Wednesday 4 January 2012

22. The Joys and Tears of Love and Passion (1)



 

 

Happy New Year to all my readers.

This is the first posting of potentially three or four sets of my poems. If they seem to attract some interest, as measured by my blog pageviews, I will post more during 2012.

The poems in The Joys and Tears of Love and Passion span many years and have been organised thematically rather than chronologically. The three themes are:

1. Love and Passion
2. Separation and Loss [posted 15 March 2012- Blog 40]
3. Reconciliation and Renewal [posted 30 June 2012 - Blog 51]

              
1




Contents
Finders Keepers
The Shortest Day
Café Talk
Butterfly Dawn
How could I not
Dream Time
I thought I knew my heart well
Strelitzia
I had sadly thought
I like to think
Dream Days
Tutukaka
East Cape
Sunday Morning
Early Morning
Pop Lyric
When Taupo is No More



FINDERS KEEPERS

You left your watch
I woke to find it
On my bedside table
You were here
It was not a dream

I try it for size
It fits perfectly
As you do
I wear it now
Keepsake of our first love



THE SHORTEST DAY

I carry you around in my head
Like a Linus blanket
Warming my heart at every beat
Intoxicated by the imprint of you
Memories of your smell, your touch
The contours of your body, textures of your skin
The softness of your kisses
The beauty of your breast contoured to my hand
And I am impatient to lie with you again
To stroke your face
Run my fingers through your hair
And, most precious of all,
To see your blue eyes sparkle with love.

Your toothbrush lies quietly in my bathroom
A promise of your return.



CAFE TALK

long lunches replete with talk
carved close to the bone of life
entrance me seduce me
take care too my sweet
the glass is fragile and
we drink a precarious joy



BUTTERFLY DAWN

waking in the last dream of spring
I hold the scales and weigh the world
a watchful dawn comes early to rouse me
jealous of my glowing morning dreams

for the world weighs light and airy
full of a strong-winged butterfly
breathing mountain freedoms
delicate hands carry a shrine to me
a dark flame and a slow burning fire
an open shrine
delightful to adoring eyes

my dream vision is steady
not acquisitive not afraid
what bridge the present passes to the future I know not
and for now I care not
but thank my butterfly dawn dream
for promises of summer sun



How could I not

How could I not appreciate
such a precious gift
as the one that comes wrapped
in those fearful treasured words
‘I love you’.

To occupy a quiet corner of your heart
makes me tall and proud
(so glad, so glad, so glad)
full of an awkward unexpressed joy
a tearful happiness

In spite of all my protestations
my remonstrations with myself
you touch my heart
give me the courage
to acknowledge the truth of what I feel
the love I have for you                            
Tenderness, affection, fondness
friendship, caring ….
a myriad of words
to block out the three that tell
and cling to a controllable sanity

In the circumstances
‘I love you’ is insane
but there it is
still crazy after all these years
mad mad me
I love you.



DREAM TIME

I had thought
with little originality
That the best times of my life
Were dream times
Illusions that would shatter
In the bleak light of day

But you my love
Are more real than real to me
With you dream time is now
Away from you a hollowed fraud
The disengaged round of daily trivia
To be sleep-walked through
Mask over mask
Until I come alive again
In our reality

For the magic moments with you
Are so vibrant
So strongly lit in my senses
That I despair to
Create as good in my imagination
Now my life is rich
And my dreams but poor shadows of it.



I thought I knew my heart well

I thought I knew my heart well
In all its little foolishnesses
but what a surprise it had in store
in loving you
for you could not come to me
at a worse time
vulnerable and confused as we both are

yet
even in uncertainty
there is tranquillity and joy
a haven for night sea swimmers
as the sun of our love lies on me
shadows and doubts fall away
and the treacherous beauties of life
engulf me again                                       
a bittersweet intoxication
precious hours, days, a whole weekend
snatched from the incoming tide of consequence
bearing a kaleidoscope of impressions
a cornucopia of delights
toast and ginger marmalade
breakfast in bed (and lunch too!)
One Tree Hill walking
aspidistra silver service salads
talking forever talking
fresh laughter and applause
for Sweet Charity’s rhythm of life
locked fingers, caressing hands
glances across the coffee cups
desires promised in the eyes
forward pressures of the thighs
the soft entry with all the tenderness
and passion at my command
seeking to touch you deeply
in body mind and soul
to exorcise our mutual ghosts
tender even in hardness
compassionate in despair
this lush love of summer soothes me
the light grows quiet
the heart sets down roots
nourished in unexpected calm
happiness flows unconstrained
we sleep peacefully together
and I dream
of brown eyes
a black hat
and red shoes.



