DANNY ERIN - 15 LOVE POEMS (standard:poetry, 1862 words)
Author: Danny Erin	Added: Feb 28 2017	Views/Reads: 2044/1285	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
15 LOVE POEMS.

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fallin across me 

fallin across you. 

Strollin over the grass 

all wet an shiny 

with fingers interlaced, 

your hand in mine 

my hand in yours. 

Streams of love 

flowin 

from me to you 

from you to me 

softly 

to an fro 

to an fro. 

To walk with you 

an be amazed 

that you are 

beside me. 

EXAMINATION 

There are times 

when I feel 

that my body 

is the obscene creation 

of a 

semi-successful devil 

and that I should be 

as distant 

from your form 

as are the mythical gods 

of my childhood dreams. 

There are times 

when I feel 

that your body 

is a mountain 

I have to climb 

to be stunned 

by the view 

from the summit 

and that your eyes 

are the last 

guiding lights. 

TAPESTRIES 

When you come to me 

with the news 

that your body 

no longer contains 

the intricacies, 

the mysteriousness 

which first won me, 

come 

we will weave new spells, 

new tapestries, 

for me 

to be amazed by 

and lost in. 

WHEN OUR SILENCE IS BROKEN 

Listen, 

when that day comes 

and our silence is broken, 

when the grey men find us 

and lead us back 

to existence 

(for this is what they call life), 

remember – 

the rain and the trees, 

remember – 

the rooms we loved and touched in, 

remember these real things 

and nod your head wisely 

when they tell you 

we were dreaming. 

VENUS 

Venus, Goddess of Love, 

shimmering naked against the horizon, 

no evidence of distant lovers 

mars her timeless form 

her eyes, 

beaming out messages 

from planets 

on the other side of the sun 

her hands, 

cupping the changing seasons 

of our world 

her words, 

like petals of a sea-mist 

engulfing me. 

ALL THAT HASN'T HAPPENED 

I would convey to you 

by means 

of the legendary sign language 

of the angels 

all that hasn't happened 

between us 

in the past two days silence... 

if I could only be sure 

that you didn't understand 

the legendary sign language 

of the angels. 

FOR YVETTE, AT MY WINDOW 

For Yvette 

leaning naked 

at my open window, 

apart from me 

apart from you, 

imagining elves and fairies 

to delight the people 

in the street far below, 

her sun-kissed breasts 

daring the breeze 

to chill their nipples 

to perfection. 

TONIGHT'S DREAM 

Tonight's dream 

is a repeat 

of one previously dreamed 

several weeks ago 

and it's a particular favourite. 

Its main features are 

that I read my poetry 

to a hushed audience 

at the Royal Albert Hall 

and that women faint 

from sheer bliss 

if I even glance 

in their direction. 

TO ESTELLE 

It's like this, Estelle, 

I need 

to be loved 

like I need 

to breathe 

and I can't 

hold my breath 

for very much 

longer. 

FLYING AGAIN 

If you should 

wake up 

one morning 

and find 

some feathers 

scattered in the bed 

where last night 

there was me – 

don't panic, 

just clean up 

the bird-table 

in the garden, 

put the remains from 

your breakfast table 

on it 

and maybe tie up 

a small net bag of seeds 

to the branch of a tree. 

Oh 

and do me a favour 

will you? 

Keep the cat in 

till I master 

flying again. 

REGRET TO INFORM YOU 

Regret to inform you 

that your 

eyes, nose, lips 

are all dead. 

This leaves you 

approximately 

one hand, 

an ear, 

several teeth. 

Our men 

will be along 

to collect these. 

Shortly. 

STREET SCENES 

Police sergeant dreams 

of ways 

to drag me into back 

of black police van 

rip my hair with razor 

an add it 

to pile 

already lyin 

on floor 

aromas of blood in police van. 

Pretty brown skinned 

tourist girl 

makes eyes at me 

over her 

pale blue sunglasses 

an high flyin 

wild street orgasms follow 

with wind 

runnin over my skin. 

Guy with rucksack 

grins at me 

an laughin American couple 

ask me 

where they can sleep tonight 

I direct them 

to a favoured haunt 

under a railway bridge 

where cracklin fire 

an shared hashish 

dreamily beckoned sleep. 

Drunk tramp 

lurches across the road 

gets knocked down 

by speedin taxi 

immediately 

a crowd gathers 

an some begin 

to take pictures 

but fat cigaroed man 

erects tent 

round dead an bleedin body 

an charges admission 

to see it 

1am cleansin truck 

comes round 

an takes the body 

for rubbish dump cremation. 

My love 

last nite 

we almost 

touched heaven 

but the stars 

distracted you 

and anyway 

the moon 

looked too comfortable 

to pass 

alas! I am no longer 

an angel – 

I pawned my wings 

long ago 

(I once knew 

a man 

who had 

an attic full 

of angel wings). 

Meanwhile 

back on the street 

eighty year old man 

invites me in 

for coffee 

he opens his shirt 

an shows me scars 

where the Nazis 

tortured him. 

SOME ADVICE FOR YOU 

Forget them, 

the men who would have you 

recite parables 

under your breath, 

who would have you 

chant scared words 

to the beat of a metronome, 

who would carve 

holy diagrams 

into your dreams 

with replicas 

of nails from the Cross 

forget them, 

they will have to follow you on 

they will have to enter other rooms 

or else fade 

they are fading...fading. 

