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597 · 5d
Incompossible
Incompossible

<>

  not mutually possible:
INCONSISTENT, INCOMPATIBLE

<>

inconsistent, yes,
incompatible, never

we have lived and loved
each other since
a singular moment
in grade school

profound!
(what a perfect compositional word!)
friendship, intuitively embraced,
circumstances dictated an
on/off interspersed
coexistence decades in length,
a hit or miss geographical
distancing,
thst technology overcame
with no evaporative loss
of 
sensational connectivity
across great times and
greater distances

we trialed and
errored our landlines,
for a time,
we lived together,
then nearby,
with other spouses, who knew
and tolerated, our exceptional
to the rules of coexistences,
we were closer than close,
the space between us was of wafer size, nearly invisible to the naked eyes of others, but unchanging
as much as it was unique and
uncharted
periods of absence of years measurable
and the first conversation
began exactly where the long ago prior had ceased

never fully accepted,
surely not ever
fully
tolerated + understood,
we stumbled upon a word,

incompossible

that captured the
drama, the hopefulness,
the hopelessness of
our separated conjoining
as a summary perfect
of us

a true tale,
a novel of pro-found
loss and gain
that cannot be be told
or totaled,
a sum of summary,
an unavowed marriage of
souls with no legality,

and yet

by its very in-completed nature,
it was perfected by it's very unending undefinable defiance
of definition:
we made the
incompossible,
possible,
the incompatible,
patible,
unfounded by circumstances,
unbounded in our intuition,
we yet live in a hopeful
state of unfulfilled totality of


almost fufillment
advis any typos pleade
onlylovepoetry Oct 2019
“My love to thee is sound, sans crack or flaw”


Love’s Labor Lost Act V: Scene. Shakespeare
(Hosannah: an exclamation of joy, adoration )

<>

you force-return me to this excerpted, exceptional phrase,
recovered from a prior dialaogos tween myself & the Lord above,^
an original gift from Him to William, and now you, to us, together

though these conversations, soft but hard unyieldingly,
with each verse a play in the J'accuse game,
games theory states, we are not evenly matched,
the outcome noisy, but generally predictable

the cracked light made famous by a departed muse,
who robbed proudly from *****, passing it on to
a millennium of generations, we honor this transference, by

letting us exclaim: Hosannah!

this silence of love is flawless
no interfering words necessary deemed,
sound without sound, no entry crack visible,
a great plain, a continental ocean, no horizon given,
this then the perfect diamond of humankind,
the glance cross a room, the grazing ******* upon a cheek,
the succinct serenity of perfect, this I grant you





<>


2019
onlylovepoetry Jun 2020
put down the pen,

gown thyself in coats
of many riotous colors,
banish ‘never’ and ‘hope’
from thy lexicon, and
begin with a smile
always a smile as you
walk the streets as if to say
open open says me,
open sesame and let the
good works begin,
for having found your
captain of the muses,
your Calliope,
your rosebud,
lucky you!
you will need not write


another word
onlylovepoetry Nov 2024
For Mariya

a poet who apologizes
that she ent be able to
to keep up with my new poems, for she is transiting to the front of the Ukraine – Russia
War,
I have a new poem sent to me every day only for my eyes, and I send a new poem every day only for his eyes, it a special pact that they just for us alone, and I love that. What a sad end though, maybe someone new will come who read you poem-a-day love?
Mariya

<>
Patience is a golden key that, over time, opens every single door...
and for this alone,
we live for ourselves eternally,
awaiting our
daily dose
of almost yet,
an unshared single breath,
that enlivens us for twenty four more,
till that day, that, time,
when the poems are whispered
in each others ears, and exchanged
in a breathed breath via kisses that are
incapable of being wasted or
impossible to record,
and yet!
a singular breath
each an addition
to our owned private
library-
that will last the exact length of our two
lifetimes combined…
~*~
o.l.p.
~~
weep not for me,
my poetry is indeed diurnally
drunk,
by anyone and all who love
the notion
that it is
the potions of our words
that are the essential essences,
the very elixir
that creates & sustains
the ephemeral ether
we need to exist,
that we loosely label
love!
onlylovepoetry Jul 2024
75°F & Alive & Minding the Perfection

morning mindfulness,
surrounded by perfect,
once again, may it be
forever this-a-way

I have no idea what
I’ve done to be so
blessed; and I repay
with gratitude in this
psalm hymnal, poor
though it may be,
it is genuine, poured
from within the open
confines of all I have
learned, earned, & burned;

75°F & Alive  & Minding the Perfection,
the color contrast is  an overwhelming,
an all encompassed scheme
makes neighbors,
even,
total strangers greet each
other like beloved brothers & sisters,
this heaven is infecting,
an infectious breeze of the
stillness of early morn
born and carried in our cell’s walls,
strong are the nuclei, and this
memory, this poem devotion,
this ttributary of words
flows with slowed ease,
and the
troubles are banished to the
back of the pack,
tho the line be long,
the golden oldies music
banishes them to a temporary oblivion
and within a totality of solitude alone,  
momentarily,
my heart,
fulsome,
yes trite but true, is crazy
overflowing,
I’m in danger of loving everyone,
for to not,
would be
criminal
if it were even a
possibility

if i could snap my genie fingers,
beware, I’d summon y’all,
a global contraction perfect,
to convent/sit beside me, your presence
welcomed with a hot beverage,
a cooling drink, for every one
always get what they w a n t

*and
yea, yeah, yeah
this is a forever & always,
only  a
love poem…
10:53am
where perfection is  the ruler….
onlylovepoetry Aug 2016
The rising moon has hid the stars;
Her level rays, like golden bars,
       Lie on the landscape green,
       With shadows brown between.

And silver white the river gleams,
As if Diana, in her dreams,
       Had dropt her silver bow
       Upon the meadows low.

On such a tranquil night as this,
She woke Endymion with a kiss,
       When, sleeping in the grove,
       He dreamed not of her love.

Like Dian’s kiss, unasked, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought;
       Her voice, nor sound betrays
       Its deep, impassioned gaze.

It comes,—the beautiful, the free,
The crown of all humanity,—
       In silence and alone
       To seek the elected one.

It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep,
Are Life’s oblivion, the soul’s sleep,
       And kisses the closed eyes
       Of him, who slumbering lies.

O, weary hearts! O, slumbering eyes!
O, drooping souls, whose destinies
       Are fraught with fear and pain,
       Ye shall be loved again!

No one is so accursed by fate,
No one so utterly desolate,
       But some heart, though unknown,
       Responds unto his own.

