INTERNET POEMS
BY
NICOLAS TRAVERS
I wrote these poems to a
number of Internet correspondents, seeking affection. They were designed to
tempt, and intrigue, for I am in England, and my correspondents were scattered
around the world. However I met just one: a woman called Daisy living about 20
miles from me in East Moseley – I drove to see her with my cat and bought her a
drink in a local pub, but we were not well suited. Some of my other
correspondents sent me rather blurred pictures. Yet a poet must work with the
materials to hand, and love was a gift I was seeking. All run in order of date,
and each carries a name (or pseudonym) provided by my correspondent.
A
female cybercorrespondent named ‘Mo’ who sent a picture of the top of her head
Mo
29 November 1999
Well,
my cyberwraith,
I
must now confide,
I
have some knowledge
of
hearts
No
expertise, I insist,
but
passage of age may consist
in
acquiring skills,
And
I have years
I
diagnose, so sad,
A
dire case of truncation,
No
attachment downloaded,
But
a mere strip of hair.
You
came to me
in
a bare wisp of blondness,
no
flesh, no relation
to
bright human form
no
heartsignal coded
nor even bright eyes,
no
challenge, no sighs,
provoking
in dreamings
heartyearning
and schemings
but
a mere kind of thatch
Is
this all I deserve
For
hopes and desirings?
Fie,
sweetness
(if
cyberwraiths sweeten
-
and lollies yield sweetness,
but
may also corrode,
with
chemicals added
to
falsen their load
of
honey
transmuting,
to
sicklier charms)
Fie,
Mo,
If
mo shorten ‘more’
And
more is to come
Replenish
your scanner
And
send me a banner
To quicken my blood
For
then you may learn
How
my tongue can weave magic
My
ears take your troubles
Spun
back as small bubbles
For
caressing your heart
How
smiles can smooth tears
Perhaps
kisses too
How
warm understanding
And time spent just hearing
Can
joy be creating,
Until
passion ne’er sating
And
all those years waiting
Are
wholly now gone
But
also, my mo-ness
Remember
in slowness
When
you sit and reflect
That
hearts must be giving
Seeking
smiles new creating
For
kind smiles receiving
That
sharing must share,
Whole
lives, whole days,
Whole
nights
That
lives must be mutual
Whole
dreams, whole thoughts
No
fights
That
good comes from good
And
good must be granted
That
smiles must be real
And
must never be slanted
In pretence
Have
you these virtues?
Have
you this grace?
Can
I now beg you,
To show me your face?
Bette in Maryland, who failed to send her picture, and thereby
flunked
Bette
4 December 1999
O
distant star,
how
good to please you
how
nice
but how
much nicer
were
you able to draw
and
fill with your paw
some
kittens for me
(my
attachment).
For
then I might prosper
and hop
on a plane
defy
gale, wind and rain
to walk
up your lane
(if you
live in a lane)
to
kayak together
and get
soaking wet.
But
life is so sad,
so
doleful, e'en bad,
that I
fear I shall never
whatever
the weather
hear
the sound of your voice
see a
smile in your eyes,
learn
from wisdom so wise *
as yours
(* I
was thinking of 'thighs'
but one
must never be crude
entertain
thoughts so rude,
when
making a rhyme,
and my
age, say my time
quite
wholly preclude
such
nastiness).
So
farewell, dearest sprite
no
chance that you'll light
my path
- I fear
though
I dare
at this
time,
a
request
most
humbly to place
do, do
show me your face.
Your
picture I'll treasure
if it
gives me a pleasure
And
mind, if you're kind
enough to reply,
to send
it as verse,
or else
I shall curse,
or maybe just sigh
Bette 6 December 1999
Bette dear,
You’re being naughty:
No pic, no verse,
No thrills – a curse
On sloth
And ‘must try harder’
From school report
In 1940?
‘1940-something’
rather:
you’re not so shy
you cannot try
to rhyme
In time
you’ll be a star
e’en so afar
and faceless
Maryland also fosters verse
(And,
no worse
Crime in cyberspace
Than to pay my smile
With faceless guile)
Perhaps
Dread thought,
Perhaps
You’re faceless
Or even worse
Quite graceless
Unzipped
My kitten tails
Attached
A score
May bore
You
But I send them
Nonetheless
I also have dark tales
From the night of my soul
They’d score you
through and through
And shock you
But I’ll keep them
Quite locked up
I need:
Understanding
(now there’s a plea,
from a bore
– for nothing
can be
more tiresome
than a grown man’s
tears)
PS: One picture please,
Or I’ll no more
Bette 6 December 1999
You stand condemned
And wholly guilty
Your crime?
