L is for … Love
THE songs make you feel as if you could fall at her feet, hug her legs and put your face in her … her knees.
Why you thought of knees, heaven knows…
Maybe because its hands knees then the boompsie daisy!
Here is a compendium of some of your work about love.
POEMS, HAIKUS and LETTER by RMD
Look up at the tree
Its branches full of leaves
Do you think it worries
It’s bending in the breeze
It’s succoured in the centre
Where truth will rest its head
It’s best, it says, to blow about
Than to live sore, half dead
It doesn’t strive for reason
It has no dread to trounce
The tree breathes its mysteries
Subtle and sure, its glories mount
Its heart it does not flounder
In the eye of wicked storm
It’s succoured in the centre
Where true true love is born
I THINK I LOVE YOU
Tears flood wounds
Claw me cry
Bleak and baleful
My doleful, my dreadful aching desire
Sinks sweet heart
Depth for Chains
Wings clipped frightened bird
Nothing where you once were
A LOVE LETTER
I’m thinking that love is not about absolutes eg: we are made for each other.
It’s about nuance.
And if it were about absolutes marriage would be a thing that lasts forever.
And that’s where I think a lot of marriages go wrong: absolutely.
Nuance allows for growth, reaching out, drawing back.
It’s elegant, and sound.
It’s confident. Warm. Loving.
It’s mature. It ripens. Love ripens, darling, slowly.
Yes, I submit without guarantees, to the sound in my heart.
I believe in love, for love’s sake, a beautiful burgeoning.
I hold it close to me, treasure it; this little thing.
It draws my gentless, weeping, terrified as it manifests, a glorious brave love; all-encompassing.
A deep deep love stirs within.
You don’t want to lose your heart in vain. You don’t want to lose your heart to pain.
And nor do I, my darling. We do it to gain.
Jet black eyebrows burn
Streams of sunlight on your neck
Your red lips smoulder
It runs away, fast
Love on its wobbly last legs
It musn’t look back
BEACH POEM, SKALA ERESSOS, 2014
Silk soft soft
Touch tender touch
Your lips hint
of jasmine stars
dances on your tongue
LITTLE SPOT FIRST PUBLISHED IN THE STAR, JOHANNESBURG, SOUTH AFRICA
UNREQUITED love… Before you all start sobbing into your handkerchiefs, and dabbing your tear-puffed eyes with the pointed edge of your sodden hanky, let me tell you this:
Some people estimate that 98 percent of living human beings have had the devilish door of unrequited love slammed in their sunshine faces.
This means you too are likely to have experienced the frustration of an unreciprocated passion.
You know what it’s like to live with those pesky feelings, those relentless upstarts Churn and Yearn. The little tykes, they bounce like popcorn in a hot pot, ready to blast off your lid of resolve; shatter your rational will to forget, to get over it.
No matter what you do, Churn and Yearn, they smirk their rude grins.
They elicit grief, the tyrants!
But Mother Time’s not taking any nonsense from those brats.
She’s there, the great healer, ready to slap them down.
Try telling that to Heathcliff and Catherine though, in Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights.
This magnificent novel of unrequited love joins many other books, songs, poems and operas in its eloquent elucidation of the pain and torment of a clamped heart.
Of course, unrequited love is also something to be lampooned, because it’s so maddeningly universal and ubiquitous, the cruel joker in this pack called Life.
Happily, I am not alone.