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 Title   [ Click any title below to view poem ]  Poet More From Poet  Date
 Deep Secrets David A. Doolan        (More) 10/19/2017
 The thoughts of you adreamer2        (More) 10/19/2017
 roMANce David A. Doolan        (More) 10/18/2017
 How We Met David A. Doolan        (More) 10/17/2017
 Smothered Love David A. Doolan        (More) 10/16/2017
 More than glances ? adreamer2        (More) 10/16/2017
 Avoid Sadness David A. Doolan        (More) 10/15/2017
 YOU and I adreamer2        (More) 10/14/2017
 unbridled illusion... XRifles        (More) 10/14/2017
 Your needs adreamer2        (More) 10/12/2017
 intimate perception... XRifles        (More) 10/11/2017
 Hidden Treasures David A. Doolan        (More) 10/10/2017
 Only you olderandbolder        (More) 10/8/2017
 Come And Visit David A. Doolan        (More) 10/3/2017
 NIGHT OF LOVE AND PASSION (Free Style) ladydp2000        (More) 9/30/2017
 No regret about it adreamer2        (More) 9/30/2017
 Some Things Are Secret David A. Doolan        (More) 9/29/2017
 WITH YOUR LOVE ( Lanterne ) ladydp2000        (More) 9/27/2017
 Enlighten me... WILLIAMSJI        (More) 9/27/2017
 If You Could Love Me norman        (More) 9/25/2017
 Unrequited Love FlowGee        (More) 9/24/2017
 Two Hearts In Love  David A. Doolan        (More) 9/17/2017
 I wish you were mine adreamer2        (More) 9/17/2017
 I LOVE YOU SO ( Linked ) ladydp2000        (More) 9/16/2017
 My First Love David A. Doolan        (More) 9/16/2017
 WALK WITH ME ALWAYS ( Egg Timer) ladydp2000        (More) 9/13/2017
 My Last Day SoftSpoken        (More) 9/12/2017
 Sweet Love David A. Doolan        (More) 9/10/2017
 You taught me adreamer2        (More) 9/9/2017
 Holding On To Your Love norman        (More) 9/8/2017

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Deep Secrets

Something with deep secrets whispered the heart
As we two poets wandered down paths narrow
Dear Love! 'To hold onto love's more than art,
Souls must be matched, must be made of love's glow,
Lustful poems won't hold love long together,
Skilled flattery has little sway at all;
Real love lasts if like souls join to weather
Any earthly thing thrown to challenge the soul,
Skilled love can produce balance and supply
When the flowing fount turns dry bringing grief.
The universe can't the poet's verse deny
Where the Creator joins with love the brief.'
Therefore all skills known to man I'll master,
Employ, to keep us thriving together!


Dear love filled heart of you I must give praise,
The world's hate filled yet with love I'm smothered.
Venus and moon seem removed in their ways
But Venus smoothes and soothes sky for moon's head.
Moon need no longer feel winter's cold ills.
Dear love filled heart of you I must give praise
Though far away your love cure beats all pills.
Moon can get out of bed; the world amaze
With winter brightness, with winter calmness;
You love filled heart cured dear Venus holding hands.
World wide tonight the moon shines with finesse
'Cause Venus your love filled heart by him stands.
Dear love filled heart of you I must give praise;
Winter moon now, wants summer health always.

When The Golden Goddess favours a poem such as the one above the Poet reads it and re-reads it to feel her smile.


While face to face stealing personal space
Watching lips' nimble moves with watch me shows,
Those lips that love's own hand did make and place,
Innocent of lusty thoughts that heart grows
Yet breathed forth that 'I am woman - you're man' -
I've marvelled not lips on lips worlds could win.
The tip of your tongue straight to my heart can
Conquer conquests faking thick walls though thin.
Show mercy I'm so weak to tongue and lips;
Move not to parts where pleasure rules the day
For you'll take my will away, sink my ships -
Save my life - make your way my altered way.
While face to face stealing personal space
I face that my future's bound by sweet grace.

'To hold onto love's more than art' and the Poet says with more than shrewd words 'Make your way my altered way' for he knows being with his love will alter his life and a man has softer ways, softer thinking being with his love which is to his advantage as his 'Future's bound by sweet grace.'


You do not know what you are worth to me!
I am a million dollar man you've made -
Astound myself as I dance daringly;
No star of stage such touching love has played,
No singer sings with more desire, more fire,
I am a million dollar man made glad;
My brush sweeps the canvas with flair, with higher
Grander sweet wishes than poor men love mad.
I am a million dollar man enriched
By you, through you, in you, with you - Yes you!
When I walk, when I talk, love's fevered pitched;
Every knowing woman knows it is true.
I am a million dollar man, love made;
My eyes have fire though beard says I've not strayed.

'All skills known to man' the Poet will use to maintain his and his Lady's love. Is he going overboard here? Is he exaggerating to a fault so that love becomes secondary?
No his love is obviously in first place - his love is the most important part of the poem which is made clear by the words that he is 'enriched by you, through you, in you - Yes you!'


When I've seen smiles that change your face with grace
Your proud breasts can't catch seeking eyes look down
Though smiles spread surely to each hidden place
And colour all flesh; if searched, would be found;
When you've said this, not profoundly I've said that
Yet our words washed the shores of Love with fun
And Love shone with no need of sweet lust chat
But know that replaying your smiles you've won
Eyes' wish to wander straight where smiles love swell
Here and there, hidden and not so hidden
And call all my parts where love poets' smiles dwell
That through your smiles know all the wheres and when.
These thoughts will no doubt prevent sleep's smiling
But tomorrow's smiles will adorn yawning.