STRELITZIA

spiky
sharp
orange blue golden bright
this bird of paradise
grows proud and tall
striving to fly the heavens

a flower of many moods
many satisfactions
the imagination and flair
of its delicate graceful petals
are cusped in a strong head
that fights and teases the wind
its firm-fleshed stem
is earthed in bushy profusion
to tough roots of reality

I delight to look on it
to touch it
see it thrive
the variegated wholeness
petals head stem bush roots
satisfies me greatly
nourishes me greatly

You
my sweet
are the bird of paradise in my life
and I love you.




I had sadly thought

I had sadly thought
some sharpness missing
from the edge of my appetites
dulled it seemed
by life’s past pains
but with you my love
senses return newly honed
taste touch sight sound
surprise me in their freshness
and Kupe’s crossing place
ferries back my nascent spirit
- sitting on the wharfside
as an egalitarian kiwi joker
rescues an embarrassed Mercedes Benz
- lying in the grass above Opito Bay
gently stroking your browning breasts
watching a lazy gannet feeding
- wading in Egan Park’s idyllic mountain stream
a dusky maiden in the fern-clad pool
fulfilling South Pacific fantasies
of Fletcher Christian and his Isabella
paradise lost and paradise regained
and a world given up for love
- rich memories stored camel like
for sustenance on a desert trip
of lolling and loving and nighttime frolics
of Skaya and Coffee shop and eccentric service
“What was it you were after now?”
the luscious laziness of a couched pizza
washed by a McWilliams Cabernet Sauvignon
and me the chatterbox for a change
childhood reminiscences of school and family
of Whenuakite holidays in now tumbledown shacks
and putt’n’stuff and boggling
and surf and body oil
and bed and showers
you give me passion again
greedy for life
greedy for love
greedy for you



I like to think

I like to think I love the you you are
Rather than some romantic image of the mind
And so I try to catch your world
To comprehend its choreography.

Steps I see
some patterned, some broken
As you strive to dance your own dance
And shuck off psychic servitudes.

I see past loves’ pas de deux
A major marriage theme
The intimacies and joys of motherhood
The countervailing tugs of love and discipline
As Josie chomps crackers in the lounge
“I love you, Mummy, I love you”
The personal touches for your Belmont home
And new spaces for you to grow within.

I see the devil and the three of swords[i]
The detached obeisance to sensuality
As you seek more confidence
A secure expressiveness in your own body
Yet fearing wantonness, faithlessness,
And I sense the need for reassurance
Knowing how hard it is to match
The magic dances of the mind
On the studio’s unforgiving boards.

Yes, I love the you you are
But more than that
I love too a special you
The you you are with me.

I love the gleeful naked child of Egan’s emerald pool
The sure-footed skimpy-skirted softball slugger
The pink-bereted red-blooded lunchtime chatterer
I love your New Orient dinner-dance sophisticated elegance
And the sweaty foot-sore King Creole rock-and-roll raver
I love bedridden Sunday sermons and hymns of praise
The bespectacled intellectual lady with her strings of As
I love the talking the sharing the closeness the cuddles
I love the hours and hours of loving loving ways
And I love the you that knucklebones upon the floor.

I share your joys
I sense your fears
Knowing what it is to be alone
For
Encouraged by your love
I come back from there
While you venture out
To look and to return.



DREAM DAYS

Were there days that week
Was there darkness and daylight
Did Monday end and Tuesday begin?
No – a week of sunshine
A cascade of happiness
Unfettered by sleep or time.

A week of Chez Marius’ garlic prawns
Of strawberries and kippers for breakfast
Watched by Big Bird and 8 a.m. Sesame Street
Duckling on the trolley for dinner
And a succulent full-blooded sweet-kissing Jean Patou for dessert.

From Martin’s Place jazz
Sunglassed, sunhatted, sunhearted,
We bus to Doyle’s beachfront splendours,
Squid, crab, mussels, Seaview Moselle
And swim, shark protected, in Watson’s Bay.

Fried oysters at Attilio’s deserted Bistro Cellar
The hysterical Mr. Bo Jangles
The fears, forebodings and joys
Of our Tarot tangles[ii]
And a Santa Comba Rose.

Boutique browsers of Double Bay
(Fifteen dollars for a pair of pants?)
Voyeurs of Kings Cross porn
Apartment viewing, harbour cruising,
Washed by Manly’s surf and the clattering hail of a Sydney storm.

Walt Whitman singing the body electric[iii]
A strange bedfellow with Rod McKuen
Iolanthe’s[iv] gumboot fairies
Wonderwoman’s[v] rubber boobs
And the sweet bitterness of Mr Harry’s forbidden apple.

But above all
Our chattering and silent delight of each other
The ever-changing kaleidoscope of roses
The magic, ecstasy, calm and joy of our love
Lying beneath Hyde Park’s trees, singing songs
Kissing by the sparkle of the fountains
Dancers of the glittering musical arcades
Late night dreamers of the streets
Dawdling home
While the taxis scurry by
With other bedbound lovers.

