And just when I thought life was turning gray,
A beam of sunshine cleaving clouds asunder
Strolls into my sight and I must wonder,
Who is this that I meet this moody day?
That spotlight aura bends gravity around her,
I’m attracted, drawn in by her mystique.
And following her hypnotic physique,
I try to speak—but stutter, then flounder.
She’s tall, dark-haired, she’s beautiful as hell,
Her sharp gaze is like a spear-tip piercing
My helpless heart, her honey smile traversing
The valley from cheek to cheek, and now I fall,
Transfixed by her mystic gait. I think it’s true…
Oh hush, I’m crushing on somebody new!
Somewhere in the general melee
we lost our imaginary horses,
their ghostly neighing
added pathos to this momentous moment.
It was decided, we boys, and one sister
of a boy we hardly knew,
that Custer must die, the Indians win,
there could be no sudden victories
plucked from certain disaster.
We had no Indians,
one bow with a rubber-tipped arrow
does not make a gathering of the tribes.
We had no Custer,
six dark haired kids, no long flowing hair,
no mustaches. Undaunted
we marched on to meet our heroic death,
lip-bugles tooting, makeshift flags flying.
A fertile field of battle was selected.
At the site of our coming glory,
it was disheartening to discover,
a growling construction site,
giant bull dozers,
tractors, and iron-toothed diggers
busily tearing up
our hallowed ground.
Jim (my best pal),
loudly proclaimed: " fork it,"
to no one in particular,
then sloped away,
hands in pockets -
an event which I now consider sadly ironic,
for ever since,
we have lost all sorts of battles
over many a fertile field.
I once had me a dark-haired lover,
I was riding high on our romance.
She said she would be mine forever,
so, I decided to take the chance.
Then I found out she was the devil,
just all dressed up in an angel’s clothes.
She taught me the path to happiness,
is where I will never get to go.
I thought I could still tell right from wrong,
how good and bad are supposed to be.
But if I’ve learned one thing in this life,
true love is something I’ll never see.
Each time I try to climb the mountain,
somewhere down the line I always fell.
Instead of going through Heaven’s gates,
I’d end up right back here in this Hell.
I’m walking through this heartless city,
on a cold and windy winter’s morn.
My soul is as hard as this sidewalk.
my heart is tattered, ripped, and torn.
These empty streets on Sunday morning,
when I have no other place to go,
They will make a man feel more alone,
than alone should ever have to know.
I’m not looking for something special,
I’m just trying hard to dodge life’s blow.
When you know you’ll never reach the top,
down in the dumps does not feel too low.
The t.v. series,
A Little Princess,
reminds me
of my dad's gift
of a dark-haired
porcelain doll...
...I gave away
to compensate
for feeling spoiled
--that I begged
for her at all
Being a generous
gift-giver was one
of my dad's
main languages
of love
I hope even though
I've hardly kept
any of his gifts
he still cares--
up above
Next Love.
Dark eyes are looking for you
A warm smile wearing something new
A surprise encounter
And love comes into view.
A stranger knows who you are
You’re her planet she’s the star
A surprise encounter
A meeting is so bazaar.
She’s looking and she will find
Dark haired beauty intelligent mind
You’d better turn around.
She’s coming from behind.
She’s your opposite, a little wild
An entertainment but not a child
A prophecy intellect and light
A woman, a woman, a delight.
David Cox 09/02/24
there are some people
I do know
they speak of places
I can't go
ooh then some
if God is real
might should I ask
the chores of one
done by two
Makes easy the task?
Hadian speak to the Romans.
Yes God is Real
He's real in our Souls
Yes God is real
that We have washed
and made us whole
Gods love for us
is what we should know
yes God is real
cause we can feel him
in our souls!
Answered by the Romans
This was spoken when Hadrian wished
to build the Temple of Venus and Rome.
While in Rome a woman asked
if she could kiss the
dark haired Spaniard. The fella answering her questions
laughed and told her she was referring to Caesar she
humbled herself and said she thought
Caesar was a legend and a myth.
until she saw his face she didn't believe. The jews
around her told her that he wasn't the savior god
but he ( Caesar) wished them to worship
him as god, something
these men refused to do. She smiled
at them and said Hail Caesar might I feed my
people. Several woman than throw tomatoes at her
and called her a whore. She rose stained and shame
""Si, Dio e reale!" " Si, Dio es real!"
Learned a new word today,
it was 'drow'
- a dark-haired, white skinned elf
often seen leaving a video game
to haunt real woods.
This is a strange multi-layered world,
what we imagine, form from our minds
and name, that becomes real
here or somewhere else.
Those beings we bring forth from our fiction,
those imagined beings
imagine us into reality also.
The mind makes heaven or hell,
what we believe most
becomes our reality
here or
in the after earth life experience.
Imagination is Creation.
"Ye Are Gods."
O and yes, 'drow' spelled backwards
spells 'Word.'
Isn't that what God spoke in the beginning
when His Mind created all things?
We are born in the same way,
Then why this disparity?
Race, sex, caste - stop such melee,
Spread love, peace and charity,
I have red blood, so do you,
Then aren't we equal, brother?
Give respect where it is due,
Let us honour each other,
I'm human with the same needs
like you, friend. Think about it,
Race discrimination leads
to unnecessary split,
What if there was a divide,
Based on the colour of eyes?