Responds,—as if with unseen wings,
A breath from heaven had touched its strings
       And whispers, in its song,
      “Where hast though stayed so long!”
nobody does it better...
onlylovepoetry Jul 2020
awhile, a time ago, wrote:

“the oven's writing warmth,
still faint discernible,
giving off the aroma of heated ink,
upon a skin-smooth page..”

                         <>

my words returned by the commentator-in-chief:

“Tells me why the best part of my
time with her was spent in the kitchen.”^

lay fallow my emotive, a response due catalogued
but unfulfilled till today, oh hell it is a moody way,
partly cloudy day, raining in between sunny  brief teasing episodic.

perfect.

for the mixed mood, a melancholia of innocence with a dash of a salty, self-reflective hazing, choosing careful words when I write without clear direction, you want to rush outside, get set up, and then surrender-retreat inside to the comfort zone, the hearty, all-involving,  kitchen where the ink is always kept on warm on the glass topped oven, and the dripping-coffee-machine never shuts down, at-the-ready stale crackers in the cupboard, and all these writing utensils at the two-handy, when she comes in, and with a quick surveying, kicks me out, to make us accoladed good food, with these words:

my darling only love poetry man, render unto me, this captaincy,
my fiefdom now, and herein are kept my ingredients and tools, whe my words are secreted.”  You mistake the warmth here as a necessary condition for thy composition, but not so, the warmth required travels in the hearth of the body, get thee to the nook, to the sunroom, or our bed where I catch you prepositioning conjunctions to join weeping verbs, adjective so riotous their beauteous is stolen by God i’m the fall, thoughts worthy of becoming verses and stanzas, the exclaim the wonders of thy perspective, thy goodly nature, thy odor of freshly stirred vocabulary, an alluring stew in a new ***, surrender this cooking place to me in order that you might chef a new creation, half mine, half yours, all ours.

^pradip
onlylovepoetry Jun 2023
Come On All You Ghosts


<>

I heard a little cough
in the room, and turned
but no one was there

except the flowers
Sarah bought me
and my death’s head

glow in the dark key chain
that lights up and moans
when I press the button

on top of its skull
and the ghost
I shyly name Aglow.

Are you there Aglow
I said in my mind,
reader, exactly the way

you just heard it
in yours about four
poem time units ago

unless you have already
put down the paper directly
after the mention

of poetry or ghosts.
Readers I am sorry
for some of you

this is not a novel.
Good-bye. Now it is just
us and the death’s head

and the flowers and the ghost
in San Francisco thinking
together by means

of the ancient transmission device.
I am sorry
but together we are

right now thinking
along by means
of an ancient mechanistic

system no one invented
involving super-microscopic
particles that somehow

(weird!) enter through
your eyes or ears
depending on where

you are right now
reading or listening.
To me it seems

like being together
one body made of light
clanging down through

a metal structure
for pleasure and edification.
Reader when I think of you

you are in a giant purple chair
in a Starbucks gradually leaking power
while Neil Young

eats a campfire then drinks
a glass of tears
on satellite radio.

Hello. I am 40.
I have lived in Maryland,
Amherst, San Francisco,

New York, Ljubljana,
Stonington (house
of the great ornate wooden frame

holding the mirror the dead
saw us in whenever
we walked past),

New Hampshire at the base
of the White Mountains
on clear blue days

full of dark blue jays
beyond emotion jaggedly piercing,
Minneapolis of which

I have spoken
earlier and quite enough,
Paris, and now

San Francisco again.
Reader, you are right now
in what for me is the future

experiencing something
you cannot
without this poem.

I myself am suspicious
and cruel. Sometimes
when I close my eyes

I hear a billion workers
in my skull
hammering nails from which

all the things I see
get hung. But poems
are not museums,

they are machines
made of words,
you pour as best

you can your attention
in and in you the poetic
state of mind is produced

said one of the many
French poets with whom
I feel I must agree.

Another I know
writes his poems on silver
paint in a mirror.

I feel like a president
raising his fist in the sun.
onlylovepoetry Jun 2023
mumbles, rumbles, grumbles &  groans*


permeate the bedroom still,
woman tosses, turns and exclaims
mumbles, groans, all twisted into
a single minutes-long rumbling

torn I am, let it pass, or stroke the hair,
caress the shoulder, or risk awakening her
to continue her alert discontent, or salve her,
thereby saving her from herself, for me, us

do you know forever?
do you know perpetuity!
this diurnal/nocturnal border line battling
dilemma, comes early morn, ever faithfully*

and I dreading her dreaming:

court the new day’s chance-ry,^
plead my case, make new laws to protect
the infants, lunatics and the restless

and those would be their Knight Errant Protectors!



<>

^ The Court of Chancery was a court of equity in England and Wales that followed a set of loose rules to avoid a slow pace of change and possible harshness (or "inequity") of the common law. The Chancery had jurisdiction over all matters of equity, including trusts, land law, the estates of lunatics and the guardianship of infants.

A knight-errant is a figure of medieval chivalric romance literature. The adjective errant (meaning "wandering, roving") indicates how the knight-errant would wander the land in search of adventures to prove his chivalric virtues, either in knightly duels (pas d'armes) or in some other pursuit of courtly love.
onlylovepoetry Mar 2024
love~worn to the extremity (get a dog)**


rare condition but not so rare,
that a first year intern might guess
the prognosis from visible symptoms,
the alternating listless groans, contextual
unexplained weeping, no singlized source
of pain but short hard stabbings in odd,
multiplex moving theaters of the brain ‘n body

slow onset, then signs manifest in increasing
rapidity, till your buddies attempt to drown
your context in a local pub, but to no avail,
just a guttural persistent wailing failing
where they beside themselves, send you home,
you’re tossed on your bed, to search for no rest,
for this malignancy is cured by lingering time,
and even then, it is a never fully excised tumor,
shedding bad humors, cells to witness to exist,
decades, a precursor to a life long disease, composing
just
one more bad
lost love poem, a
disease cancerous
in its aspect, look for the paling, waning now near
permanent discoloration around the eyes, and surely
you will have ease instantaneously recognizing me

get a dog they said,
so I did, so now, two sad eyed
lowland lady mates, two basset hounds walking each
other on silent daily trip with no destination until
one of them commences the serenade of howling


olp
march 2024
onlylovepoetry Oct 2024
love
a version of life,
we encounter daily
in the hand holding
couples with locked eyes,
if should one ask, it be the chief
characteristic of this thing called lov,
is its unlimited unlocking nature,
it appears like a horizon,
unlimited, unended, a
line far but close enuf,
it can be touched
even if it’s the
brain confess
close and yet
unreachable

this dichotomy specially prevalent,
everywhere,, an illusion~
delusion, called the
unlimited ubiquitous~

all around us, there for the taking & giving,
a capability installed instilled at birth
to everyone, everywhere, to all,
but like
a key without a hole,
it is always hopeful and
optimistic, a resource
natural spring from
deep within the
earth, always
replenished

it’s an unlimited, ubiquitous thing
should be easy to spot, retrieve and
keep, but the key fits only one
particular lock, and that is so
**** hard to find & fit,
it makes us completely
crazy, non-compliant,
this love thing,
a rarity, and
a major pain
to everyone

