Best Fantasise Poems
I watched on
as the universe fluffed its lines,
tripping over evolving stories
keeping me in the dark,
gravity pulling my leg
Impossible to ignore
those below-the-belt punchlines
and a Big Bang
that leaves me seeing stars
It all happened so fast
A "hold on there”
kick-in-the-nuts moment
a doubled-over realisation:
I am mortal
and painfully aware
fairytales must cluster
in a galaxy elsewhere
In truth, I could have a brain bleed
tonight and die in my sleep,
just like my father
when he was my age
I won’t even know I’m dead,
no more than I knew I’d be born
Only the living are subject
to such subjective things
What a waste,
a goddamn waste
in all eternity
Why does consciousness
surface at all
only to drain back
into the vacuum of space?
Yeah, thinking about death sucks
especially lying in bed
tossing and turning
trying to sleep
Wish I could fantasise instead,
tucked up nice and cosy
dreaming about all things rosy,
Like those early simians
who went to sleep as monkeys
woke up knowledge-hungry,
bipedal junkies,
after digesting the original
chicken-and-egg omelette
that self-prepared in a forest fire
As for me,
I can’t even distinguish
divine awe
from Sod’s Law
since that probabilistic day
my buttered toast fell
and landed vertical on the floor
Such aberrations occur,
stuff one cannot conjure or control
Adult stuff?
If you like!
Except kids experience (stuff) too!
Most frustrating part:
the universe tells no lies,
only portrays truth,
albeit in an emergent sense
Past to present tense,
the future unravels;
knock-on effects travel,
sometimes producing
sudden knock-backs
as temporal waves
come knocking on one’s door
Still, I’m with the action now;
life hasn’t gone away
Besides, if I knew everything
or was omnipotent,
I’d eventually bore myself to death
in every possible way.
?
so came the morning
and just look at my pillow
well and truly fluffed
By
David Kavanagh
When trouble finds my place in time
I stick to rhythm meter rhyme
The planet wobbles out of kilter
Poetry is my lens reflection filter
As virus sheds its ugly eerie mask's persona
I can be stronger than corona
Isolation and reclusion are no pleasure
But ink and fountain pen retain their measure
Nothing is worse than speechless tongues
I breathe with so far uncontaminated lungs
And when the apocalypse is high and nigh
As the quill is coughing with a sigh
At least I've done my bit until the final day
I'll script depict fantasise ponder have my say
About what matters in the grander schemes
In essence love compassion dreams
Just like the covert bug has no frontier
I hold my friends and lover dear
Empathy also should not stick to a random borderline
Transcends gender race class and toughens social twine
A seasoned and rebellious maverick will not be muted
In fact narration and lock down are rather suited
8th April 2020
I miss you most at Christmas time
and it's hard to know why, other than this:
with each December I feel the loss of you so keenly.
December when we first kissed,
December when we'd discuss all future Decembers together.
And fantasise of curling together on some remote sofa, vaguely aware of the tree and the twinkle of another Christmas. And brothers and board games and brisk beach walks, having long forgotten the circumstances which led us there together.
Accepted and affectionate and, oh, beautifully orchestrated.
Carols in quaint churches, and more Spanish love poems, love like topaz and love like carnations.
But the shadows were always there, they grow deeper all the time. Each fantasy, each gnawing reminiscence crumbles yearly; the Yule log burnt to ashes.
I miss you most at Christmas time,
and it's hard to know why,
other than all this.
It was a quaint little shop
Looking strangely out of place
And the owner was a hermit
With a crinkled young old face.
He was a man of distinction
Of health hearty and hale,
Had looked a Haggis in the
Eye and lived to tell the tale.
He had lived with a mermaid
Having found her in distress
Nursed her back to health
To become his new mistress.
He had sailed the seven seas,
Served with a Samurai band,
Been a leading Ronin before
Sailing away for Samarkand
He had awoken the Kraken
Then, before it was too late
Quietly swum away to avoid
A somewhat gruesome fate.
He had hunted with Vampires
But only on those darkest nights
For they'd had to be recoffined
Before any sign of daylight.
The werewolves of Carpathia
Had taught him transfiguration
A secret he'd long discarded
Once he'd left that roving nation.
Bareback ridden a unicorn
Learned all its Pan Pipe skill;
Sometimes early on cold dark
Mornings he would play it still.
