauty
And all I wanted now,- was that she see me.

I think I now remarked upon the heat,
(In that Summer, it was in fact, December).
On hearing this, she asked me - (did entreat)
That is to say, to sit down there, and join her.
(Well, I must say, an easy way to meet,
And that's about as best as I remember).
I asked her name; she told me: "Victoria"
(And in bed, I'd soon be exploring her).

Well soon we'd both had quite a few cold beers
(The two of us 'cross the table "tete a tete")
Blonde and beautiful, aged 'bout thirty years
She asked for my phone number (then made me wait)
Then Victoria was gone, (though made it clear)
That next week she'd be calling me her mate
Well, I don't think I've ever hung on the phone
In quite this way, to be with her - alone.

Then, in a few days (and true to her word)
Did call me (on a weekday afternoon)
And like the cat does pounce upon a bird
I answered her (quite in a lover's swoon).
She mentioned a coffee shop (this I heard)
(Well naturally, I got to there quite soon).
After coffee, walking back, in the twilight
To her townhouse - where we found our delight.

In the middle of a heatwave, on her bed
(The mercury, I swear, was over forty)
A fiery Sun, with resignation, set
And we were plunged in shadow - for our "naughty,"
My tongue would soon explore her shades of red
(No more looks of pride now high and haughty)
In desperation, tearing off our clothes
Where it would stop now - only heaven knows.

In the corner of her room now, a small fan
Did stir the air, to wage a losing war
And I say this: (as sure as I'm a man)
That I have never had a better whore.
Why do I say "whore"? was this - in fact - the plan?
(Well do read on, and you shall know the score)
When after, out of bed, we both did climb;-
Then she told me, that she had come,- five times!

And after that, she went and made some coffee
Too soon we parted, (well that is how it goes);-
Though, not before, she'd asked me for some money;-
(To help with rising rent, as Sydney grows).
She worked as a whore;- this she now told me;-
('Twas in fact in a brothel, that I know).
I'd had a win on the races, recently;-
So I gave her five hundred dollars- see?

The next time,- ('twas about a week later,
The next weekend),- in her bed, there - I was:
(And another five hundred dollars, for her favor;-
She wasn't shy to ask me now because,
She'd asked me once already, now, before).
Well such is this short story (which I close)
By saying:- "thanks for fast woman, and faster horses;-
The stars above;- and their strange celestial forces".

I take up my guitar;- full of blue promise,-
As I remember you;- how much I miss;-
To find a chord,- (a favorite of mine);-
And strum down soft and think of first love's bliss.

As I work my way across the blues scale,-
Notes caress the air in sound's subtle veil;-
(In what was just before a hollow box);-
And maybe in the next world love won't fail?

I'm not drinking tonight;- my head is clear;-
When desire is gone,- there's neither love nor fear,-
(I used to drink alone most ev'ry night);-
To dream the dream of you;- when you were near.

Well,- love is true,- and love there still remains,-
In ashes now;- burnt by an old flame;-
(Caress of blues;- that now softly turns to jazz);-
I tell myself that first love's cut can heal again.

Many loves have come and gone;- yet there are none;-
That set as true in night as first love's sun;-
None I remember were as true as ours;-
My heart transported,- as my hand doth strum.

If tears were left,- then maybe I could cry;-
And lose my disappointment to the sky;-
(As jazz turns to blues,- then softly back again);-
If for just one night, you would now with me lie.

Though over time your memory doth fade;-
It's all I have;- the memories we made;-
As each new chord hangs softly in the air;-
This I recall;- as each blue note is played.



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