Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in September 2012
Close my eyes see your face
Reach for you, just empty space
Nothing that side of the bed
Empty pillow without your head
Dream you’re there holding me tight
Snuggled up to me in the night
Think I feel your lovely touch
Perhaps I’m hoping a bit too much
Love so much for it to be true
Want so much to be with you
Start to feel you slipping away
No matter what I do or say
Suddenly awake looking round the place
Feel the tears rolling down my face
Realise it’s just a very bad dream
Try to make sense of what it means
Where do we go from here?
Decisions that I really fear
Hope we can ride out the storm
That your love will keep me warm
Love for us to grow old together
To be with you forever and ever
To love, to care, to cherish you
That’s all I really want to do.
Tony Robert
Le Catioroc - Oscar Milde
At certain phases of the Moon
they’d congregate, toad-faced, to mutter incantations,
where tainted soil absorbed their charnel reek,
and writhe like snakes around
their hairy-hoofed messiah’s horny thighs.
These were no beauties:
in lanes, men passed them by
with eyes averted and a murmured prayer,
while goodwives crossed themselves
and hid away their brats.
When tides, Moon-sung, made pulses quicken,
they’d cast finery aside and, naked, dance a power alive
to curdle milk,
or sour a womb
or make strong men their slaves.
Oscar Milde
they’d congregate, toad-faced, to mutter incantations,
where tainted soil absorbed their charnel reek,
and writhe like snakes around
their hairy-hoofed messiah’s horny thighs.
These were no beauties:
in lanes, men passed them by
with eyes averted and a murmured prayer,
while goodwives crossed themselves
and hid away their brats.
When tides, Moon-sung, made pulses quicken,
they’d cast finery aside and, naked, dance a power alive
to curdle milk,
or sour a womb
or make strong men their slaves.
Oscar Milde
All The Wrong Reasons - Lyndon Queripel
You were down by the river
In the streams of yesterday's dreams
You can't forget but forgive her
Only time will bring healing
Love flies on a broken wing
You were looking for answers
To deny a troubled sky
But only shadow dancers
And grey clouds passed by
Love turns a blinded eye
All the wrong reasons
All the wrong rhymes
Between the seasons
And the changing times
You were lost in the night
With nowhere to share
And no sight of the light
Did you just misunderstand
Love deals a crooked hand
You were beyond communication
Without any role to control
Driving through your imagination
Too far in a street beat car
Love shines on a falling star.
Lyndon Queripel
In the streams of yesterday's dreams
You can't forget but forgive her
Only time will bring healing
Love flies on a broken wing
You were looking for answers
To deny a troubled sky
But only shadow dancers
And grey clouds passed by
Love turns a blinded eye
All the wrong reasons
All the wrong rhymes
Between the seasons
And the changing times
You were lost in the night
With nowhere to share
And no sight of the light
Did you just misunderstand
Love deals a crooked hand
You were beyond communication
Without any role to control
Driving through your imagination
Too far in a street beat car
Love shines on a falling star.
Lyndon Queripel
Labels:
Love,
Lyndon Queripel,
Poem
The Harvest Moon - Jenny Hamon
The harvest moon shines bright and clear
Lighting my way, you seem so near
It seems to say as summer wanes
I will return to you again
A fond farewell is hard to say
But sitting by this moonlit bay
The memories of summer days
Fade into an autumn haze
The September equinox is nigh
And days of summer soon will die
But memories of this lunar night
I’ll treasure 'till the spring's in sight
Jenny Hamon
Flowers In Our Hair - Tony Bradley
If you're like me, around sixty-five
you'll know exactly what I mean
when all the young people felt really alive
and global peace seemed more than a dream.
If you're younger, although you weren't there
you may get the vibe from this rhyme
for us wrinklies, it's a bit of nostalgia
the world was better, for a very short time.
You didn't have to go to 'Frisco
'cos love was all around, babe, in the air
pretty girls with gorgeous short dresses
and my light blue, brushed denim, 'South Sea Bubble Co.' flares and long, curly hair.
(PIECE TO CAMERA)
I must apologise, because in the previous verse
that last line was conspicuously, ridiculously long,
but the whole sentence brings back such memories
to leave any word out, somehow seemed wrong.
The fashions were all different, new styles and tones
frilly shirts, flares, kippers and clogs,
music for everyone, The Beatles and Stones
Dusty, Elvis, Dylan, and Troggs
I could wax lyrically, ad nauseum, about the cars around then
I know I'm just another silly old fart
but a lot of them are still cherished today
'cos like us, they're really works of art.
I honestly don't know if anyone will read this
but I seem to make more sense in a rhyme
I'm hoping that some folks, around my age
have been reminded of their own happy time.
Tony Bradley
you'll know exactly what I mean
when all the young people felt really alive
and global peace seemed more than a dream.
If you're younger, although you weren't there
you may get the vibe from this rhyme
for us wrinklies, it's a bit of nostalgia
the world was better, for a very short time.
You didn't have to go to 'Frisco
'cos love was all around, babe, in the air
pretty girls with gorgeous short dresses
and my light blue, brushed denim, 'South Sea Bubble Co.' flares and long, curly hair.
(PIECE TO CAMERA)
I must apologise, because in the previous verse
that last line was conspicuously, ridiculously long,
but the whole sentence brings back such memories
to leave any word out, somehow seemed wrong.
The fashions were all different, new styles and tones
frilly shirts, flares, kippers and clogs,
music for everyone, The Beatles and Stones
Dusty, Elvis, Dylan, and Troggs
I could wax lyrically, ad nauseum, about the cars around then
I know I'm just another silly old fart
but a lot of them are still cherished today
'cos like us, they're really works of art.
I honestly don't know if anyone will read this
but I seem to make more sense in a rhyme
I'm hoping that some folks, around my age
have been reminded of their own happy time.
Tony Bradley
Labels:
nostalgia,
Poem,
Tony Bradley
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