Every new moment I look into her eyes
I am lost…
in her soft summer aura,
she sweetly breezes and squeezes
through old, cold, bare-branched trees
in the desolate scope of my soul…
Fresh green shoots joyfully spring into bud
she haunts every pore, flows in my blood.
Some kind of wonderful never ever felt,
Tarot ‘Lover’s’ cards, final fate kindly dealt…
by Cupid’s long-shot, blind arrow…
I’m no Sherwood, master archer ‘Hood’
I fired, more in hope than certainty would.
This one and only sweetheart
once smitten, never to part,
possessed me like Bacall gripped Bogart.
Siren’s power to drive me mad…but
living without her I’d go wildly insane…
her gifted myriad of facets,
Our Castle is worn, shows blemishes of battles gone,
shared karmic lesson-defeats, small victories won.
Two sons, one babe, one man…
raised to Nirvana, before their time,
gate-wait with St Peter to meet and greet
when our final funeral bells are chimed.
Often, without words…I reach out, touch your hand
glinting, enchanted, wedding band,
I know you always understand.
You were born not to shyly flutter, but to soar
to be acclaimed with a mighty roar…for
opening poetic doors to vistas, grand,
a talented eye to muse the lands
of Faeries, Gods and talking frogs,
trip far horizons, turn cerebral cogs,
take rooms in the struggling psyche,
report back for all to read
and in our brains you plant a seed.
The noble Sir Sun would be a shade paler,
Fair Queen Moon would darkly lament,
if I’d not found my Lady of the Lily fields.
to protect and serve with sword and shield.
If you can brave your dainty, modest soul
sway to a Gondolier’s melodic barcarolle,
continue with me on life’s daunting stroll…
You can tell everyone this is your ode
as we travel together on the hallowed road.
Write poems of all genres, particularly narrative writes about people, life events and the world we live in. Haikus and Tankas when I can. Like short stories too, a little drama and monologue works also in my stuff. Reside in the Dark Kingdom of Lancashire, England.