My Love Poems Don’t Work To Cast a Spell On You 05

Love Poems

 Poems Loosely about Love

    by Douglas Gilbert
Loving enough for her to stay in a war zone can get her killed. Sometimes she stays too long when leaving is best. Flowers are ugly when they serve no purpose.
    War is like a Great Horned Owl. Not wise. Not kind.

Tragic things happen in love and war.

Why Did You Plant Flowers

Why did you not go
when I told you
the tanks are coming.

Why did you go
into the garden, when
I told you there are
never flowers.

I wanted to send you away
but I was too weak when
you wanted to stay with me

and I said hide, but
you wanted to plant.

Why did you not go
when I told you
the tanks are coming.

Why did you go
into the garden
where there is no rain

and a bomb
fell on you.

Douglas Gilbert, ebook: Back Door Poetry,(Amazon: ASIN ‏ : ‎ B08LQX3ZF7 ), 2019, ISBN 978-0-359-90524-9

My Love Poems Don’t Work To Cast a Spell On You 04

Love Poems

 Poems Loosely about Love

    by Douglas Gilbert
Deep, deep. Cheap deep. Somebody’s beem telling boys that girls like poems. Secret: mostly it’s a pun-moan except as a gesture from someone they already like, and like a classic line, and classic manipulation, those boys are like stinging insects hiding on a flower. That boy’s “all hat and no cattle.”
    What about cute Nature? Revelations: bees who sting are not charming; about the prettiness of birds: Great Horned Owls break the spine of a fox and eat it alive. Plus, once in a while (once upon a time): Sharks, wolves, lions, and other creatures who have publicists extolling their virtues, actually do attack or eat people.

A tsunami of love makes waves

Vision

I have found one ripple in the ocean that
catches my focus, and
something stays in my eye
like a whirlpool in the tea cup
where I saw a vision of you once
and a prophesy.

I stare unfocused into this dark
sea patch of blue water imagining

you in a silver spiral
and in my mind I travel
through its tunnel, until
I reach into your mind, and

I seem to have captured the
chosen ripple of the sea
where clearly I see you.

I release a thought to you
for the wave to carry, and

under it forms a tsunami of love.

When it arrives
it will drown you
for a moment

but you will laugh
until a boat can bring you
the rest of me.

Douglas Gilbert, ebook: Back Door Poetry,(Amazon: ASIN ‏ : ‎ B08LQX3ZF7 ), 2019, ISBN 978-0-359-90524-9

My Love Poems Don’t Work To Cast a Spell On You 03

Love Poems

 Poems Loosely about Love

    by Douglas Gilbert
Deep, deep. Cheap deep. Somebody’s beem telling boys that girls like poems. Secret: mostly it’s a pun-moan except as a gesture from someone they already like, and like a classic line, and classic manipulation, those boys are like stinging insects hiding on a flower. That boy’s “all hat and no cattle.”
    What about cute Nature? Revelations: bees who sting are not charming; about the prettiness of birds: Great Horned Owls break the spine of a fox and eat it alive. Plus, once in a while (once upon a time): Sharks, wolves, lions, and other creatures who have publicists extolling their virtues, actually do attack or eat people.

    Sharing a business or common interests can be tricky.
Buttercup Babe

Visiting America, I met her
in a field of renoncules that
locals call butter cups

She’s my darling Buttercup
a compatriot

She wanted to offer me a partnership
in her business and to share business.

But much ado about love in the dew
and then onward afield ’til

we were back for a romp
under and around
the Arc de Triomphe
to play like tourists and
then marched to her home,
palace of the cuisinière
at the bakery de l’Étoile near Paris.

We homed in on her nest
over the bakery with zest, and
she was hot because the
spice of the day made for
joy and frolic at home

We chilled with a wine
she recommended for the night
and a tête-à-tête with an intimacy

and as our voices modulated to a purr
we unrolled a cloth like a sheet of dough
and my Buttercup
melted in the bed.

We kneaded in layers of joy
to be crisp and flaky like a croissant

In the morning, I left early to buy butter and
I had wondered: what is a croissant
if to do it is not to have it?

I came back uncertain.

I proposed:
My darling Buttercup,
let me keep this butter,
have the bakery, and
I will make you a croissant with love.

