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.