 

 

 

TUTUKAKA


Love the immense peace of the place
Love the pohutukawa on the cliff
Love the tuis sucking nectar from the flowering flax
Love our Whale Bay walk and seashore frolics.

Love your windswept hair
Love your tangled line
Love your scaly fingers
Love swimming for lost sinkers
Love your fishing, rain or shine.

Love your sickly Poor Knights
(Well, not all the time!)
Love your pink snapper
Love your rock cod and hapuka
Love eating them, washed with wine.

Love your eight ball strike
Love your golden jacket
Love your spa pool bubbles
Love your showered perfume
Love the gannets evening plummet.

Love you clambering up and down my rocks
Love pitching and rolling on your five foot swell
Love tossing head-over-heels in Langs Beach surf
Love the oiled caress of your sunscreen hands.

From your Mangawhai Head
Through your Woolley Bay
Down to your Bream Tail
I love you
So let’s Tutukaka some more.



EAST CAPE


Full?
On a Tuesday evening
With a hundred seats to fill?
No way, I said
Don’t be absurd
This is The Heads, Whakatane
Not the Savoy Grill.

Dinnerless we drive over the hill
To Ohope Beach in search of a meal
But the Sea-Shell has no fish
Sold out, too late
After all, sir, it’s after eight
Welcome to the Bay of Plenty.

But there are other feasts in store
The pounding surf of Waiotahe
White Island’s sulphurous steams
A rain-trek down to Horseshoe Bay
As Hikurangi hides in mist and cloud
There’s the tapu tree at Te Araroa
Picnics beneath the pohutukawas
There’s “Trev and Trev, Builders”
The driftwood of Tolaga Bay
The hot passions and cool streams
Of Waioeka Gorge
And the tranquillity of a lemon sunset
Lighting the wrinkles on Young Nick’s Head
Welcome to Poverty Bay and its whispering sands.



SUNDAY MORNING

Awaking early
I stretch out my hand
and find
only the smooth sheet
where the familiar comfort
of your thigh should be
and remember
you are out of town

Sunday morning’s
not the same somehow
the birds are hushed
the sky is grey
the toast’s not burnt
you’re away
only in memory
does the earth rotate

But next weekend?
You just wait!




EARLY MORNING

I am your cock and dawn
you gorgeous sleepy woman
I shall crow you awake
with my poems and my love
and my songs
will wipe the sleep from your eyes

I will lie with you
among the bracken
the pine needles the pohutukawas
on the seashores the cliff tops
the fragrances of love
will rouse your soul daily
and we will dance on rainbows

 

 

POP LYRIC


Give me
Saffron from Ireland
The pearls from the swine
Give me
The pits from the cherries
The dregs from the wine
And I’ll still
Give you love.

Give me
Hyper-stagflation
A dollar worth a dime
Give me
A circus of booze
A streetcar of crime
And I’ll still
Give you love.

Give me
Candles to burn
A place at the shrine
Give me
Puppets to laugh at
The goat divine
And I’ll still
Give you love.

Give me
A cowboy for king
The neutron bomb
Give me
Courage to sing
A deadly song
And I’ll still
Give you love.

Give me
The windy colic
A pailful of pills
Give me
Blood-shot eyes
The dope that kills
And I’ll still
Give you love.

Give me
Light in the morning
A view from the hill
Give me
Space to breath in
To love you still
And I’ll love you still
I’ll love you still



WHEN TAUPO IS NO MORE

Lying by dark Taupo
Below the peace and tranquillity
Of a full-mooned sky
The lake lapping
Gently gently
On the pumice shore
Saying
With persistent gentleness
True
There may be no forever
But will not my eternity
Be time enough for you?

So be it
Say I
And when Taupo and Tauhara
Are no more
Then
Let my love die.


[i] In the tarot cards the devil represents blind impulsiveness and passion and obsession, especially sexual. The three of swords represents the active destruction of an affectionate relationship plus the self-justification of the suffering that separation imposes on others.
[ii] There are a number of references to tarot cards in the poems. The Sydney reading referred to here warned of the failure of plans.
[iii] The reference is to Walt Whitman’s poem I Sing the Body Electric.
[iv] Iolanthe at the Sydney Opera House.
[v] Comedian Reg Livermore’s one-man show Wonderwoman.


2 comments:

  1. I am taken by Butterful Dwan - my neice died of a heredity skin condition that leaves the skin soft like butterfly wings and takes most butterfly babies in their first few weeks of life. I love butterflies - they make me smile - but please - let there be no more butterflies - they make me cry.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Second set of poems, 'Separation and Loss' published 14 March 2012 [Blog 40]

    ReplyDelete