Short notes a-sending
No verse
Much worse:
no pics
My hopes descending
My courage failing
I must decide your fate:
No clicks
No more from me,
bad cybersprite
no more,
farewell
(unless, of course
by will, by force
decision making
your words start taking
in true remorse
more comely form:
iambic, perhaps
pentameter caps?)
What joy
And pics then sending
My hopes start rising,
Already
But steady,
I know you’ll fail me,
I quite bewail me
I am undone
Michelle was a respectable red-headed Jewish mother of two in the
Mid-West, with a half share of a store selling kids’ stuff, and a Christian
husband called Jim. But she was also bored, and we flirted
Michelle 24 December 1999
Life is never so fraught,
that Shel cannot blossom
in a world-warming spring
as nightingales sing
to ring like a bell
as a winsome Michele
A letter
is always better
when it catches
thoughts by batches
but never hatches
bad intent
(I think this is a kind of haiku - hopefully)
Michelle 28 December 1999
Oh, Shel
you start so well,
quite belle;
all nicely laid
and set
in staid
and proper form.
But yet,
then, (shock, sorrow)
a relapse:
no morrow
brought true repent
but sent
an 'i'
for 'I'
as ending
Now,
forgiveness pending
your letters all
(e'en small)
must start
and end
(though fates forfend)
wholly proper
and punctuate
else ne'er from me create
scance hope,
my doll,
that sweet words sending
might cope
to lull those hours
when sleep ne'er flowers
and email tempting
hies you to your screen
Michelle 29 December 1999
Shel
= bell
= song
sung well
(but no song sings)
my screen quite bare
o maid unfair
my head quite rings
quite sere
my mind is held
miscast
mispelled
as 'grammer' first
should 'grammar' knelled?
how cruel
your rule
your reckless 'i's
your maiden sighs?
belie you
Abandon hope –
a rope,
might end me
and sinking fast
I'm quite downcast.
unless, faint wish,
some plangent dish
of fragrant words
you send me
Michelle 31 December 1999
I’m a fool.
(I’m probably drunk)
I think I’ve found
a soul like mine
It’s New Year’s Eve
I’m sitting
hoping,
in front of my terminal
Noises off
From Geri’s thrash
Across the road:
Pains of living opposite a
Spice Girl
Her mother came,
A sweet invitation
But I could not make it
The day same
I had agreed to babysit
I could not break it
Who are you, Shel?
Are you sweet?
Are you tender?
Are you true?
These things mean much
To me
The whole world
To be
Ex-punk
You’re bored
And now you’ve scored
Deep into me
I can spit you out
I don’t want to
You’re a dream.
You’re a nightmare.
You’ll wreck my life?
I don’t care.
Where do I go from here?
Will you scorn me?
Will you mourn me
When I am out of your life?
I fear it
Could you hold me?
Could you hug me?
Would you understand me?
I want it.
Do you know me?
Would you hold me?
I’d like it.
Oh Shel,
Take my dreams,
And throw them away,
It’s better
(is this a poem?)
elle a l'air
mignon
cela s'entend
mais qu'elle me
comprend
oh
Dieu
fait que
soit
le ciel me doit
cela
Translation
she's
sweet
that's plain
but will I gain?
God, let it be
so I may see
yet
heaven's reward
Michelle 8 January 2000
You should hear the gnashing of teeth
The wails
When I tap my inbox
But mails
Come very much slimmer than pails
Of pumpkin soup
Promised
But ne’er sent
Even my stoup
Failed me
When, seeking a word
From a distant bird
I spy nothing but funk.
Oh,clunk
(click?)
is this some trick
to make me yearn
and churn
out yet more slick
and foolish lines?
I’m sure as a girl
that pearl
of apple pie
American sky
(red at night:
shepherd’s delight)
that you were;
a passing guilt
did sometimes tilt
your heart
(Do you have one?)
But now?