He didn't believe in Faeries.
Didn't like to fantasise,
Only believed in those things
He'd seen with his naked eyes.
I left him making a Herbal tea
Said I didn't quite know when
But the very next time I passed
I'd pop in and see him again.
I shouted my goodbyes
As he worked away inside
And I eagerly continued on
My Magic Carpet ride.
Nature tamed, organised, tidied and serving
Consummately sanitised for human consumption
Nature bent unnaturally to suit the human nature
Every pretty maid and ducks…in a row
Florid facilities for townsfolk to fantasise
Looking without seeing, treading without looking
Stepping upon the very thing that they seek
Nature expertly hidden to create rustic bliss
The gravel path isolates shoe from dirt to avert mess
A discreet suggestion to look but don’t touch
Controlled decay, stage managed for impact and effect
Nature has been preserved…in a human natured sort of way
I fantasise about when we would meet
What will happen at the point when we’ll greet
Will we first shake hands and then a kiss on the cheek
Or a passionate kiss that will make me legs weak
What happens from there, do we go out in the town
Or to my hotel room till breakfast, seeing you in my gown
Do we meet up with friends and talk poetry
Or do I hold you tight close next to me
Do we go out to a club, to drink and dance?
Or cuddle at home in a champagne romance
Ask me this question “What shall we do?”
Come into my arms and let me guide you
** I cannot tell you who this lady is that has inspired me.**
thanks Wilma
Entranced, I danced, inside my head I chanced
my mind, to find pictures that relieved the grind
of an ordinary day.
I schemed, then dreamed in rainbow-honeyed hues it seemed.
In fun, in sun, the day meandered and indeed did run
in an interesting way.
Grey mists, like lists, stretched endlessly and as clenched fists
feel fierce, nails pierce hard unyielding palms then transpierce
skin, like arrows in a heart.
These fly, with sigh, from cupid’s bow and might identify
a love, above all others, as special as a soft-breasted dove
is to hatchlings at the start.
Closed eyes, my prize, comes to me as I fantasise.
I see, you, me; together experiencing ecstasy.
Visions from my long lost youth
I sight, delight my memory as I remember, invite
the past, outcast from thought as food is in a fast,
surrender to time and truth.
D iscovering the cold hearted truth, that
I nnocence is the same as
S tupidity
I ncarcerating your dreams as you
L earn that nothing is as it appears
L ife is never what it seems
U nderstanding reality is
S omething we all learn the hard way
I n a world where
O nce chance is given and another taken away
N ever again wanting to fantasise you
M ove away from what you once believed
E nduring the self pity that you feel
N ever daring to tell a soul
T hat once again your dreams have been shattered
FANTASIES.
Fantasies can be futile, but fun,
Better than fixations for some,
Fantasies can be great for everyone,
When company at your side, there's none,
Let's fantasise,
And visualise---
Impossible dreams my brain ran,
All over some intangible man,
Must believe in the invisible,
So not really credible,
But better than fixations for some,
Fantasies can be futile, but fun.
So did your cloak and dagger swaggering self-flatter quite sufficiently?
Did you believe your baseless propaganda mantra would diminish me?
Or that the instagrammed aggression of your engineered passivity would finish me?
There are no lies remain can yet disguise the truth of your proclivities.
That you've corrupted your own memories, repackaged them as history
Whilst blissfully you stuffed my mouth with words you never heard from me.
Then cynically declare them true for all the watching world to see
And hope in vain that they will mask your narcissistic tendencies.
I may be flawed but in my heart of hearts I know I'm a good man
And I suppose, I thought despite it all we had a deeper plan?
But nothing could be further from that ugliest of honest truths.
That in the end nothing I did was ever good enough for you.
It didn't matter when I told you that I loved you every day.
The more I tried the harder it became to put a smile upon your face.
And you can hide behind the lies and fantasise that there were spies in play
Turn me into what you need so you can throw our life away
Make me bleed it still won't put a stain on the reality.
The truth remains, I'll say it plain to circumvent your vanity.
You took the gains and the acclaim of everything you had from me.
You've lied, decried and paralysed the thing that should have set us free
When something changed you couldn't even bear to be honest with me
You fed the flames and shift the blame but all your hubris can't contain
The fact that in the end you hated yourself far too much to ever have loved me.