*tho in everything,
yet keep on trying
because it is ubiquitous, imagined
to be unlimited, ready ease so imaginable, just over the horizon
onlylovepoetry Oct 2020
bad day omens come in threes (and a P.S.):

1. bad day omens come in threes,
a Trinity Church with a graveyard
included and attached, (1);
when your breakfast
navel orange targets,
aims & squirts on
its namesake orifice,,
a prescient hint for
a freshly cleaned
white T-shirt day,
first bite of the date

2. a trinity requires three,
the day is young,
so when sun up shines,
surely a positivity, nah, no!
just to make a point,
immediate comes out a
glazed donut
coating haze
that says impolitely,
no sir, “nun-uh”

3. go to the kitchen
for fresh coffee,
hearing a car
pulling out,
finding note,
on coffeepot-propped,
neatly folded,
To: Only Love Poetry

”Cannot do this anymore,
don’t forget to turn the
coffee machine off”


P.S.
Can’t afford another costly mistake.  Pre-treat that orange spot.
It was good for awhile, till it wasn’t, but our spots, just won’t 
come out, no matter how many times we tried, stained permanent. Sorry.



onlylovepoetry
(1) Trinity Church
https://www.exp1.com/blog/5-most-famous-people-in-trinity-churchyard/
497 · Aug 2024
man-I-fold mistakes
onlylovepoetry Aug 2024
made,
can’t seem to get that grasp,
of the continuity needed,
the
regular  maintenance schedule
good loving
requires

oh hell, part lazy,  the origin of most of-my
manifest manifold
m a s c u l i n e mistakes, permitting
a dario daily “i love you” to get rust covered
by routinization, poor pronouns and missy pronunciation.,
forgetting that
we us and ours  
are the foundational
cornerstones of the best love theorems
that were poetic uncovered in Ancient Persia,
or were writ in sanskrit

certainly borrowed by the Bard,
and will this
not be numbered in their
midst

gonna reread some Hafiz tonight
when she asks what do you want
to watch tonight, and maybe if
I am feeling gracious I will reannoint
myself a Reader
as well as a
writer of only love poetry

meanwhile accept this scrap as a sacrificial
offering, to be a burnt offering, consumed
entirely after just one reading

with luck
I will be posting
of flood conditions
tonight

a bio hazard
to be relished
or in the guy
parlance

oh  yeah!
jun 29
onlylovepoetry Jul 2018
Friday Night K-nulcking Under III

<•>

it is a (my) three day weekend
it is now
Saturday late morning

Friday night we went to Joe’s Pub,
you could look it up,
to hear marvelous stories and marvelous singing

then
full stop

homeward bound (apologies Paul),
we swap Lulus for p.j.’s,
and alliterative alternatives

after having bathed and showered
alternatively alternatingly debatingly
the meritocratic merits of bathing methodologies
and our respective but not respectable
technological techniques and sundry technicalities
are peaceable declared tied

we have not left the confines
of public globalist bedding since thenning,
and no plans for departeeing
not even for meals
or anythinging

(ok, barbecue chicken not cool to eat in bed)

multitasking multiplayering
music, poetry, Sunday NY Times,
action movies non-stop,
even napping,
anything
i want,
as I am the only worker bee
celebrating a workless Mondayee

periodically and often, I kiss the
knuckles on either of her hands

and we laugh at my joking insistence
for she vociferously denies,

most badly connives,
that she is
(with a pronounced hard K)
K-nulcking under
to my every demand
as she is equally guiltily
and capable of excellent excessive
leadership in the art of slumbering parteeying,
ergo all good

we still have Monday to resolve an unraging debating,
this unurgent knuckle biting questioning