So, my flame
Feel shame
And write to me
Type to me
And spare me this pain
Of having to stain
My machine with my tears
Product of years
Advanced
Entranced
I may be
But I cannot forever
Whatever the weather
Keep churning
PS: but if you smile
It’s all worth while
(sigh)
Michelle 9 January 2000
Tell me I’m a shit,
I’ll grant it
Tell me I’m a twit,
I’ll flaunt it
Have you the heart
In your redness so tart
To take me in tow
To lie with my flow?
I doubt it
(I’m – kind of - in tears)
it’s a problems of years
Michelle 9 January 2000
Top marks for skill:
Where there’s a will
There’s a way
And whilst ‘whine’ wasn’t kind
I could also be blind
If blinded with red
Tresses
Kisses?
Too much
Way out, whoo-we!
I’ll see
When this big, big mail
(the promised one – no fail)
Arrives,
and drives
Me close to the brink
I’ll sink
Quite weak to the floor,
But asking for more
And more, and more, and more
Greed will quite slay me
Hope will quite flay me
I’ll even learn American
To widen my mind like a jerrycan
(though I must admit
I had a bit
Of trouble conning ‘emmence’
(your last line, even sentence)
Did you mean ‘immense’?
fie, fie on you, horrid
copperhead
was that the best you could have said?
a single line
not e'en a rhyme?
no scansion sent
no kind intent
to make me smile?
well, my naughty little
Illinois
now's my turn in
matching coy
for coyness;
I'm closing down,
I'll none but frown
'Til words and words
and words and words and
words
you send me
e'en seek to soothe me
back to kindness
for that's my style:
Kindness on kindness flowers
Michelle 11 January 2000
Sulk, sulk, sulk
I skulk
behind my keyboard;
I have no word
from my naughty bird:
she scorns me
Michelle 24 January 2000
Are you there?
I am here,
Waiting
my words unborn
fragments all forlorn
of thoughts, of dreams
of slight and silly beams
cast by moonshine
in need of a warming smile
to give them life
to live a while:
soft promises of friendship
Michelle 25 January 2000
Shel, Shel,
I’m ringing your bell:
But not a word
Perhaps you never heard
You may be at the store
Or wiping the floor
Fighting with Jim
Singing a hymn?
Shel, Shel,
I’m ringing your bell,
But you are silent
Andrea 23 February 2000
(Andrea never replied)
You must be charming:
(and not at all alarming)
It’s the way you write
You send a light
That quite thrills me,
Fills me
With smiles, and miles
Of joy? Excitement?
Thrills? Enchantment?
You’ll be my ghost,
My very own
Of quite the most
Exquisite moan
(it’s what ghosts do,
at night, when lonely -
bereft of homely
comforts.
They flit about
and shout
in silence).
So sad.
Andrea
23 February 2000
Andrea,
you may
well be my dream:
but
dreams can prove nightmares.
You may
well prove my light,
two
eyes of stunnning delight
quite
scorchingly bright
but you
might also fill me with salt tears
You
might well prove my vision:
heartsease
and tenderness blending;
sweet
choice for decision,
sweet
heart, sweet soul, all loveliness tending.
But I
fear, and am held
in
fearing impelled
by
prospects of prison:
where
spectres of night
quite
darken my light
by
refusal severes.
And
prison quite cruel
'cos
sight cannot fuel
my
yearning
so burning
P
atricia
was a very large Californian who was my first fan – she emailed me in glowing
terms after reading something I had written. She could write well, and sent me
some amusing short stories about the black arts – she claimed to be a witch.
She was learning to be a potter. But by and large she disliked verse.
Patricia 14 February 2000
Hearts, minds, flowers
Now meet, and embrace,
In enchanted bowers
Dreaming of days
Yet still to come
When warm arms, warm lips
Will caress the tips
The buds,
Of burgeoning affection
Will hearts then be true?
Will flowers then still ensue?
Will kisses then taste as sweet
As dreams?
Weep now, poor soul,
If need be whole,
And overbearing
Weep now, poor soul
If heart can break
‘fore sharing
But warmth will come:
In Spring, when hearts are yearning
And warmth will bloom,
As king, when hearts are burning,
Your woes, my heart,
I’ll mend,
Your pains, my sweet,
I’ll bend.
Change? I’ll spell your rescue.
Truth? You’ll find quite wholly.
Shelter? My arms will hold you.
Fear? You’ll ne’er fear again.
My heart:
You have my word.