Forget them, 

the men who would lead you 

through museums, 

drooling as they point out 

their favourite rack or thumbscrew, 

then suddenly throw back curtains 

and expose a hired crew 

re-enacting rape scenes from history 

forget them, 

the floor is wet with their spit 

spiders weave cobwebs 

in their blood 

they are fading...fading. 

Forget them, 

the thin men in blue suits 

with poison in their stomachs 

who would search for your reflection 

in wishing-wells and windows, 

who would whisper for the waiter 

to bring more wine 

even when your glass is full, 

who would compare 

the smoky patterns 

engraved in your smile 

with the ancient cave drawings 

of some extinct tribe 

forget them, 

they are pale as dawn 

and one upturned, unrehearsed 

flick of your eyes 

would paralyse them 

like the figures 

in a moth-eaten tapestry 

forget them, 

forget them all 

they are all fading...fading. 

But beware of the men 

who would casually ask your opinions 

on tv dinners, fashion or the colour of the sky 

or in the event 

of the government being wiped out 

whom you would like to see 

as our new leader 

and who scribble your replies 

on cunningly concealed notepads 

when you turn your back 

to light your cigarette against the wind. 

And beware, 

when the small man with the clipboard 

who wears his raincoat even in summer 

stops you in the street 

asks you what your favourite day is, 

I know you 

you'll laugh and say - tomorrow! 

Quick! Run! 

Don't wait to see his face freeze 

or foam appear at the corners of his mouth 

run to the nearest telephone booth 

dial my number 

and let it ring four times 

then hang up. 

I'll know 

I'll know where to meet you 

I'll know how to rescue you 

how to rescue you 

from them. 

THIS ROOM 

Outside this room, 

people come and go 

immersed as they are 

in their struggles 

against walls, 

surprised when 

one more hope 

is shattered, 

one more dream 

strangled at birth. 

The aftermath 

is always despair 

but let them discover that 

for themselves 

while we exchange 

the feathers of doves 

and hope that neither 

will remain perfect 

when carried across 

our threshold. 

Outside this room, 

visions die unattended 

at the bottoms of gardens, 

tears are sold 

on the black market 

in old whisky bottles, 

titled men decide 

where to hide 

when they see 

young girls coming, 

cities are covered 

in the blood 

of politicians' mistakes. 

To all this 

we are oblivious, 

to all this 

we are as 

gold or ivory are 

to the leaves 

of a tree, 

turning brown 

at the whim 

of a season. 

Inside this room, 

made holy 

by the loving words 

forever on our lips, 

we, entwined, 

adrift on a sea 

of nakedness, 

demanding so little 

yet with each 

intake of breath, 

each ecstatic 

shared sigh, 

would expect so much. 

Inside this room, 

the bed 

is the altar 

we perform 

our sacred rituals on, 

the bed 

is the altar 

where we send messages 

to any god 

who will listen, 

where hands 

aid hands 

to caress any part 

of the body 

feeling ignored, 

where fingers 

aid fingers 

in ballerina dances 

over trembling skin 

and the altar 

propelled towards the sun 

alternately by a hurricane 

alternately by a breeze 

explodes in space 

in the climax 

of a thousand sighs. 

THE VERY LAST DAY 

It was the very last day, 

the strippers 

had all gone home, 

the hookers 

were in bed 

with their lovers, 

the call girls 

had disconnected their telephones, 

the businessmen 

had returned to their wives. 

The pimps, 

were sitting 

in front of the fire 

with their mistresses, 

repeating all that had happened, 

laughing over the vulgarest parts. 

The lights were all turned off, the lights were all turned off. 

It was the very last day, 

Cain made up with Abel. 

Waterfalls were given the day off. 

The rain and wind were told – 

okay, stop, have a rest, 

go visit old friends. 

The birds were told – 

listen fools, 

stop singing, quit that ridiculous whistling, 

nobody's bothered, 

nobody's listening anymore. 

Somebody was sent 

to the forests, the jungles, 

advised the animals – 

stop killing each other off, 

be friends, 

relax, 

it's the very last day, 

be happy, 

there's not much time left. 

It was the very last day, 

the prophets were all in bed sleeping, after all, nobody was going to
listen to them on the very last day. 

Soldiers, supposed to be patrolling border zones, 

broke up their rifles, 

set fire to their uniforms, 

bought drinks for enemies 

in foreign cafes. 

The Generals just laughed – 

no-one would be court-martialled 

on the very last day. 

Most people stayed home, 

joked about old times, 

drank a few beers, 

watched television. 

Gardens, 

once lovingly tended, 

were abandoned – 

anyway the plants 

refused to grow 

since it was the very last day. 

It was the very last day, 

lovers everywhere 

decided not to be cruel to each other, 

decided not to send spiteful messages, 

or scream at each other down telephone lines, 

instead, 

spent the whole day in bed, 

traded secrets freely, 

performed slowly, 

or as often as they pleased – 

after all, 

it was the very last day. 

And towards midnight, 

singly, 

in groups, 

in homes, in gardens, in streets, 

people waited 

around the world, 

awed by their own silence. 

You could hear for miles 

on the very last day... 

listen... 


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