who is the K-nulcker
and
who is the K-nulckee

~~~

for US citizens only:

We approve this message^
onlylovepoetry Aug 2019
all I've ever learned from love

is

in the trying is the finding out
of the
all about,
losing battles to find yourself,
a war-won victor and a long term loser,
making the process new, expensive
the event expertise training
acquired to shoot your foot straight,
laugh about it when you do it again
and again

for the relearning is the crown jew-el,
that jesters rob from their kingly masters,
pride in love is the fall season preceding
Canadian winters, always thinking
you know better, be better at keeping warm,
this time which is the next time

you cannot learn from love,
cause it’s twice, two times,
never the same,
past lessons ain’t no prologue,
the body is maybe in the wafers,
sometimes vanilla,
sometimes chocolate


and the epilogue is
100% of the
poem~songs that I love writing
and hate remembering
onlylovepoetry Dec 2023
light

<>

~yes, for you~

you never knew that you have burdened me,
informing an old fool that,
you meditating in the morning, after waking up
to a poem in your inbox from a person you’ve
never met, but whom you thank with a kindness
that wets my face, trembling with thankful shivering
from the places
left in me that
crave giving thanks

one day I will come unannounced with tapes
of a hundred romcom movies that have caused
my heart to erupt and always will, for thank god
my old curmudgeon heart is still weak enough
to cry in private
at old movies in
a youthful man~boy way,
now grizzled gray
that yet needs
nay, requires, reminders
that giving thanks
is a variant of giving
love in its very
own way

a craving that satisfies
in its own way
that giving is
gifting love
to yourself
as well
Sat Dec 30 2023
468 · Sep 2024
sippin’ good morning
onlylovepoetry Sep 2024
engaged in
sippin’

it’s a delicacy
among all the
actions we fool
humans partake

sippin’ is of a kind,
a slower breathing,
a finery of human,
tiny steps taken,
gifting balance,
perspective
one sense
at a time

sorta a purification,
a priest anointing,
oil on a king’s head,
droplet by drop,
for that is what it makes,
takes, to be royal, patient,
wisdom of consideration

my love is royal,
parceled out like
broad wide~wet~
white wake, witnessed,
verified bu synchronized
fly~sized human eyes,
tiny impartial arbiters of
finery, the lace hand~
sewn into the delicate
fabrics of our world,
skin of our lives

sipping’
is the pace
full of grace envy,
but forget to emulate
rushing to join the
waiting frustration
of endless traffic to
meetings that blab
blah blah blah, ah,
wasting brain cells

turn to my woman,
big grin, worn in a
slow borning smile,
she
says what? as if
I’m keeping a great secret,
an angonizing revealtion for
when I slow breathe out,
in drops deliberate,
giving a pledge,
a phraseology,
I~Love~You
but taking
maybe so long
an extended ten!
whole seconds, which
to her is an eternity, earning/deserving
a punch to whichever of my arms
be nearest to her body’s
heart

while I slow laugh,
sippin’ great pleasure
from a well and proper
brimming cup of joyous,
write a small sip tribute
of an another

only love poem
writ while sipping’ my morn coffee
open some eyes to its applicability
to just about everything
wisdom of writing prone and
well heated
onlylovepoetry Jun 2024
even when I lived with another,
their were divisions, we even
remembered memories different

which was a grandiose hint that
our eye to eye was dissimilar, and
the connection, the We~key never

truly locked our door from the
inside, from the outside, and we
were faithful to separate but

unequal…
onlylovepoetry May 2020
what does her true voice sound like?*

going on seven, maybe eight years,
know the thumbprint of her stylish,
at twenty paces, her tower recognizable,
leaning in, she is the garden, can’t tell
where the garden ends and she begins

she opens the pages and lets slip out the
exposed flora+fauna of of her heart’s eyes observatory,
revelation unintended but wanted, she can’t be helped,
for she, both a revealer, reveler, party girl, beat poet

know her
in the bursting:  of the spring welcoming festival
in the bursting:                     of the season of loves busted unhappiness,
I know her well enough but not at all

in the sparse, frozen soil, and in the contra-blooming,
in every season, she warps my judgement,
with words unheard, unknown, the dictionary my accompanist,
what she says is a language purportedly in common, maybe not,
she takes me on a tour of her symphonic insights,
as my foreign tour guide

enwrapped, entrapped, I am, as she crooks her hair, in the
curved shape of a question mark top,
unknowing what does her voice sound like?

try different versions, a tasting menu of mellifluous, and
imagine myself to sleep, wondering and wandering,

what does her voice sound like?


off to sleep,
smiling, frowning
upside downing


11:51pm Tue May 5
457 · Dec 2024
When OLP is Deathly Afraid
onlylovepoetry Dec 2024
the best time to realize
when
what
causes one to experience
the meaning of to be
deathly afraid
is
exactly
when
you are not


joy purifying
enfolds you, envelops, indeed,
you
are subsumed, a sense of being
secondary
to the unusual flooding of the
dry riverbed in your head that’s
been dry since you can’t remember

when

when you understand
that one cannot truly
write only love poetry
to precise excess
unless
admittedly you love
to excess,
otherwise
you are incapable of making
good
love poems

when

you are not
within that
rare off the beaten yes trackless meniscus curve,
in
country
of first love
  of
only
true love
537 pm deez 6
onlylovepoetry Feb 2023
(written for and with apologies to Ken Pepiton)


(A-pop-TOH-sis) A type of cell death in which a series of molecular steps in a cell lead to its death. This is one method the body uses to get rid of unneeded or abnormal cells. Also called
programmed cell death.
~
Ken Pepiton  “I found a word, *
apoptosis*  and I used it on some old bubbles that claimed to hold true love. You might find it useful for other crazy-makers common to mortal moments”.

Sep 2020

<>

a rich commission this;
aged by being overlooked
for two years more,
reconciling it, if it were even possible
this mixed drink of crazy,
programmed cell death
&
old bubbles claiming true love holding!

flummoxed by the symmetry and the inherent
contradictory of these dual dueling notions,
struggle for a course of unification

<>
and then:

Having known and lost true love,
more than once,
recall too well,
months when my heart cells died daily by the billions,
years of paining bubbles bursting,
till the heart at last purified,
by the emptying of

mortal moments.

the desperation of a grown man wondering if
peace and satisfactions would elude him forever,
deluded by weight of iron alternating currents of
hopefulness § hopelessness,
a sharp pain
morphing way too slowly
into a
dull ache heartburn
so well.
that yet persists
as a just below the surface swelling in my memory
even now

crazy it made me,
no cure cute for this uncommon cooling
of heart and soul,
lines on my face
witness attest
to where tears and failings eroded skin
by marking lines on my face.

”I was unrecognizable to myself”*(1)