Patricia 28 February 2000
I search, I seek,
I cannot speak,
Where no voice calls me
I cry, I sigh
And is that why
The aether mocks me?
I weep, so weak
My soul should seek
Some consolation
Some token e’en,
Some word, full-rich
Of heartfelt mien
But comfort’s done,
And sings me none:
Cruel witch
My bosom bleeds:
No blood, but faith
And heart-felt yearning
No heart outgone,
But yet outshone
In tears I’m learning
Patricia 28 February 2000
If you lie, on your side, quite still,
‘fore sleeping,
And hone all your mind, to fill,
Quite full, all your thinking,
You may picture my smile,
In dreaming
But you’ll see there no guile,
No wrong, no greeding,
You’ll find me no bile,
No hurt, no paining,
You’ll find just a man,
In hurt, and needing
Have I done something wrong?
Please forgive me
Have I sung the wrong song,
Can you shrive me?
Will we speak once again,
In our writing?
Or part now in pain,
Ne’er more sighting?
One day my prince will come
And when my sighs are done,
He will hold me
And when my heart shrinks
He will shield me
And he will soothe me
One day my prince will come
And when my eyes fill,
He will shelter me
And when my courage fails
He will comfort me
And one day he will love me
Concoction
Melted;
In cauldron
Smelted
To goo?
Where passion now?
Where heart?
Where caring?
Where fondness
Heart?
Where kindness
Sharing?
My declarations
Spurned
My heart all churned
My words are turned
To stew?
Ingrate witch
You failed me
Saddened witch
You sailed me
Past all my bornes
And
bounds of circumspection
You drew me out
To heartfelt declaration
And trampled me
With blandness
No grandness
Of matching sweet sensation
Avaunt, my witch
To cauldron cleaning duty
And haunt, my witch
In dream transcending beauty
Of mind
My kind
Of dreaming
For fear I have
That green eyes shining
The care I’ll give
To matching all your needing
Will ne’er in truth
Be all requited
But sere in ruth
Will end up wholly blighted
Small leech,
Soft leech,
Beach leach?
Leech incapable
Sunbathing debatable
Roast leech?
Leech insatiable,
Leech quite capable
Blood-sucking leech?
Leech in slurry
Leech in curry:
Baked leech?
Leech ceremonial
So very demonial
Heirarchical leech?
Leech in kitchen?
Quite impossible
Start again:
Leech as stew?
Leech too few,
To leach heartshaping.
Leached too dry
Oh, leech, but why?
Can leech be taking
Such pains for breaking
Bowls yet unmade
And hearts?
Oh, leech, of clay
In eachso day,
Dost dreams be shaping?
Oh, leech, if nigh
When clay be dry
Art dreams inbaking?
Oh, leech with wand
From hedgerow charmed
Canst dreams be raising?
Oh, leech, my leech
Canst fondness teach,
When sorrow’s weeping?
Oh, leech, my niche,
Of joy my peach
Canst heart be warming?
Oh, leech, my reach,
For words a breach
Of breath I’m taking.
Oh, leech, my joy,
My gem, my toy,
In tears I flounder,
O leech, my dear,
In truth, I swear
I’m quite exhausted
And out of breath
But, leech,
When lessons teach
Learn this
And lessons taught
Your heart be fraught
(Do leeches have hearts?)
Patricia
1 June 2000
Spirit,
ah!
Patricia,
How
nice you are
When
smiling:
Silica
In
bowls a star
When
patterns tracing.
Fluxing?
