Long Lovers Poems
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It’s now a bird sanctuary,
and has been for some decades now,
the trail wanders through the forest,
past the rock walls of an old house.
The trail itself was once a road,
I can tell by the two rock walls,
run parallel for a mile,
but there were no cars here at all.
Maybe carriages way back when,
wood farm carts and things of that like,
but if you’re looking for pasture
not a bit of it is in sight.
It is all second-growth forest,
where once the Holsteins grazed and fed,
on this land families carved a life,
generations were born and bred.
The kids must’ve played in that stream,
where the small waterfall cuts through,
small enough to be no danger,
fast enough to amuse the youth.
Men must’ve ridden through these paths,
stretch legs of their quarter horses,
running them on the rare day off,
preparing for the fair’s races.
Did lovers sneak along the walls,
risking all to just sneak a kiss,
I think they called in ‘pitching woo,’
so many different names for this.
It ends in a rocky ridgeline,
looks across the Hudson Valley,
to the fortress of the Catskills,
where they rise up majestically.
The view is half grown in these days,
can’t imagine in the years past,
when all of this was open field
and the vista was far more vast.
Did some man sit here on this rock
at the end of the Civil War,
drinking in this land’s great beauty,
and seeing the horror no more?
Did this farm bring him some solace?
Did quiet fields let him know peace?
Would he even recognize it
if he were here instead of me?
It is strange strolling through the past
when by all the forest it's drowned,
but it’s a bird sanctuary,
and has been for some decades now.
You bragged of giving your cousin good head
for the huge sum of twenty U.S. Dollars
tho' you felt you're worth one-hundred instead:
so Dona, you are no lady or scholar
(as you like to believe). Of your hundred
lovers or more you prefer all the black guys;
grinning, you were so proud to have bedded
them because of their enormous cock size.
So when you deceived me (you wily Lolita!)
and stole my virginity you—so proud
of yourself—smiled like the repugnant Medusa
while I, repulsed (by you), can cry out loud
'cause you're so crude and crave 12-inch long schlongs
even your dad says your beaus ne'er stay for too long!
A Rose Garden
In a garden of dreams roses are seen
A garden of Eden I do believe
Roses everywhere when love's in the air
Love's tough to resist where roses exist.
It's simply divine when sweethearts entwine
Falling in love neath silver moon above
From lovers first bewitched kiss betwixt lips
There’s a story driven to be written.
Roses delight in magic of the night
Tiny hearts in awe of what’s laid before
Wafting fragrance into the ambiance
Whilst the lovers dance wrapped up in romance.
A rose says "Dearest, it's you that I love "
A flower adored, a gift from the Lord.
1st August 2021
~ + ~
Laying my head back, eyes closing,
reminiscing, the years falling away into decades ago
to the 1950s at my grandparents' grand home
for Christmas.
It was a gracious dining room.
Noontime sun streaming in.
Chair rail with deep red wallpaper, white trim.
Decorating the lace clothed "Big Table"
was a tallish 1870s porcelain Meissen fruit centerpiece
with lovers circling the stem.
Even the adults had to look around it.
Grandmother "Lil" and "Mister B"
were at their nouveau best.
All their progeny seated in good form
awaiting the traditional invocation by "Mister B".
Also seated were the ones that were to be
"seen but not heard" at our side table, the "Kids' Table."
Draped card tables for the dozen of us -
me, my brother and sisters and cousins.
Everyone all scrubbed in dresses and ties.
Mine was a clip on.
As expected, a milk glass got tipped. Spilt milk.
Besides that, we kids had great fun and
became friends again as we did each year.
The thing of it was, none of us liked
being at the "Kids' Table."
We felt lesser, unworthy, subtly so.
Even when I was ten, I knew there were
only two ways to get to the big one:
marriage or go in the army.
We all wondered what it was like to be adult.
After all, most of them smoked.
They all had drinks.
The women had figures, swishy swirls.
The men wore suits like they knew how.
At the "Big Table" they all talked like experts
about stuff we didn't understand
and they laughed loudly at Uncle Bob's jokes.
As the years moved on, things would change,
always do.
I saw virtually all my cousins
disassemble their lives too early -
marriages, divorces, addictions, lost jobs, left school -
beleaguered into inevitable submission.
My family miraculously unscathed.
But they're all gone now,
"Big Table" and little table too.
All that's left from the 50s
is my brother, sister and me.
For years, I was at the "Big Table" since my brood and I
took over the Christmas tradition.
The "Big Table" conversation was
superficial and posing was prevalent.
So one year, I put myself at the "Kids' Table." Just for fun.
Yes, milk got tipped.
But oh, the wonderment and hope. A meal that truly was
food for the soul.
Now that I'm old and looking back,
with a quiet smile, mulling it,
I kinda liked the "Kids' Table" better.
Colored pencil illustration by G.Gaul
Beeloved?
The third date was ok, Humble thought.
At least this time Blondebee didn’t look so bored.
She was up to her elbows in shopping bags.
Humble paid for the dinner and they had a laugh.
They ended the night on a triple date.
Bee-Real and Love-Bee and Tiny Dancer’s date was late;
So Tiny ended up talking to Blondebee until Buzzie arrived.
They all had fun and then they said their goodbyes.
Humble walked Blondebee home and wanted a kiss goodnight,
But she said “Er, excuse me, not tonight.”
She was his friend, so why couldn’t he love her?
Humble’s confusion reigned, love was hard; oh brother!
Humble wasn’t happy, but he’d been single long enough,
And last night they all had a lot of fun.
He thought it worked well when they were all with each other,
But the two of them alone were far from lovers.
Humble remembered what The Queen had said.