no joke this
craziness,
a grown man  despairing
like a teenager’s lament,
robbed worse by the adult knowledge of the scarcity
of finding
the only true treasure humans could actually
possess, keep and nurture…

yes, Ken,
I find these world of words
you gifted me
useful

useful in ways untold,
but take this telling,
this one here,
with grace given
and knowing
that it only took
from me
about 10 to the 11th power power(2)
of heart
cells

4:36pm
Wed Feb 1
2023
(1)lyric from  “Philadelphia” by Bruce Springsteen
(2) 10 to the 11th power, or  
100000000000 ce
las lost every day by the human body
onlylovepoetry Mar 2023
now that I am in my seventh or eight decade,
(not particularly sure when you start counting)
memories bust out like the flashbulbs on olden cameras,
briefly bright as hell, illuminating and annoying as hell,

this flash came to me this morning and don’t know why,
but it was worthy of writing down for no particular reason.

when I was a child in one of those indistinguishable early grades,
my teacher informed my father at an annual parent teacher partee,,
that I was “not particularly smart,” which angered him greatly.

He went home undecided whom to hide (1) p,
the teacher or hide me.
unsure, he was, which was the smarter course of action
(for my mother had passed and he without a consultant),
but informed me, who promptly hid (as in escaped)
in the only place suitable in our tiny house, behind the couch,
that was my mother’s pride an joy.

more tired than angry, he reflected while sitting on said couch,
listening to my breathing/panting, he decided that perhaps
the teacher was kerrect, and furthermore, I was not to blame,
(told to me years later by his serious drinking buddies)
“given the stock he came from, it was less my fault, and more his.”



this too, is only a love poem…



(1) hide as hiding, a countable noun, if you give someone a hiding, you punish them by hitting them many times).
onlylovepoetry May 2020
<>

“where all my journeys end”
————————————


§§§

she gets
breakfasts in bed,
an all-pandemic menu benefit

I smile,
as I carry delicately
her coffee, berries, & bagel,
a happy house divided,
stroked even sided
1/2 French pear confiture
1/2 NYC  whipped cream cheese

I smile,
as I am now an imagined,
a heroic carry-out guy,
an ear budded delivery man,
whose ears are filled to the brim
with words of an old love song,
“where all my journeys end”^

this poem is hers,
an ending for her
bed breakfasting,
and a commencing,
for her living well

an ending for her bed breakfasting,
and a commencing, for her living well,
a place where,

all my journeys end.

§§§§§

May 8
twenty twenty




^Traci Chapman
https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/tracychapman/thepromise.html
onlylovepoetry May 2023
Things Worth, Or Not, Remembering:
T.S. Eliot,  O.L. Poetry and the Passage of Time

<>

“Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present

All time is unredeemable.

What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.”

T.S. Eliot
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

<>

Only in a world of speculation, but what if,
There was no such world, one speculates,
Where safely looking in both directions as
We cross the alleys and boulevards of now is
NOT required; living in series of moments,
a steady spasming of venturing, and always,
something gained, something lost, but never,
additive, cumulative and more sensational
than experiential and we have no memory,
and thus no prejudice for or against!

Living with constant aspiration, not reckoning what are
Things Worth Remembering, is that not more than
no footfalls, only footsteps, to new love, renewed love,
possibilities of all doors opened, and we take each day
as it is given, banishing longing, jailing regret,
believing round every turn is a new fragrant, radiant rose garden,
or not…but perhaps means eternal, forever looking.

O. L. Poetry
5/28/23
onlylovepoetry Aug 2017
ok
it was a heated race, and
man I mean
it was broiling,
a 100 meter dash
turned into
a 400 meter relay

we barely stopped to strip,
but our feet were
like a thousand feet away
requiring two hands
that really wanted to be
otherwise occupied,
so to busy to remove

when we were good,
when we were done,
our dark socks were
looking at us,
like a couple of
two eyed voyeurs

eww, she said, I
hate
forgetting to take them off

replied
with this poem,
earning me a snack of a smack on the head

replied
by chasing my screaming ny woman
throughout the entire house,
my choice weapon,
puppet hands inside my smelliest,
yes,
those insane black socks

by god,
she was fast,
till she hid in the shower,
and trapped,
in our laughter,
we did not
come out for
one hour

not the end
381 · Jun 2016
the conception of love
onlylovepoetry Jun 2016
let me be clear
we are gathered here
to discuss the conception,
not the concept of love

the moment when that selfie line erased,
straight and narrow road
rail guards fall fast away,
more than a mere dropping,
the physical of oneself's modifies
alove alive

so obvious,
the mind must
eagerly, tacitly, reluctantly,
and eagerly surrender
with red flag waving
to the shock and awe,
or just a puzzling

oops,
here I am, once again,

letting the gate open
so that horde of wolf words,
so hard to utter,
until once done,
the unthinking the unconscious the ineffable howling  of

I love you

the soft truth, the first commandment
the dotted center ten,
crazy wavy concentric circles

I love you

tongue slides,
those words just
somehow slip over the mouths water moat,
come our dripping like a newborn,
dressed to the nines
in finery of amniotic fluid

****, this took days of  soft labor
and courage-taking drugs

now
having said "it"
out loud
you examine the statement,
twist turning it in every way,
does it hang in the air, homeless,
lonely for a
"well received"
or does it repeat and repeat,
like a fabulous wine tasting,
that says come back for more,
later,
or now

this birth of a new nation of two,
even if not officially recorded
in any book or city ledger,
nonetheless
is holiday forever recalled, instantly,
as the moment,
the conception,
the Memorial Day of
new love

it is a cork popping, a face slapping,
a huh and duh
self-realization,
and you come to it fast or slow,
but the moment, the very second,
that the wrong way street sign ignored,
crossed,
and the day light quality changes,
that precision point
now, as identifiable as a
birth certificate

and keepsake kept in the frontal lobe,
the slow sledding,
the giving up, the giving into,
the conception of love

what is the concept of love?

on this treacherous topic,
the poet will not opine,
which is quite fine,
for love be
amorphous and sheer,
diaphanous and clear,
demanding and dear,
shimmering shiny and white light clarifying,
it is as individual as
our genetic codes

yet the instant of acknowledgement
is the same for everyone,
shock and awe, shock and awe...

touched with a micron of foolishness and
a sheepish grin, and a passing thought of

where has this been, and what took so long,

that quickly morphs into a
cacophony of trembling
palpitations, tremors and shiver-me-timbers
and that is when, fool,
it is the time,