With
sodium
Your
odium
For
teacher scolding;
Baking
With
ginger spice
That
man (not nice)
In
biscuit slaking
Your
scorn
But
torn
You
failed me
In
prose
You
mailed me
Fie,
ah, spirit lazy
Dull
prosody
Must
surely drive me crazy
And remedy
In
fantasy
Must
versify me
Else
cursed be
Hand
clapping spree
A
wind will blow
And
wholly throw
Your
pots yet soaken
Away quite broken
Patricia
1 June 2000
Scansion, my sweet,
Is all demanding;
Tension is strict,
And all commanding,
Wanting is hope,
And all confounding
Ulla 14 July 2000
Ulla was a very serious German engineer, who accused
me – for reasons that I never fathomed – of bad faith, and sudenly terminated a
blossoming correspondence
Sad little Saxon,
You only need arms:
to enfold you
you only need a heart:
to comprehend you
you only need care:
to value you
Ulla 15 July 2000
Hearts are, what hearts might seek
Hearts seek, where dreams might speak
Needs are, when needs are longing,
Needs long, when dreams are coming
But passions burn, and fade in embers,
And embers die, in fading cinders
And cinders dead, in grates quite cold
Rest mute and bleeding;
‘Til memories cold are sere
and old
Daisy of East Molesey 25 August 2000
(I met Daisy in a pub, with
my cat seated at my side: I think she was a little taken aback. My cat purred)
Daisy
dear, I wait
with
breath quite bated
for
pic (or pics)
of
charm expected
my
hopes are high
my
dreams awry;
but
no pic (pics) come
and
hopes undone
now
start to fade:
my pulse is stayed
I
will sing to you, my sweet
Of
things I am dreaming,
I
will whisper to you, my heart,
Of
dreams I am yearning,
And
heart will speak to heart.
I
will sing to you, my dove,
Of
bright places calling.
I
will turn to you, my love,
And your eyes will be smiling.
I
will succour you in truth,
And
your need will be my warming.
I
will count on you in sooth,
And
your touch will be my dawning,
And heart will speak to heart.
I have this pain,
Oh, dreadful, dreadful dawning,
I left my bed, quite sorrowfully yawning.
Can head so tender, can eyes so swollen
Can spirit so black, can spirit so fallen
E’er return to pleasing life? E’er heed the warning?
I’ll never learn, I swear,
I’ll never cease to drink, or dare
The power of wine defying,
The cup of wine first sipping, then full quaffing,
And then, in morning mirror glaring
This man, this thing, out staring
Quite painfully offends me
Quite horribly out sends me
Into a cruel, cruel world
I have this need
For fingers cool and soothing
I have indeed
For whispers soft and calming
A need, and need akin desire
Soon blossoms
I have this need
For soft words soothing
I have this need,
And on to kisses leading
I dream:
And all my dreamings smiling.
I know,
from pain to heaven
My heart will lead me
I know,
if kisses leaven
This pain will cede me
My future dawnings
No more will dread me
I know,
One day, that joy will fill me
(and I may then drink less)
Man seeks to scan the flesh beyond the gauze,
Bating his breath, and restraining himself in pause
His fingers stretch, his mind is reaching
His passion gains, his urge beseeching
He touches gently, and softly draws aside
This hazy barrier, and opens wide
A path of flowers
Smooth curving flesh is now before him
In gentle shape its softness draws him
And he must touch, and gently kiss
A shoulder bare, and places where
Man seeks to travel, when dreams unravel:
And welcoming smiles engage his bliss
But now his lips are hungry questing,
Now his blood in fever besting:
All sanity dismissed.
He kisses lips, he breathes in flowers
His touch enflames, he enters bowers
Of full delight.
Both bodies rise, to share in heating
Both hearts are one, in richness sharing
Time quite forgot, in passion passing
Long hours are still, as need abating
Two bodies twined, and sleep enfolds them.
Two souls are one, as passion
holds them.
Laura 6 September 2000
Laura
lived in Maryland, and we corresponded for several months. She told me she
spoke French, so I wrote her a couple of poems in French (but I fear that she
never understood them). She told me that she was coming to England, and I sent
her some money, to help her on her way, but I never heard from her again.
Laura,
my dear, I swear
My
eyes are waiting:
My
mind alert.
But
letters curt,
Few
doors are opening.
I
dream green eyes,
And
berry tresses.
I
count on sighs,
and
cries
From yearning heart.
I
count on hope
Of
new life waking
I
count on hope
Of
sadness breaking
I
count on joys
In
words deliv’ring
I
count on smiles
In softness bringing
But
green eyes doubt me
And
berry tresses shut me out.
Fie,
Laura, dear
How
briefness ill becomes you
Sigh,
man of me, how sere
You
rend my hopes around you
A
tear, just one
My
eye sheds sadly,
A
sigh, just one,
Quite brokenhearted shakes me
Laura 16 September 2000
I will warm your chills of exhaustion;
I will care
And tend your dreams of devastation,
I will dare:
In warmth, in caring
Into your heart deeply probing
I will stare
And my eyes finely searching
Will unveil you
Private to me, you are,
And wholly treasure
Wholly a dream to me, you are
And fully pleasure
Watching you,
I’ll commend you
Protecting you,
I’ll defend you;
I’m your man
In sorrow,
(waiting on pain)
I’ll be waiting
In joy
(In hope again)
I’ll be stating
My pledge: to make you smile
My arms, oped wide
will now defend you
my smile, now quite beguile
will always surround you,
and one day
never fear
I will meet you:
And you’ll be mine.
