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Lost Love
Poem
Don't Come
.
I don’t want your fingertips to touch my name
or caress it or read it
I don’t want you to come
nor your distressed face
your waterproof mascara
your incomplete decision
Don't knock on the stone
I don’t want your daisies
I won’t pick those petals anymore
I will be unadulterated...skeptical
simpler, quieter, and easier
to understand
Don’t come
I won’t be bedeviled
by irreconcilable doubts
not anymore
Don’t look for me in our dreams
in our memories
Once I’ve gone, they’ll be all yours
Don’t look for me in the shade of the trees
in the silence of your room
of your desire
I won’t be the wind in your hair
the tickling on your back
Don't knock on the stone
I won't be around
My voice, my best smile
my hunger for your kisses
my clumsy hands undressing you
my lost eyes looking for you
my rainy afternoons, my better world
Nothing will be left of them...Don't come
You should have come earlier
...you should not have gone
Although the promises are unquestionably irrelevant
I’ll think of you
in another eternity
But don’t come
once I've gone
I swear
not even as a tiny blade of grass
I will never ever return
Note:
I would like to thank Andrea Dietrich and Deborah Guzzi for their help in revising this poem.
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Lost Love
Poem
Love Beyond the Pale
You lay upon the warm wet earth
torn from limb to limb.
Your present shape denies the girth
of the form you once had been.
Truncated tendrils mock your birth
about you ivy climbs,
my love for you evokes true mirth
but love does not end with time.
Now fallen, slain, cast for rebirth,
the core of you sublime,
an earthly stump, at forest skirt
a memory of grand times.
Yet, love lingers beyond base veils
and passion’s youthful prime.
I’ll wait for you beyond the pale
and you’ll return to be mine.
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Lost Love
Poem
In the Sun's Last Glow
On her terrace where she once had viewed a crimson field,
she stands recalling heroes who were battling their foe.
She still can feel the terror! How her poor heart reeled
thinking of her lover fighting on the field below,
with others on that plain bathed red as the sun dipped low.
The brave men lie in caskets which now are concealed
beneath a plain that ran with blood, where bright irises now grow.
She thinks of her own strong brave man, draped in white and sealed
forever in a casket too. He was her Romeo.
The sorrow flooding her she had never thought to know.
She looks down from her terrace with a heart that won’t be healed.
The mighty dead now lie in grassy fields. . . and lo!
Around the graves are swords, which are green blades revealed
with *purple flags that softly wave as a May wind starts to blow
and she is bathed in red again, there in the sun’s last glow.
Written May 27. 2012
For Francine Roberts' Three Forms/Three Themes Poetry Contest
Theme: A broken heart
* Purple flags refer to the name of the purple iris that resembles a flag
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Lost Love
Poem
Kiss the Rain
I stand here by the lakeshore, and I smell
fresh honeysuckle as I kiss the rain.
A memory that I cannot curtail
wafts bitter sweetly to me, and again
it’s May. . . the night you came to me by moonlight.
The air was permeated by perfume
from blossoms colored innocently white.
But now it’s summer; yellow is each bloom.
When plump upon the vines, sweet berries, red,
will be swooped up by birds and carried away.
I stoop to touch a stem. How soon has fled
my flowered youth, and now this day chilled grey,
I bow in downpour like the vines bent low
while raindrops turn to tears and - glistening - flow.
For the Contest of Gail Doyle
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Lost Love
Poem
As My Pen Danced
I waited, dressed to kill
in red,
and in love
both, of which
I could have been coaxed out of
You have turned a pale shade of white,
my Valentine
Al Green sang to me,
as my pen danced as your substitute
we danced all night long,
stationary, our dance floor.
As we whirled to the emotions
of words' sounds; hand in hand,
we went round and round
and round
No one else in the room
most of all, not you
as my ink turned
from red to blue
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Lost Love
Poem
A Sonnet For Eduardo
The day I left Madrid, I waved goodbye
to someone dear to me. I still can see
his dark brown eyes that could not tell a lie,
those same eyes I’d beheld so tenderly
each day when he would show up at my door.
Where is my friend Eduardo, whom I left
behind so long ago and never more
would see again? I know he was bereft
from letters that he sent, and I replied
that we would meet again. I could not know
how wrong I was or if he ever cried
for me. How easily I let him go!
How innocent and beautiful was he!
Unbearable the beauty of my memory.
For the Unbearable Beauty Poetry Contest of Frank Herrera
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Lost Love
Poem
Goodbye, My Child
Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs
Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found
Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling
Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found
To where the ridges merry make
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers
Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found
Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong
Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found
For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found
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Lost Love
Poem
I Look To the Moon
I look to the Moon, hanging aloft
Among the clouds so milky soft.
How must it feel, so high above?
So chilled and bleak and void of love.
Collapsed and sunken are his eyes,
Dark and deep as the onyx skies.
As the Moon shies from the sun,
I share no love with anyone.
The Moon is alone, without affection.
In its grim face is my reflection.
Inside my heart, the longing grows,
And rots my soul, a sickly rose.
While I look beyond this cage,
I clench my fists; they shake with rage.
I desperately stare above,
Wishing to fly, free as a dove;
For release from the troubled heart I claim,
To be finally rid of the madness and shame.
Although reprieve is found in song,
To no one does my soul belong.
In music, may the pleas be spoken,
But all in vain; the heart is broken.
The Sphere returns, begins to sigh.
We are not so different, You and I.
So twisted and fractured is the White Stone.
We both have no one; We are both all alone.
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Lost Love
Poem
Wayward Child
Memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide
grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passion now abides
for you have left me, long ago, and now, alone bereft.
Grasping for the grains of sentiment sometimes left
beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide
for you have left me, long ago, now so alone, bereft...
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside.
Beside a roaring bonfire, where sparks on night winds glide
We conceived a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief.
I huddle in a dune's dark shade with nothing left inside
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief.
We conceived a wayward child, a changeling child, a thief.
In cold or torrid waves, spent passion now abides,
as the waves of age and ages, return only grief
Memory is a fickle lover succumbing to the tide.
Date: 8/8/12
Poet: Debbie Guzzi
Inspired by Charles Henderson write
A Song of Michael's Rose
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Lost Love
Poem
Butterfly Landings
Butterfly Landings
It’s a precarious perch
High by a skydive
In such a leap of faith
A leap of love
Circumnavigates these boots of Earth
Fellow to the stratospheres
These butterfly landings
Of you in my heart
Destinies lance
Has shot me full to the sun
On the twirling chant sung
Ever re initiates
And sounds the river onward runs
Always
Of your name
Settles red iridescence
To tip the scales
These butterfly landings
Of you in my arms
I see you in precognitions
Flashes
In my obsessions of your hair
Lip-syncing to the kisses
In my passions of your eyes
Where my heady desires evolve
This molecular bonding’s
These butterfly landings
Of you inside my soul
It’s a precarious perch
To expressive to encapsulate
How much I love you
It’s a peculiar laugh
That admits I have never even met you
But all of you inexorable
I am conceded to the pull
I am bound to the groundings
In these butterfly landings
Of you
( Everything I am
Everything I do
Wrapped inside
Those landing butterflies
I cannot express
In any vocabulary of words
Only in the dictionary of unspoken eternals
Lay the definitions of
How much I love
How much I need
How much I want
You
They beg with you
This man on bended knees
How this strength in me
Pleads
Come back to me
Come back to me )
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