Lustful poems aren't the answer to winning and maintaining love- 'lustful poems won't hold love long together' yet the Poet would be amiss not to mention even if with hidden meanings he is excited by his Lady love. The last two lines suggest he can't sleep thinking of her and tomorrow his tiredness is compensated.


What of her wisdom without her? dead thought
There where the soul should thrive, grow to full moon.
Her talent without her? night would be wraught
Where the good moon's gone and not to rise soon.
Her foot steps without her? beauty missing,
Bare feet that state freedom, comfort beat mould,
That grass and paths love pretty toes kissing
And moonlight would give away fullness bold
To play with them with poesy with the night.
What of the heart without her? Love would cry,
My poetry would die, words would wither white
And my heart would return to rivers dry.
But strong are good hearts with the moon's full will
To never be without light and love still.

'Thriving together' not just together - THRIVING the Poet wants. And he recognizes all her qualities and will not take them for granted - more than the art of love - more than responsibility - more than fine words. Two good hearts in love is the secret.


If your love could knock on my door tonight,
Knowing no better spirit wings nor sighs
And the praise of my lips spends all their might
To capture the pure beauty that resides
Then kisses would waste no words tongue kissing -
Their poetry would surpass that of my hands
Yet still they'd fail to better hearts beating
Love's wonderful melody soul commands.
If your love could knock on my door tonight,
Eyes would dance, feet would touch lightly and well,
Smiles would make sounds, arms would ring circles-quiet
And pen with life of its own in love would dwell.
Thrive would love, never to leave such splendour
And poetry would never pause while sleep's poor.


If love's best measure were but cards and flowers
Then my day and night would have been dead-scored
For only past gifts can hands hold this hour
And treasured they are though with time they're flawed.
The best love measure's hard to show others
For might not my smile be made through long fame
At chess, with barbecues, raising brothers?
Believe me my smile near foolish, must blame
Not just your love but your beauty, your being.
Many, yet no card nor flowers came your way from me
For foolishly believe perhaps, I bring
A measure of love too much to buy, but free.
If love's best measure were but cards and flowers
Florists would have called on you far more hours!


This morning Sun, this winter's fine morning
You called through the window daring me find
As lover, as poet, signs of love pulsing -
Then , not later - beware the rags of time.
Sun, this morning you were her, beaming, bright;
Foolish to wink or blink and miss moments -
A missed smile is missed like the blind their sight,
A missed kiss would build strong fools' monuments.
This morning Sun, I felt her warmth on me
But with one cloud you showed me I'm foolish
For I miss her warmth, her smile daily
This side of the ocean - Time mocks my wish.
This morning Sun, this winter's fine morning
You gave that I might feel what I'm missing.


Here at the window of winter's bright light
Is he - blackbirds and others tell love's tales -
Sweet white butterfly flutters into sight
Central to the tales, calls him to set sail
To follow where with love she might lead him.
From room to world the poet took his words plain,
The full street length he pursued with much vim;
He worshipped her, she chose paths, Paradise Lane.
Tales of the blackbirds mentioned her vigour;
He saw it, and liked it, tried to catch her -
Such beauty, such purity, here on his shore,
Smiles lover-bright, pure delight she did stir.
There at his window plain words poetry-wise
Far away love made summer, no surprise.


I've seen moon's bloom night and day, full and lean,
Silver, golden though often white down here.
I've seen winter rains was the river clean
So summer trickles teem with life and cheer.
I've heard songs sung in tree tops enchanting
And even flowers in long grass hum the tune
And seen strange lands by air and seas crossing
But it's been my very greatest fortune
My very greatest life's reward to now
To witness the loveliest things of beauty,
Her voice, her hair, her eyes and lips in flower -
And the beauty in love overcame me.
I've been to Paris and I've been to Rome;
A kinder world would take me to her home.


Not sweet-thought-talk nor thinking when you're near
On this or that no matter what is safe
If some task needs one's mind stable and clear -
Most mundane things that without you soon chafe.
When computers don't compute words afar
Distance is distance and no sweet talk's done
And laughing at some mishap that work can marr
Becomes sighing with wishing we were one
To sweet-thought-talk over coffee and cake
So my unstable mind, my unclear head
Causes little harm and work's not at stake,
Maybe just one or two foolish things said.
I'm missing the oneness that flesh love brings
But with the sweet-thought-talk my body sings.


Take the first loved contact tingling with thoughts,
The second time followed; wonder dear why?
Like your pruned tree grows back again of sorts?
Most naked plants renew flowers, fruits with sigh.
Could it be that Love's Spirit plants the seed?
Time passes, the seed grows yet our hearts choose
To foster beauty's growth - let die the weed.
Though time does go by turns; the earth turn soothes,
From one to another seasons turn,
The plant turns into a plant with flower -
Step one to step two in our love's concern
Has reason, has meaning, has love's great power!
Take the first loved contact tingling sweetly,
The second time followed - celebrate with me?

Walking along the beach at night she said
To her friend that she had a vision -
That she saw centuries back to a goddess
Who was dressed in flowing white and somehow
There was a bond and there was a gathering
With her friend playing the central role there.
Was she a story teller, poetess or
Visionary? She was certainly romantic.
Later that night while reading he saw
Peeping in his window on page 40
His White Goddess 'born in his mind, born
Out of wishing?' He thought not - real as real!
He bet he could convince the Poet that visions
Had existence outside the Poet's mind.

The Poet in 'Two Hearts Two Cities' does not know all the answers to philosopy nor all about Nature but he does know he is in love. Order through Zora Knight the illustrator whose art at times speaks more clearly than poetry - more times than the Poet wishes to admit.

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