Laura 28 September 2000
Laura,
there are times when I try,
really
hard, to be charming
And
there are times when I try,
really
hard, to be warming
But
sometimes a word spoken only in jesting
Can
be read by a reader quite only as stinging
And
sometimes a phrase,
Tossed
out without thinking
Can draw quick blood
Laura 28 September 2000
Oh,
sexy Laura, I am sure
You
have far too much sugar in you to be poor
But
headaches must be trying
When
phone lines all wild flying
Hamper
communication
Ne’ertheless,
my sweet Laura,
enwrapped
in your aura
of
pain
remember,
my dear,
I
do truly care
And wish your quick recuperation
Laura
4 October 2000
Un
jour, peut-etre,
Je
te prendrais dan mes bras
Un
jour peut-etre,
Je
te comblerai de joie
En
te serrant tres fort,
En
te faisant repousser ce mort
Que
tu tiens dans ton coeur
Fardeau
du passe
Un
jour, peut-etre,
Je
te ferais sourire
Un
jour, peut-etre,
Je
te ferais jouir
De
la joie que devrait etre la tienne
Un
jour, peut-etre,
Tu
te trouveras guerie, toute saine,
Un
jour, peut-etre,
Tu seras heureuse, sans haine
Un
jour, peut-etre,
Nous
serons ensemble
(Translation)
One
day, perhaps
I
will hold you,
One
day, perhaps,
Joy
will fill you,
And
I will press you tight,
To
drive away that night,
That
death,
That
sears your soul,
Sad
breath,
Of
memory
One
day, perhaps
You
will smile for me
One
day, perhaps
You
will joy for me,
In
a joy that’s all your earning
One
day, perhaps
You’ll
find yourself quite whole, quite mended
One
day, perhaps
You’ll
laugh, all hate quite ended
One
day, perhaps
We will come together
Laura
5 October 2000
Est-ce
que tu as un don, m’amie,
pour
percer l’avenir,
Ce
pays du futur,
Mal
forme, toujours enselevi,
Bourre
de reves, d’espoirs?
Est-ce
que tu as un don, m’amie,
Illuminer
les cris,
Des
soupirs tant naissants,
Des
desespoirs tout collants
Dans
les niches du coeur
Dis-moi,
a l’heure, ma Laure,
Dis-moi
en coeur, aurore
Si
arc-en-ciel tu puises
Si
tresor bien tu vises
Si
bonheur tot tu prends
Si
bonheur tot je rends
Dis-moi
que tu m’aimes
(Translation)
Hast
thou a gift, my sweet,
To
lance those clouds
That
beat
On
the far borders of time
Ill-formed,
and yet still cold
Dream-hopes
in crowds quite bold
Hast
thou a gift, my sweet,
To
light those cries
And
bands of sighs
That
round a heart
Tell
me now, my heart
Tell
me now, lest anguish dart
In
what bright rainbow shine,
In
what rich coffer mine
Your dreams
Tell
me now, my heart,
Tell
me now, lest anguish dart
If
joy you’ll quickly bring,
If
joy I’ll quickly ring:
Tell
me you love me
Laura 6 October 2000
Help
me,
By
clothing me in faith,
Help
me,
By
warming all my soul
And
know your seeds will prosper
Help
me,
By
folding me in love
Help
me,
By
searing all my feeling
And
know your grain will grow
Help
me
By
accepting all I pledge you
Help
me
By
taking all I give you
And
then I’ll match your giving
And
then I’ll watch your smiling
And then I’ll love you truly
Laura
7 October 2000
Sorrow
fills
Actions
past and present mending
Yet
love repairs
And
true love shares
All
burdens then outstanding
For
love must bear
And
love must wear
All
sorrows then demanding
And
sorrow then
In
warmth, in trust
Like
morning mist ‘way melting
And
sorrow then
In
heart, in soul
A
future new consenting
And
sorrow then
Gives way to joy
Sorrow
grieves
Sorrow thieves
Obedience
in some unruly heart
Sorrow
turns
Sorrow
burns
All
unwonted thoughts apart
Sorrow
rules
Sorrow cools
Passions
fierce unbending
Sorrow wills
Sorrow
fills
Actions
past and present mending
Yet
love repairs
And
true love shares
All
burdens then outstanding
For
love must bear
And
love must wear
All
sorrows then demanding
And
sorrow then
In
warmth, in trust
Like
morning mist ‘way melting
And
sorrow then
In
heart, in soul
A
future new consenting
And
sorrow then
Gives way to joy
you
love me?