the mirthful birthful
conception of love
being tape recorded
forever and more
369 · Nov 2024
the shape of my heart
onlylovepoetry Nov 2024
~for Gordon Matthew Thomas Sumner~(1)

my poor battered battler *****, too-many accumulated door dings, broken off pieces
circulating in the bloodstream, even inert artery declared dead, no saving it, that’s just an idée fixe, that cannot be fixed

but no matter misshapen my heart,
and roughly mishandled, it’s a boon
companion, we work together overtime,
falling into love with every third woman
we pass on our walks so regular, and
though many wish my heart to abduct,
no dice, no okay, not playing, for time is
shortened, and there are too many of you,
to longer complete for another, term of
endearment undefined


so many poems to love,
so many to comport and compose,
each a spoke fantasy, a story to unfold,
not forgetting than I am still young enough
to regret skimming to the bottom of another,
and when breath pounding my temples,
swift kick to the atmosphere and do it,
yes, once again…

do not me critique,
paid my dues as a long distance lover~runner, but know-a-days,
best to live love and run,
for measure I,
by what accomplished
by sunset, a reminder
to say eve prayer song,
and accept that
the sum total of my days
is nearer thy god than thee,,
and to raise smiles upon
the least likely, to break a
throw straight line frown
in a U-turned greeting of love,
however brief,
is a worthy goal
multiplied by the rest
,

                    the rest of my,
                    the rest of the company                                                       of my
dimming hours
1) Sting
onlylovepoetry Jul 2023
The Whether


you will like, love or hate this poem
it will be written, needs writing,
asks no permission from the author,
gives no quarter, it is the

whether of either or,
for ‘tis not in our hands, not in this domain,
for it’s ripped from my elemental being,
like it or not, was took and taken!


Even I, am without choice, this one of
singular changing moments in our lives,


when she speaks and:

the happenstance dominates, the errant word,

bullet kills, grimace or grin is its very own revel-nation,

when where truth smashes,

drips and a froze-moment is preserved without

artifice, mnemonic or devise, for it is both perma-

burnt and burnished with ochres, browning yellows,

when you spoke plainly words that sundered irretrievably,

un-remediable, destructing 

my first first principle,

a mathematical construct of

conceptional  constantcy


“I can no longer love you.”
July 2023
onlylovepoetry Jul 2020
this word love,
heavy with import, alternatively,
falsely called out too breezily,
diminished by over-usage,
till you admit it doesn’t fit
like your formerly fav pair of jeans

stretched, too many stains,
cut for a different body,
a different soul,
a different existence,
a former you

so when the mind and mouth
glimpse a synchronized synapse,
and just ‘bout ready to let the “L”
bomb slip past the guardians of
your own galaxy, you nick time,
modify it to a moderate, but yet
fulfill your need with a differentiated
four letters.


(“Cariño para ti.”)
Care for you.”
2:34 PM
Fri Jul 17
2020
347 · Jul 2023
I did not know
onlylovepoetry Jul 2023
I did not know
that first poem
of this day would be
a love poem meant for thee

you coffee fed, snack too,
talking chattingly with a
woman bff, in the sunny parlor,
friend, sisterly, you smother with affection

you are a model, a star for the UN,
you care, and take care of the sad ones,
who knew but lack, the now passion of
a steady lover, you step in, a pledged step-sister

on top of the boon of companionship,
you two play and entertain and chatter~banter,
like only two women can, for hours, without end,
an amicable amazing miracle, to a man who cannot same

for a man, it is different, we love our brothers,
but silence is welcome, understood, appreciated,
we could fish contentedly side by side, guffaw, share
a philosophical nugget, a good story, a back slapping

and I down the hall hear you both, and wonder how,
just how, you two go on endlessly and never run our
of affection, and mutual attention to each others needs,
and here I am writing a love poem, kind kid,  but different,


but not really, for my heartbeats exude love
for the person you are…a truer friend no human
could ever admire more….
337 · Oct 2024
A Kiss That Lasts All Week
onlylovepoetry Oct 2024
(the drug cos. have invented this,
tablet, capsule, even injectable;
but the pharma cabal says
no to all,
who know & ask for a public release)
|~|
For

A Kiss That Lasts All Week
it will cure most illnesses,
and what’s the point in that?

you will just have to learn it
with practice, practice & tactics
no need to hurry, play with
the concept, roll it over the tongue,
ready for overseas deployment
said tongue,
the tongue now
the advance force

close your eyes
focus on the overwhelming
(says the now all powerful Wizard of Lips)
those underestimated sensors of the lips,
too oft disdained
in a overhurrief hurricane rush
to the
“big n’ better “ orifices,
and the slow luxury
of the tingly
uttering of

WOW~

shooting through you to the parts of you
suddenly rewoked
& now revoked
from the
quietude of functional boredom

and think
but do not speak
***, ***, o m g,
this is
the fountain of youth,
the revitalized
cellular generation,
the speeding up of the
flow of blood
to places long forgot,
allowing the heart to pump
its gifts to the deadened spots,
reawakening the invisible
soul
that we all have in common

so:

get to “work”
11:37am
9-two five- naught24
onlylovepoetry Jan 2020
lovely questions, lovely quiet

them words, soap bubble-burst, in my mind’s eyes,
but no finger pointing, this the way to go, no,
here lies the poem, you need be writing,
here, buy the poem, release belief, be the relief


thinking past loving, glory, pain, depths plumbing,
farewells, opening gambits, unplanned strategy,
first move, drugged highs grand expectations
chase, hunt, capture, surrender, regroup, defeat

skip to only endings directly, where’s the fun in that,
no, lovely must be earned, only years later cannot
recall, name, why we separated, but each, her face,
cut, grooved, in the cells, how I stroked her skin, thrillingly

finger’s cells keep memories in cold storage, summoning
with great and minimal difficulty, reversal atmospheres,
breathing the air we shared, oh god, oh god, how,
could I have let the times escape, each lover lost, unforgiven

lovely interrogatories, each, a cup, half full of changelings,
the passions expended, losses unintended, greater fool,
the chameleon fooled only himself, each memory a blessing,
a curse, and when sleep darkens the eyelids, the tears pool

no peace I find, the wetness caresses both the closure,
and the retelling, drowns me  in measuring cups of
who I was, who I am, and demands do better, do it all
over again, only with lovely quiet, with tenderest kindness

and guilt clings, hope lingers but sleep arrives as I count
my sheep, repeating whispering of “do better, be better,
do better, do better, be better and better, and better still

5:08am
1/14/2020
onlylovepoetry May 2019
have I? answered all your questions save one?