An idea sure cockeyed,
It wouldn't be considered wise
What 'bout the colour of hair?
Dark-haired people, if deemed great,
Do you think it would be fair
to light-haired to bear that hate?
Then why does hued skin matter?
We are the same before God,
These man-made walls must shatter
in truth, not just on record,
Let's not stoop to violence,
Stifling cries of "I can't breathe",
Such voices none can silence,
Their blood from the ground will seethe,
There comes a day of judgement,
When we'll stand before God's throne,
All nod their acknowledgement,
That it'll be 'no divide zone'.
07.04.2021
For Unseeking seeker's "The way we look" contest
That evening it rained.
He was glad the diva was dry up there on the warmly lit stage.
The cold rain found every opening in his casual attire,
rivulets ran in runnels seeking out soft parts.
He decided he disliked Puccini outdoors.
He imagines that the dark haired beauty,
the one now singing, chest heaving,
offers him shelter beneath those ample bosoms
she looked the kind of lady that would.
An hour later he swooned away,
wheezing in Tosca's arms.
A girl approached me in the street
After bedtime, on my way home
After closing time; still on my way home
She asked if I had something to drink
She said I could do anything I wanted; to her
I let her walk on by; all alone
Tall, black-haired and sad
On my way home
I thought about
What would have happened
If she had swapped
Those two sentences
If she had said I could do anything i wanted; first
Then she would have been
Tall, dark-haired and thirsty
Walking in the gentle rain, on a cobblestone path,
A dark-haired belle blended in with the blackened sky
A wonder too commanding for any god to behold.
Beauty eternal.
Too much allure, too pure to wither.
She had to remain as she always was.
Stone cold lying on the floor.
Beauty eternal.
She stays like this. The world could not bear to see the sight of her changed.
If life must end, hers ends at the apex. Sacrificed on the granite altar to her perfection.
Beauty eternal.
Again! I am forced to stare through that glassy stone …
Shantelle - beyond words, beyond form, beyond thought …
Rise like the phoenix to the stars as you ought …
Beauty eternal.
February 28, 2020
Title Chosen: Shantelle Eternal
Shantelle Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward
4.
Life was once full of vitality but I can't get near you now. You have no idea what you have put me through. I lost you once and I came to find you in this time in this place. A love as timeless as these breaking waves.
5.
Could he approach her. Tell her he had seen her many times before at this place. Standing looking at the ocean. He could feel her longing. She started to enter his dreams. He had watched her from the cliffs above always hoping to catch a glimpse of this dark haired beauty. She seemed mysterious and yet so familiar. He could not figure out a reason why.
THIS POEM IS DEDICATED TO CAREN KRUTSINGER’S CHALLENGE TO WRITE ANOTHER PRINCESS
POEM IN HER COMMENT TO MY POEM FROM SOOT TO RICHES.
THE KISS OF A PRINCE
Snow Whites evil stepmother thought she was fairest of all
Her mirror said dearest Queen , as she faced the wall,
Your beautiful dark haired daughter is,
You are second by far, accept this,
The queen planned to poison the princess, so she’d fall!
Snow White afraid ran away far into the woods,
In her hands she held no clothing or goods,
She made friends with seven short men,
Called dwarfs, who loved her, but when
Off to work warned her, strangers lurked in the woods.
A knock on the window, hello said an old hag,
Please taste this apple I have in my bag.
Snow White innocently took a bite,
She fell, poisoned, the dwarfs cried,
Along a path one day a Prince did zig zag!
Snow White in a glass coffin she lay,
The Prince stopped what a beauty, he did say,
He bent to kiss her, she chocked,
She awoke, the prince was shocked,
Proposed to her, married, and in the palace they stay!
I met him on a summer’s day,
when life seemed very far away
A home once mine when as a boy,
I’d lived and loved and searched for joy
Twas taken cruelly from my grasp,
the black sheep son, now left askance
As I walked past this house so tall,
a dark haired man in t-shirt called
“How are you today” he said and smiled,
my burden lightened, my mood beguiled
I knew that instant, my Angel named,
and in that moment, we friends became
With all the magic in his heart
my life rebuilt, he drew the chart
For two short years he gave me all,
and fifty more I still recall
How at a crossroads he there stood
a lighthouse shining, and always would
I owe so much to that young man
who took me in and took my hand
And saved me from a life unhinged,
and me a stranger—but not to him
Bob may be gone, but deep inside,
his smile stays, his goodness shines
If I may live another year,
his words I’ll carry close and dear
And thank my Brother from the sun,
—for the grateful man that I’ve become
(Villanova Pennsylvania: February 12. 2018)
‘Read At Bob’s Funeral, 2/24/18’
Sometimes
I imagine us as a story
Unfolding, a fantastical romance
Filled with horrifying social monsters,
rendezvous after school,
awkward, witty charisma
And us
brilliant but scattered
and
creative but detached
Ours is a great tale
finding the outstanding within
the usual
with an end yet to be discovered
a beginning to be continued
a future to be explored
A large part of me
hopes us will be eternity
but we will deal with life
as it comes
our story will go on
So meet me under the flickering streetlamp
My dark-haired mister
To kiss my eager lips
hearts pounding in our warm embrace
Let us keep writing our story
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