Oh,
wouldn’t that be nice?
I’d
serve you beans and rice,
Cooked
to some special recipe
I’d
pamper you and care for you
Caressing
you and there for you;
Yet
this is but deceiving
For
love is only real in heart
When
eyes to eyes can meet and start
Some
true flame burning
When
breath on breath
In
lips together meeting
When
heart in heart
In
spirit truly greeting
Are
one
And
then the deed is done
And
love is loved
And
then both spirits come
Together
And truth is given
Grieve,
my weeping heart
In sorrow keeping
Weep,
that bleeding part
From
youth returning:
My
conscience pricked
By
memories yearning
My
memories picked
In heartburn searing
Grieve,
my weeping heart
For
still lost moments
When
heart to heart might well have chosen
Hatred
and worse might well have given
Forgiveness
yet
But
grief is numb:
The
past is dumb,
And
speaks no longer
Yet
tears can shrive
In
heart still live
And
tears that flow
Will
truly show
A heart still living
Muriel 19 November 2000
(Muriel last for all of two emails)
My mirror bares a soul
And my soul is riven
By fear
Is that truly me?
How can that be?
I know myself for something sweeter
A face in sooth
Faces a kind of truth
But truth is driven
By hope, by laughter,
By other things than merely fear
Eyes that hope
Eyes that shine
No mirror pictures such qualities divine
Eyes that smile
May eyes beguile
I wait, in mounting stress
For this picture so ..
Tempting, enticing, entrancing?
Or just a little less?
Will I hold my breath,
Or merely cough, politely
And blench, just e’er so slightly?
Will I be shriven
Of all my fears,
Or even driven,
Quite close to tears?
A-hhh, I sigh, I wait
(and o-hhh, am I not in such a
state?)
Julen 21 February 2001
(I wrote to Julen, but she never replied)
what
is Julen?
is
it bright?
some pretty
sight,
for
sore eyes soothing?
wherefore
Julen?
when
summer comes
will
it blossom
will
it flower,
ne'er
sour,
but
eversweet?
why
is Julen?
when
words are playing,
and
echoes sigh
for
Julen,
in
brilliance staying
wholly
nonpareil
a
dream is Julen
and
Julen dreams
and
dreams of Julen
are
all that means
these
gossamer thoughts
in
wind wisps flying
fast
chasing sighs
in
tempests hieing
themselves
away
to
stay quite hidden
unless,
of course, they're boldly bidden
unveil
and
then a pen will hover
and
then reponse will suffer
all
the pangs of waiting
as
words reluctant mating
poetic
phrases form
for
only poets may speak in poesy
and
only poets may compass rosy
responses
Wonderwoman 8 March 2001
(I wrote to Wonderwoman as well, but never heard a word)
Dearest Wonder Woman:
what a wondrous concept
something to wonder
a thing to admire
my words are burning
my eyes are afire
one man is waiting -
filled with desire (?)
visit my site,
you marvellous being:
http://www.100megsfree.com/nicolas
read there my words
you might find some to your liking
my picture as well
you might e’en find it striking
email me soon:
I promise responding
perhaps we'll make friends
perhaps you'll be laughing
Elana Mackintosh 8 March 2001
(Elana Mackintosh was another failure on my part)
curiosity
may have killed a cat
quite dead
but satisfaction brought it back
and put it to bed
what are you like?
how do you semble?
are you a woman
to make one's knees tremble?
what is your music?
how is your singing?
can you reply,
in doggerel winging?
take a look at my site:
http://www.100megsfree.com/nicolas
or:
http://www.100megsfree.com/musicmusique/
(the two are my writing,
with my picture so charming
and music I'm selling
to a world quite discerning)
a promise I'll make
if reply you do send me
I'll give you a disc
once choice to commend thee
(even if we never communicate again)