~~~~~

the known’s and the unknown multinational multitudes

do you comprehend within my means
to be
the man that can be moved

the when is up to you
the why yet, a wonderful mystery

laughs
the imagery of a plucked ****
man emits an ouch
but the spring bulbs tense fragrance,
a call sign for new missions
science need answers,
now, that I can no longer hide
in black holes

you can stall till the fall
more questions to pair the man against himself,
poetry by command
for the curious possibilities
of dear,

save one








~~~~~~~~~~~
7:12am 4-11-19
313 · Feb 2020
Evening Song x 2
onlylovepoetry Feb 2020
Evening Song
Willa Cather - 1873-1947



Dear love,                                              
what thing of all the things that be 
Is ever worth one thought from you or me, 
             Save only Love, 
             Save only Love?
The days so short, the nights so quick to flee, 
The world so wide, so deep and dark the sea, 
              So dark the sea; 
So far the suns and every listless star, 
Beyond their light—Ah! dear, who knows how far, 
             Who knows how far? 
One thing of all dim things I know is true, 
The heart within me knows, and tells it you, 
             And tells it you. 
So blind is life, so long at last is sleep, 
And none but Love to bid us laugh or weep, 
             And none but Love, 
             And none but Love.


______


Evening Song Twice
O.L.P. 1950-


Dear love,
your soft sleeping+breathing sounds require
Recitation of this, an Evening Song, singular thoughts,
           Save for only your love,
           Save for only your love,
Days are short, long nights grant permission,
Days are short, long nights grant commission,
            So dark are the seas of interruption,
The voids, the emptying spaces of inhibition,
Dim my eye lights, you, envisioned, me, tremulous and weak,
             Who knows when I shall see you again so clearly?
Of all things past, so well remembered burnishing caresses,
My heart within speaks, once more into the clouded atmosphere,
             Even as you sleep, my love, yet full on complete,
Tho my senses impaired, my thoughts thru your sleep, I’ll penetrate,
And none but Love to bid us laugh or weep, 
              And none but Love, 
              And none but Love.
onlylovepoetry Mar 2020
part of my job (a love poem)

<>


checking in & on you, part of my job, I explain,
need a status update, re and about what’s new,

on the flora and fauna studded moors, how’s the traffic in Mumbai,
have the Prince and Princess come to visit your nearby island,
how’s that pendant I sent hanging, still cracked, letting letters in,
the curfew imposition getting in the way of your poetry writing,
tell me what it is like to be a young man in Morocco, need your input,
do you know that I love imagining being in love with you, so exotic,
while I hunker down in a bunker, forty story concrete stories on
a gra-nite island,
wondering how you pass your Sunday morning, in bed, in church, in your head,
seeing poem fireflies coming from the beach, how your language takes, enraptures,
captures my cellar pulses electrifying, I am yours unbidden and I forgiven & unfortunate,
swimming on the West Coast beaches, pools and eddies, rip tide currants & currents,
******* me into your world and the fun, the challenges of loving you from afar

do you know that I love imagining being in love with you, so exotic,
locating your presence on the grid, illegally concocting our ionic physics connections
in ways you remain so unaware and me, dancing delighted on the edge between
blurting out how I feel about you, you, in France, and foreign lands, all over,
when you read this, do the hairs sudden tickle, sensing my presence, when grasping
you hand, kissing your neck, do you regain/retain consciousness of my affection,
plain hard and drawn to you, sans affectations, and we walk in contented silence
on country lanes, beach trails, crowded ***** megalopolis city stained small streets,
and now that you know that I feel so much desire to grasp you in my adoration hands,
will you accept that a man’s love who you have never seen can be so willful strong

that

you know that I love imagining being in love with you, so exotic, and the pleasure of it
grows stronger daily when you send me words that infect me with subtlety severe ****,
and now I go, the slipping and sliding into the land of having checked in on you,

where my job is to love you from afar


8:41AM Sunday March 15th twentyfolded twice
onlylovepoetry Apr 2020
everything in life is tech-ordered,
in this age of mega-multitasking,
the brain poorly functions, so in its defense,
the brain leans on learned reflexive behaviors

she, on the couch, cashmere blanket covered,
the Tv platform reconstituted as a drone,
a politician in front of a camera pontificating,
while she scans the Ipad, and both me and god,
don’t know what more she might need (to buy)

so when I stroke her legs, to give
added heat to her fiber-edged warming,
I do it more than once to test my theoretical,
she responds repeatical, unhesitatingly “hello my love”

after the fourth or sixth testing,
she looks up, ears perking, sensing,
knowing, something is afoot (a-legged?)
quizingly asking, “ok, what’s up?”

I smile, and explain most rationally,
that in furtherance of my current poem,
now underway, I was testing my leitmotif,
that even love benefits from proper training
<>
no, I will not show her this poem,
lest she show me in return,  
her new self-improvement,
her recently-learned-at-home,
mindful, meditative training in

kickboxing skills.
308 · Aug 2022
For TSPoetry
onlylovepoetry Aug 2022
TSPoetry:  “Good karma goes a long way”

let us substitute:

Good poetry goes a long way.
A good poem is oft, but necessarily, a long way away.
A long way is the only way to a good poem.
Along the way, karma uncovers good poems.
Karma is the derivative of good.
Poetry is karma realized.

You make your own karma,
for you write poetry
for your primary
audience.

Yourself.
onlylovepoetry Jan 2020
for all the lost, everlasting lovers

~for mara~

why this morning does the emoting
cast me backwards to all my lost lovers,
imagined and real, yet lasting in crevices hidden,
that beckon, asking to be reclaimed,
recalling when our names combined, many meetings
of lips, kisses so old, decades, yet so well realized

that to see, taste them, is blink, easily accomplished

day beginning, with deep penetrating glances rearward,
unclear how this clarifies the muddled visions of what
the future dreams may contain, ah, love and pain,
love and pain, a tango tangled tandem, indeed,
one hopes the past is prologue, pro for lips sensitized logged,
those kisses past, kisses yet dreamt, those works-in-process

stir the body to rise from the couch, to stretch my arms

up/skyward, grab jeans, go the Persian immigrant on the corner,
for a bun and a black coffee, who wishes me a good new year,
stunned silent when embrace him with hands-full, for his wish for me
enables a gratitude overcoming that only strangers can give;
those lost lovers yet lasting, thank them too, wish them happy year,
winter warmth, comfort them in my crevices-kept, forever retained

Love you, miss you, never gone, never forgotten, ever first,

everlasting...


1/3/20
7:11am
onlylovepoetry Dec 2024
for the self-contradictions that
split our souls
~|~
the nature of loving
is the internecine battle
that divides self~love and
love~for~another;
which will be greater,
the greatest,
in the heat of the many
moments that occur in
every minute, yet,
magnificent interaction

the mind or heart
tallies the ∑
of the
favored love directive,
and sooner or later
one becomes the league leader

and the heat
resolves as
anger total
or total commitment ~
the quandary no longer,
hopefully you have chosen correctly
and not squandered
what come so infrequent
and have chosen to
be a
thanks
giver
Miami 12/1/24
279 · May 2020
a lump in my bed
onlylovepoetry May 2020
<>


a lump in my bed
————————

sheet covered, toe to head, alive or ?
call it lumpen woman, though shapely,
the thick coverlet says yay, let’s suppress!
what lies sheet-deep, let everyone wanna guess?

two arms snakily shoot/emerge, straight out,
from besides ears, to aerate treasured tresses,
blonde mane, lioness locks, somehow sun colored, of the
rest, a-guessing kept, I man of reason, am’nt a speculator

reasoning that when the world was 1st created,
there was a holy hole in my side, missing a ribbing,
leaving me needy for a plugging, a poultice covering,
a bandage stitched, so my breathing unimpaired

thus this how and why the lumpen woman is come
into bed and body, to patch and complete, warm and
stoke me, wake up us to freshly chilled spring atmospheres,
and other supposed reasons to compose only love poetry

Fri May 22
early morn bedecked bed
isle of sheltering
on a stage, guitars strumming a tune that
can only be hummed, for it has no verses
the songwriters, their tongues entwined,
joined as one, they can speak no words

