I Love You - (for always)
Her spirit comforts though her fullness waits -
Hopefully for the moon to climb great heights
Through cloud, through stars towards tonight's love gates.
There's her presence 'pon the long lounge most nights,
Sitting, lying, reading, listening as I
Write for her as tonight consulting poets
Though no poet's poetry rivals - yes I'm shy
To say her beauty on the lounge out votes
Any lady praised by any poet of note,
Today, yesterday, centuries ago.
'Course if they of her enchanted sweet heart wrote
Their books would thicker be with beauty's show.
More poets as I would sit and read their works
Or clamour for my lady for there fame lurks.
On Black Rock near Deep River sits the gift,
A girl more fair than sweet flowers in spring time
Brushing her hair wet from her crossing swift
Of the river that played as poet with rhyme,
Each stroke a word, each breath a pause for more
And beauty made the brief poem a love song.
Black Rock too felt poetry rise from his core;
Now could laugh at light'ning that came along
And mock mixed thunder, spurn tumbling down rain
For he'd been given this girl with bright eyes
Out shining meteors to halt all pain;
His bosom beats high, pleasured poetry sighs.
With river and rock and the girl's beauty
Poets in love in truth find poetry easy.
When I have died an unknown death that's rare
And puzzled they look into every part;
In my heart they find your picture placed there
Then they think my grin is linked to the heart.
The hands locked show a sweet embrace worthwhile,
The kneeling can now be explained away,
The kink in neck, watching the mirror's smile
But he was too young to die - why this way?
Something in her beauty? Something different?
Yes! look at his smile, his grin, his wild eyes -
See how his legs look lean as runners spent -
See the love bite grinning, see no surprise.
Bury me in this condition and know
It's rare for a man to be happy so.
There is no where else I would rather be,
My eyes are full of life; show them first views -
No poet, no sculptor sees as I see
You have no lack - true, fact is fact isn't news -
From your head to your toes men wish prove true.
Let me sculpt you my dear, fear not lust loose,
These hands for knowledge, for art handle you
And notice your beauty brings no excuse.
The lips of the poet like the sculptor's hands
Are required in poetry so may I write?
My lips are full of life; show them new lands -
No poet, no sculptor will praise with my might.
There is no where else I would rather be -
Let this poet, this sculptor work wizardry.
Sitting with Beauty, eyes praising yet torn,
The bench too wide for hands and feet touching,
She and I spoke of the flower's plight on the lawn
And gathered some to admire before mowing.
I made mere words, she made them dance and smile
To then rest, yet in their stillness had more;
A story told in still life form with style
Where short flowers' beauty made eyes long adore -
Two lovers sat on the lawn, mirrored eyes;
The Beauty and the Poet felt petals fall
And sprang to their feet dancing to flowers' sighs
And smiled the smiles of charm like the petal.
Sitting with Beauty, eyes praising, not torn
For the story of the flowers has been born.
Wave to me, wave to me your pretty hand
To wipe away the pressures of hard days.
I'm talking, I'm talking and also plan
To listen, to listen and learn your ways.
Think of me, think of me words of spirits
To appear, to comfort, to lift my soul.
Kiss me, kiss me with heart's open sweet lips,
Quick ones and longer, for my firm kiss fall.
Oh madly, madly I call through the night,
Seas of passion push upon your loved shore.
I love, I love, great love includes less light;
With the wave, passion's kiss can become more.
Love, love, love, give me bread and milk love's state -
Love's great passion not on its own is great.
I dare not look too deeply in your eyes
Where sleepless visions could entrap my soul
And sweep the poet where his choice although wise
Always is known, always pleasure wins all.
Best my eyes linger on your breasts safely -
Half buried, half hidden less control have.
So dare I look deeply and not discreetly
And let what's hidden raise visions to brave?
Could I sleep there, silver head there - deep sleep?
Would thoughts turn to actions, visions be lost -
Earthly, lustful, basic, the physical creep?
Nay! storm! take away choice with pleasure's cost!
Dare not look too deeply in eyes or breasts -
When my eyes are closed, elsewhere deep thought rests.
With the sweet depth of woven caresses
Our spirits seek the warmth liquid love gives
That flows through two yet one heart confesses
And our bosoms and brains, body's pain sieves
Where only warm spring showers not winter's wet
Are sought in which we might meet to kiss.
Our spirits hour by hour each day have met
And will for long long years through bodies' bliss
Following spirits' footsteps firm and fast -
Where the weary meteor bright, burns out
Our spirits paint with their delight to last
Forever's poetry's picture book about
His and her heart, his and her ecstasy -
Hope, where love's worse than fire's brief agony.
Before you, beheld beauty these eyes had
But measured now all beauty measures short:
Air you breathe bathes the globe, for which we're glad;
Your birth the earth made fresh and caring brought
And the grass you trod gently toddler grown
Is the grass that grows soft'ning footfalls all
In your land, my land, all lands where it's sown.
Though words of poems have changed spelling not soul
Through years, love's meaning has not, yet letters,
All words in all poems penned by me for you,
Once thought, once written have passed their betters -
All poets who behold you have too this view.
Before you, these eyes were not true poet's eyes;
That first kiss. Nay! that first sight changed words' size.
When sleep left me to dwell in spirit's rest
You came making yourself known through warmth's race
Pictured as you would picture yourself dressed
For love's vision seen smiled by mirror's face
Combing your hair in dim candlelight's air.
'You must really love me, here to visit'
Thought I, 'Yes but what other proof is there?
Why just today your likeness went by - fit
To be you - oh the gift's not lost by me.
Your power spirit woman makes my love more,
Deeper, closer - overwhelmed, I'm truly.'
'Dearly loved man you have passed with high score.'
'I picture you as you picture the scene,
Glad sleep did leave me, no way was she mean!'
So, look beyond my beard; my name is Bard,
Note I am also called Too-far-away,
A father, proud father fond of his yard
Which could be no problem if soon some day
I was called Moneyed - yet the bard's gold found.
To my ear I hold the sea shell of songs
Sung by long gone poets in love, rich in sound,
Washed to my feet by the tears from past wrongs.
I'm now called In-Love as I of love sing
Ear to the sea shell, on my lady an eye;
Every moment's magic; there she's smiling
In her mirror grooming, naming who but I.
So, look beyond my beard; my name's on lips,
Each love word from the heart through silver slips.
If we were lovebirds caged with other birds
Then choose the one with the best legs - that's me -
With wisest looks, one who plays 'round with words,
One needing glasses from overwatching thee.
Choose the one who in poetry praises you
Not sweet flattery, not just to get you laid -
The one who loves you, bird through you who's new,
Who hovers, who flies, bird of birds been made.
I'll choose the prettiest bird with bright eyes,
The one all the other birds watch like me -
The clever one who knows my poetry sighs
Are from the genes of ancient bards who see
Beauty, know beauty, love beauty and woo
With beauty, borrowed beauty that's from you.
By David A. Doolan
© 2019 David A. Doolan
(All rights reserved)