I miss you most at Christmas time
and it's hard to know why, other than this:
with each December I feel the loss of you so keenly.
December when we first kissed,
December when we'd discuss all future Decembers together.
And fantasise of curling together on some remote sofa, vaguely aware of the tree and the twinkle of another Christmas. And brothers and board games and brisk beach walks, having long forgotten the circumstances which led us there together.
Accepted and affectionate and, oh, beautifully orchestrated.
Carols in quaint churches, and more Spanish love poems, love like topaz and love like carnations.
But the shadows were always there, they grow deeper all the time. Each fantasy, each gnawing reminiscence crumbles yearly; the Yule log burnt to ashes.
I miss you most at Christmas time,
and it's hard to know why,
other than all this.
It starts as a simple thought
that echoes in the brain
waiting for idealism sought
Idealism starts the process train
that brings forth the fantasy
that echoes in the brain
To fantasise is to be free
to imagine to feel totally
That brings forth the fantasy
to escape life's reality
no holding back the desire
to imagine to feel totally
I fantasise about the burning fire
imagining it within me
no holding back the desire
No longer afraid, because you see
it starts as a simple thought
imagining it within me
waiting for idealism sought
Lips touching lips
Hands pulling off clothes...
Ted's ear off, ring bearwatch
Bound by the chains of poetry, that’s me
Words swirl in my mind continuously
However hard I try to flee from this cell
The prison of poetry won’t bid farewell.
I write of nature’s infinite splendour
The more I see, the more I’m in awe
Wonder of the sky, sunrise or sunset
Trees and flowers with magnificent effect.
I tell of birds singing sweetly on high
Children’s laughter as I’m passing them by
Of animals, treasures of planet Earth
Folk who just want to love for all they’re worth.
Now and then I am prone to fantasise
Taking readers with me on carpet rides
To places I know I could never see
In the wonder of imaginary.
Tales of happiness and tales of sorrow
Wherever my muse is wanting to go
A prisoner of poetry I’ll be
As long as there’s rhyme, and time left for me.
I can't lead a life without love,
but is it love if it isn't with you?
everytime i let him touch me.
I feel that i'm being untrue.
I imagine your smell as i lie next to him.
I despise every part of myself.
I fantasise of a day where you save me,
anyone else will just be second best.
i wonder if you can still taste me,
if you still feel me under your skin.
I wonder if you can still hear me
begging for you to begin.
i imagine the taste of your mouth
and the touch of your hands on my skin.
i imagine you pressed hard against me,
everytime that i make love to him.
I live for the day i inhale you again,
you take over my head and my soul.
Everyday now forever spent waiting for you.
I love you, i thought you should know.
Now I’m Yorkshire peasant stock
I sup ale instead of drinking wine
And I tend to nosh my scranny
Not sit down proper and dine
There’s a restaurant down our street
Not really for the likes of me
Attendants to park all cars
And it’s a la carte you see;
But some times we eat there,
For the odd special deals
Like two for one offer
Or discount on eaten meals.
One of the things I like there;
And I like it quite a lot
Is one of the restaurant staff
That I call Mr Pepper Pot.
He patrols the place.
He’s never ever still,
And he carries in his hand
A huge wood pepper mill
As soon as the food is served
He pops up and he’s there
Very quietly asking all
Some pepper, madam? sir?
He knows I am just a peasant
One of those really born to serve
Knows I’d like to answer no
But I just don’t have the nerve;
And with a flick of the wrist
He’s ground and served the stuff
Then standing back proudly
Asks has sir, madam got enough?
Now the speaking of those words
Is really just breath wasted
Because he’s up and off before
Any meal has been tasted
But I suppose its consideration
That the restaurant can see
Seasoning of food is too importamt
To be left to an oaf like me
Off he flounces down the room,
Such a feeling of release.
And I know there’s a chance
I can eat my meal in peace.
Oh I admire my Mr Pepperpot.
For his energy and charm.
And he rules that restaurant
With skill of wrist and arm.
Sometimes in my fantasies
Though I don’t fantasise a lot
I dream I am in that restaurant;
As the New Mr Pepper Pot.
‘cos I’m Yorkshire peasant stock
I sup ale instead of drinking wine
And I tend to nosh my scranny
Not sit down proper and dine