I have been temperate always,
But I am like to be very drunk
With your coming.
There have been times
I feared to walk down the street
Lest I should reel with the wine of you,
And jerk against my neighbours
As they go by.
I am parched now, and my tongue is horrible in my mouth,
But my brain is noisy
With the clash and gurgle of filling wine-cups.
Another little treasure…
No matter why, nor whence, nor when she came,
There was her place. No matter what men said,
No matter what she was; living or dead,
Faithful or not, he loved her all the same.
The story was as old as human shame,
But ever since that lonely night she fled,
With books to blind him, he had only read
The story of the ashes and the flame.
There she was always coming pretty soon
To fool him back, with penitent scared eyes
That had in them the laughter of the moon
For baffled lovers, and to make him think —
Before she gave him time enough to wink —
Her kisses were the keys to Paradise.
Even if I could wrap it up,
You’d not be surprised to find
That same gift I give you every day
Beating away like a ticking bomb,
Sweet as stained-red marzipan.
I’m not so good at writing this kind of stuff but I do enjoy reading it…Came across this the other day, great words and I love the picture. wordsofkings
This I miss.
I have not words to describe this pain
That hits like waves
Again and again.
I have not words to describe this space
Just that it’s shaped like you,
It has your face.
Could you hurry the hell up
Like you are supposed to do,
Tracks in early morning dew
Your four, to my two.
We run, you in front, no care,
Me behind. Just there.
You don’t need to look back to see
Where I am. You know me,
Hear me when I call you back
Know the things I often lack,
A touch, a voice, someone to be with
Nothing to take, only things to give.
What better love is there than this
Glossy black, requited bliss?
Look me in the eyes,
See nothing but
Listen to my voice,
The heavy lightness of sunshine
Opens dark eyes that cannot see. You
Are not here
And my heart is caught up in the gauzy ghost of a summer breeze,
Then scattered like petals
To fall where you might tread.
Last one in this vein, I promise, but found this whilst having a sort out this weekend and it was too funny not to share. I can only hope my poetry has become better with age, and how tragic are the last couple of lines? I’m not sure if they made me want to laugh or cry…