Well, she said:
You want the butter and
the money from the butter
and le cul de la crémière…
So you my love, must bring me
a buttercup of the field and I will
peer into your eyes until I decide
if you’re flaky enough to cook.
  — Douglas Gilbert, ebook: Back Door Poetry,(Amazon: ASIN ‏ : ‎ B08LQX3ZF7 ), 2019, ISBN 978-0-359-90524-9

My Love Poems Don’t Work To Cast a Spell On You 02

Love Poems

 Poems Loosely about Love

    by Douglas Gilbert
Deep, deep. Cheap deep. Somebody’s been telling boys that girls like poems. Secret: mostly it’s a pun-moan except as a gesture from someone they already like, and like a classic line, and classic manipulation, those boys are like stinging insects hiding on a flower. That boy’s “all hat and no cattle.”
    What about cute Nature? Revelations: bees who sting are not charming; about the prettiness of birds: Great Horned Owls break the spine of a fox and eat it alive. Plus, once in a while (once upon a time): Sharks, wolves, lions, and other creatures who have publicists extolling their virtues, actually do attack or eat people.

Free Verse Versus Classic

Free verse poetry has its flaws but it generally is more forgiving and giving than any of the rigid classic forms. Here are two, one free and one slave to stifling formality:

Riding

I imagine you drifting
in thoughts on the bus
by the window with
a mystery package

Hear me honk
see me as the bird
that flaps a clap
applauding your reverie

On your way, squealing
with the wheeling of the bus
I am the squeaky brakes
squawking to see you; I am
the roar of the engine

Wake up. Don’t
miss your stop
don’t drop your
precious package

Arrive soon, because
I can’t wait to
open you up
to ride with me

The Lip of Music

The romp of love beguiles, a playful horse
my heart a rider gripping spirit’s trip,
a bit of banter falls from saddled lips.
A candor canters, musical in source
a clip-clop hoofing it, my fruit is tossed.
Her lust like cantaloupes so sweetly quipped
yet love’s a cherry deeply red of lip
outspoken rips in bound’ries’ gorgeous loss

I know you love me mole and mountain bluff.
I show my cards, won’t raise to bluff a love.
It’s real this deal of sharing zeal, a bliss.
No gamble oneness riding thought enough
to join two souls, a coup by doves
who fly with coos to play the music’s kiss

My Love Poems Don’t Work To Cast a Spell On You 01

Love Poems

 Poems Loosely about Love

    by Douglas Gilbert
It’s been some time since somebody told boys that girls like poems. But they hate them except as a gesture from someone they already like, and like a classic line, and classic manipulation, those boys are like stinging insects hiding on a flower.
    What about the “birds and the bees and other clichés”? There’s shocking news: bees who sting are not charming; about the prettiness of birds: Great Horned Owls break the spine of a fox and eat it alive. About charming “Nature” and ecology: Once in a while(once upon a time): Sharks, wolves, lions, and other creatures who have publicists extolling their virtues, actually do attack or eat people.

 “ ‘ove’ ”
There don’t seem to be good synonyms for “love” in English and it’s been diluted. “I love ice cream and you too,” doesn’t really work. Single words for “romantic love,” or “empathic love,” or “hot passionate love,” infatuation, etc. are not to be found. No word for “I want the best for you… what makes you happy makes me happy etc.” Is it a canard that Eskimos have 200 words for snow, and the French 200 for duck? Well, a little hyperbole, but the word must be somewhere between the brain and the private parts, and certainly doesn’t seem located in the heart though it is a long-lasting and pervasive metaphor. After all, fear is “heart felt” too but it’s not the approved metaphor

Coin a Word for Me


Once a gem,
the word’s been scrubbed
like a pejorative stone
in a teary creek, an
old river gone shallow


Oh let us coin, my lucidove,
our ever word, because
we’ve a tender ‘ove of us effusive
an edgyove, a ludelove
a kissove missive:
folded paper plane that soars


but gems can be dreamed of again.


In the journeyove dream
I awoke happy, enveloped in you
under’ove covers


Enraptured in the blankets
of home
with you
of you


Our embrace is
the brightness
of us
with us


We are
the morning together
together lovidove


An awakening
is here to be
for real
at home


peaceful passion
satisfaction day


not dreaming
but being


in the lightness
of us
with us


we are warm
being the morning sun,
like banners waving
playfully above
the river of ‘ove


extremely rippling,
our streaming
child to the river


Ripples of the day
we stream
like banners waving
playfully above
a gentle brook
child to the stream


The child’s babble
joyful enough
to be a gurgle
in a float-along morning


We splash along
embraced
by immersion
and the kiss of the day
fantastic
better than a dream,
my lucidove