but the crowd roars its favor,, sheds its de light, stomping and whooping it up, making
all the necessary noises, of two tongues, yes’m, entwining

kinda like a kissing, a little of hissing too,,
got its own rhythm, even the noises rhyming,
a rock n roll ballad with country western
mixed in, some say it sounds like Joan Baez
singing **** Jagger, or an Avett Brothers
serenade

words need tongues for formaytion,
tongues needed to speak, but absent
a common language,tongues do what
tongues do best,
intertwining, combining, licking,
making love noises that requires
two to be
heard
fulfilling
taste of two
blending
and we
though
silent
pronounce
ourselves
as one,
the loveliest
unspoken
vocabulary
265 · Jun 2020
The Age of No Good Reason
onlylovepoetry Jun 2020
despair ****** up all air, its currency is TV gold,
spent on rerunning human misdeeds, hate unmasked,
past infection point, reason is virally infected, what goes unspoken,
is we eat our young, they burn us on crucifixes, sins we committed
or not, we, living in the golden age of rage, no good reason crowned

basest instincts of intolerance is illness of all human supremacy,
it’s cheap and easy to hate, and its even cheapest to hate the
haters back, so the circle unending, wish I could sound less stupid
when my heart keeps ringing, can’t we all get along? Please. Idiot.

naive! guilty. toleration of nothing will suffocate all voices,
what good is this poetry gig, if we can’t drive out all hate,
no salvation, no hope, buried my writing utensils, cause
nobody’s listening ‘cept to the sound of their own righteousness

no need for only love poetry, when hating somebody is just (ha!)
so pleasurable, let’s hate everyone, for no good reason...
onlylovepoetry Nov 2024
for Richard Shepherd who wrote to tell me
one of my babies, (1) made him:
Oh my, speechless

my stated aim, my purposed gain,
is to write of only love poetry,
oh too human am I, going astray
the most human contributory trick,
is when “she,” temptation,
oft cajoles,
“this way please” and I easygoing
and submit obligingly

your words spontaneous, mark &
make me, likewise spit out gratitude
of words simple, informing you that
you are too, too kind, then pause reflective
does such a thing even exist?

bemusedly, smiling silent at my silliness,
as I debate~contemplate, the potent notion if kindness can ever be measured as in excess, by what  measuring cup system could we
contrive to ascertain if there be lines drawn,
for the most best of human attributes?

it is Monday Morning and such silly peculiarities have no busily business populating my gray matter, but compulsory
demands state forthright you cannot retreat
from this windrowed wonderland hedgerow,
for when seeing these deep waters,
can easy sink a poet
for a funking, dunking, nay, a drowning!

but I am only dancing around the edges
of a fire upon the beach, and gingerly admit
that there is no limitation to this conceptual,
can we be too human, could one ever not say

your loving, your essences~senses fragrant,
are airborne and therefore unlimited,
beneath this shared sky~sphere.
yet never my intent
to rob a human of
the power of speech

but this statement of de~unlimited awe
too much,
and therefore my understanding deepens,
when and what a heart feels
is without definition,
without lineage,
every time reborn,
and my loving of your kind words,
overflowing will be my
principled purpose
this day

that every person whose path
intersects mine,
shall be greeted with
the tools in my possession,
which thanks to you,
are identified as an undefined
unlimited
too, too much
kindness
and my one job is to
be a proof
of this
raison d'être
for all ofour
existences


this hen issue
now resolved,
be a lovely
au naturel love poem
and obedient
to my
only truest mission
onlylovepoetry Dec 2024
See the profile pic
See the little girl
My baby grandchild,
coucher bouncer dancer,
now so much more
almost all grown-up

Who now knows to inform
Herself by reading words
In “hole” books, she reads
all by herself

So for a Chanukah
present, the doting
Grandfather sends
books, Quelle surprise!

The little charmrr
trained in both
manners and text tech,
reports in that:

* I read:
“Never let a unicorn
wear a tutu”
just right now.


So somewhere
an old fool tears
up, with a pleasure
immeasurable, and
****, he is thinking,
is this;
the bestus
onlylovepoetry
he has ever composed?

and her replies
in years yet to go bye
to himself will surely
arrive as follows:

“Old codger, do not be
a silly old man, not your
best but maybe your
purest love poem
from the joyous mixture
of tears and laughter
making you happily drunk…”
onlylovepoetry Dec 2024
both red flaming,
twin sides of insanity
for when either battles into an
existence seedling, watered,
internally nurtured, bred
with with care exquisite,
and
some smile
some weep
some
both
some naked
some clothed
both forever
red red        

                                         and read…
https://afkimel.wordpress.com/2018/04/30/meditating-four-quartets-the-fire-and-the-rose-are-one/
onlylovepoetry Mar 2024
All,, everything stretches, even paradise, love affairs,
the poetic intervals lengthen-but but not the interstices,
they do not require filling but the occasional hug, hair~
tousling, the unexpected hand holding to refresh the bonds
that sag with ages, worn to forlorn, by so much to remember…

I promise myself to keep this short, for the spaces themselves,
sag longer, wider, and need not words overbearing, but the
occasional tightening of the screws of connection, the markers
of a precise precious pulling that gravity may wear but never
ever break…

olp
226 · Feb 13
🍕🍕🍕
it’s fuzzling (fuzzy n’ puzzling)
this pizza emoji broad based, across
all ages, ubiquitous and beloved to
all, universality

it’s meaningful to the otherwise
meaningless noise that  emotional
connoisseur connotations that replace
what used to be called conversation

so this Valentine’s Day, my beloved
will receive her exyrs thin crust mozzarella
plain, (I pay more for less!) replacing her dalliance trials with various margarita pizzas

The kids, with greater appreciation for
the creative sudy of pizza design have
some crazy notions that are toothy shocking
to reveal herein publicly

the weighty concerns of the underlying
true meaning of this caricature is beyond
my ken, I’ll wiggle away gracefully and
please please an extra cheese variation
with barbecue sauce?

P. S. YES, yes, this indeed is an
only love poem of course
onlylovepoetry Aug 2024
she doesn’t read my poetry anymore;

sent every script, faithfully, always honored & acknowledged with a pithy comment, then came the occasional emojis,  then too often silences, longer and longer, made me realize
it was an imposition, created excuses,
finally ceased sending…

so now there is no doubt,
my muse is
disused, and I feel,
forlornly bitter and
use-less lessened

look for excuses to provide her a dance,
no poem
too similar, overly familiar,
not reflective
of our true reality, still,7&

she doesn’t read my poetry anymore;*

cannot muster up the bitter mustard I feel,
and see the little, minor, signals all is not
perfect, select edit, make disappear, tiny
grimaces, misperceived caustics asides,
and the reality is such, that wince internally,
but the love poetry has been put aside…
and
may 26
onlylovepoetry Mar 2020
the crying want of you (first of the everlasting)

so many ways this loving emotion manifests,
for each, a salutation, unique, some sleek,
some solutions jagged, but when I cry out for the
inexplicable but perfectly understood want of you

an all encompassing recipe,
a gasp, a shriek, a celebration, a loss illimitable deepening,
a need perceived with a crucial cruelty, inexhaustible
noise barely human, but quintessentially exactly that

you who have needy for fearsomely loved, and been
fearsomely loved with equal measuring cups which
have no delimiting notion of linear boundaries of cup and quart,
only precise calculations of defined unlimited overflowing

even silence totality of crying out loudly screams of desperation,
noiseless, crept for the unadulterated, unadjusted purity of want,
a state well dreamt, but so rarely hail fellow well met, the
startling exertion of meeting yourself in another over the borderline

forgive the paucity of my word~children in expressing what
was designed and created to be inexhaustibly rare,
the crying want of you, the missing final jigsaw puzzle piece
of want and being wanted, to touch the immortal soul, the first of the

everlasting, united, unending and unendurable undefined want



8:10am 2-20-2020

from within the confessional
198 · Aug 2024
Really?
onlylovepoetry Aug 2024
she espied
my prone body
mostly unclenched
mostly unclothed
comes standing beside,

she,
a human eclipse
blocking half-a-sun

and
i without
surreption

slide my hand slowly,
languorously
up her inner thigh,
she laughs with a
chuckled giggle

asking

Really?

and the poet replies:

oh yes indeedy
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