Auckland Poetry.com

Love is a Story

It seems incredible now but once I was in love,
inflamed blood rushed thru my veins threatened
to drown my heart in sweet delusions, but we
both agreed, at the time, that never in the history
of man had anyone loved as us.

Summer nights are not for sleeping tired I was
when October came with cold, sober precipitation
and a north westerly that reduced the rapid river
of ardour to a mere trickle of lust and my words of
love rang hammy and theatrical.

Tears, a tub full I’m quite certain had I had sense
to bath in them I would have been assured eternal
youth. I kicked myself, fled. A fine November dawn
I saw Recife; fell in love again, but this time, alas,
with an irony damaged heart.

AucklandPoetry publishes NZ poets and links them into its twitter stream @AucklandPoetry

Summer in Lisbon

In the gentle Lisboetic night the old Heavenly Basilica
shimmered above ground, a white mirage of satin.
Across the road, in the garden of a thousand stars,
park benches, under ancient trees, smoked cigarettes
that glowed as fireflies when lovers embraced.
Sweet scented murmur kissed the moon.

The Quickening

Upstairs, the tide slapping sound of laughter and music
became a din, small cubicles, pink light and creaking bedsprings
and it reeked of beer belching men and perfumed women.
Angry gull like shrieks from cubicle five a customer had fallen
asleep occupying much needed space. Two bouncers came and
carried the sleeping one down to his friends in the bar.
Lost and silent after bought love they drank more, the music grew
lauder as did laughter; their eyes betrayed them though, quiet
longing in a pool of stillness, their romantic male illusion had not
yet hardened behind a shield of cynicism.