Jeez, it’s like she’s in my head.
Did she see this all before me?
The psychic foresaw this eventuality.
Humble talked to Bee-Real about his situation.
Sorry Bruv, I only know real love, and not infatuation.
You like her, and she likes you.
Where’s the problem? What you gonna do?
(C)2020 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
We lay by the fire
without a care in mind,
we hold each other tight
we are one of a kind
The love we make together
keeps us very strong,
we have our own rhythm
like a gold record song
We're burning in the night
we're burning in the day,
fire can't stop a pair
of lovers scorching everywhere
All throughout the years
our love shows the way,
that song keeps playing
for we sing it each day
We cuddle by that fire
and let the flames burn bright,
a blending of passions
keep us hot every night
We're burning in the night
we're burning in the day,
fire can't stop a pair
of lovers scorching everywhere.
Eyes blazing with fire yet black as coal
Hair glistens from the capture of souls
Beads of moisture on her body hold
The hearts of Lovers who dared.
Naked in the cave we were there
as her dripping form appeared,
echoes of time in perfect unison,
we stood and knew we were one.
.
Her body firm and tan in health
Silken skin as Nature’s wealth
Eyes blazing…
Lips moist and inviting in…
”...come to me…”
She dares the sin…
Gaps of light shed redemption
Legs strong and defiant in perfection
A Sensual teases with salvation…
.
Dark coals blazing, long hair glistening
My heart racing but I’m not listening
Memorized by the flame in her eyes
My legs betray and I’m frozen in time
Deep within a mysterious cave I’ve
become enslaved…to her rhyme.
.
Before I knew we were face to face
Desire over sense my heart replaced
Drawn to touch what a mind has chased
Felt in a dream but never embraced
”...can this be real…?”
Temptation lures the body to heal…
.
Naked in the cave we were there
as her dripping form appeared
steam from the heat of her skin
Lips moist and inviting in
echoes of love in perfect unison
Sin as salvation in the Form of One.
Form:
Loving you has opened a wound so deep
A wound created past lovers ago
A wound born of jealous grief
Of trust misplaced
Another scar ripped open and infected
Gasping for this poisoned air
With every failing breath I take
This sinking feeling in my chest
My heart pounding with heavy ache
Slowly
In broken rhythm images sight unseen
except inside my head..
This torn scar has failed me
Now Bleeding out
Blinding bloody spout
Now losing sight of you.
Where am I to go with this?
This pain with time has left me weak and tired.
That soft white light once glowed and shared
now dimmed
Now falling into darkness
I cant see you now.
I cant see you now
Love forgive this selfishness
Our innocence near ruined
Alone and howling at the moon.
Foundation.
Some old mythology says we are bound to find our twin flame or soul mate, before we are born.
Our true other half.
This journey is simply repeated until we do.
No matter who we end up with.
To become whole.
Could old myths be true?
Title:
Reincarnated Love
(A lone old voice whispers)
I write this for you to see in this lifetime because I couldn't find you, and my earthly time is nearly up
My beloved Mary Lee
I know you were born to meet me
On the twenty-six of November
A date, I'll know forevermore
As I look back
Like now and remember
For we shall be together
In The Great Nevermore
Sharing conversations and sweet kisses:
Even after Death visits,
And offers you a drink of his sacrilegious dark wine
To end all your beautiful days and glorious time
I just know we shall be together, like twinned pilgrims
In an eternal quest of hide and seek
Set forth in the silence, by a long remembered God
Lost somewhere in some surreal time stream
But together in insane spaces
In-Between
And as the soft capricious winds of Heaven
Change and dance like a wild Anna Pavlova
Between us
Creating a moving sea of love between our two pulsating souls
We shall know
In that very instance
Holding hands
Together, like first date lovers
In the universe's
Dust
That we can sing and dance together,
Forever
And be joyous in each and every form
For ours is a love story
Beyond the norm
A love story which will forever survive
Composed in golden italics and kept safely on gilded shelves, with so many others
Written in Enochian Archives
Stored beyond the Great Pillars
In a sacred tabernacle
By the pale blue Holy Sea
Our Eternal Sea
This I know because before I was born into physical form
You were written
Into my history
By my spirit guides
God and me
The woman I'm bound to always love and try to find
Whenever I'm reincarnated into mankind
The one soul betrothed to me
By an angel called, ADOEOET,
He who sings like a bird, who once whispered
Meet you true love
My beloved Mary Lee
So, see you in another lifetime
Your forever twin flame with no name
Whose loved is buried so deep no matter how many times
Life tries to bury me
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
In the presence of all to see, her world turns
and runs red with the blood of her children:
Blood flowing like a wandering stream.
The bloated bellies of surviving youth
mock aborted pregnancies of liberty;
and her once luscious breasts now sag
in union with the sinking faces of lost hope.
Lost hope---disappearing like solitary
ghost smoke of abandoned fires;
abandoned fires---dying in waning time.
Hollowed red eyes of fleeing lovers look backward
onto the wholeness of nothing---smiling death
sitting and waiting on the coming feast.
Though the heartbeat of hope struggles
through the valleys of shadows of death, she
must yet believed that God has not forgotten her;
Indeed, it’s yet believed that in the midst of the ethnic genocide
in her Dante-like hell, this wretched mother---clinging to time
and its history---will once again experience the restoration
of her Pan-African unity and great African glory.
A great glory of continental liberation
sown in the brave hearts and liberated minds
of her children who---scattered throughout her lands
as well as in Diaspora---will eventually bring to fruition.
Remember, wherever you are, Mother Africa is;
and you’re indeed, her liberating children---
Umbilical bound to restore her collective glory.