You Don’t Love Me Anymore

Never Have I Been Loved

Only I know
you don’t love me anymore

And I am a convenience
a generous lie

Yes, you think
you know me
like a body knows a heart

But it’s not the beats
not the syncopation, no
you have never loved my song

A song to touch you
a song to love you, and
I always thought
you loved me because
you loved my lullaby, but

it’s not only sleep I crave;
I want you to know my story,
and I would hear yours,
if you’d be honest.

Only I know
you don’t love me
just because I’m me

I know for sure
you don’t love me anymore.

Qiteqatigerusuppingaa?

Unreal is the Dreamy Day

Maybe it’s better to be unreal, ’cause
that’s what dreams are like sometimes, and
my dream-maker uncovers the undercover heart

Where is my secret muse?
I think perhaps…

when I am hot enough,
she will come like
a cool breeze with salve and
a promise to cry out a laugh,
a promise to
fight with pillows and forgiveness,
puffy like a cloud

this vow on rainy days:
a thunderous love
and only a
joyful reign

Flabbergasting Me (My quick jump into poetry today)

Best Accessible Free-Verse Poems

I did this quickly without thinking too much

I’m Here
by Cheryl Kurtz

He’s always happy to find me in the morning
like I’m a newly discovered treat in bed beside him.
Surprise!

He has the delight as if surprised to find me not a dream,
and he will jump up and sing to me because
I sing back

Yesterday we played well, and had our games;
today needs only breakfast, the egg yoke
and morning joke, because
laughter is a miracle.

Sometimes he has a nightmare, and
I cry for him, but if it’s bizarre
he’ll say it’s from childhood, and
he’ll remind me that I’m still
the silliest adult he knows
how to play with, and
he’ll turn around and cry
and turn back with a smile

In the morning
he’s surprised to find me not a dream,
and I hug him so hard because
I’m surprised too.

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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

Larysa Loves Panas Forever in Ukraine

When a Song Explodes
    [I haven’t chosen a final title]

Some in the bomb shelter say
Larysa is delusional because
she says her baby Lyudmyla
wants to hear her father
sing her to sleep
one last time, and
play his cello for her
because she will be a musician
and in happy times in the womb
heard a mellow cello of love

We are all warriors she says
and Panas needs me
to love his every song, to feel
my hands on his heart strings
to pluck his every note until
we sing a melody of peace

Some in the bomb shelter say
Larysa is delusional, and
she should stay to protect her baby.

When a cello plays itself,
it is the music of agony.

The street musician Panas
stood on a corner
holding a gun

A tank came within inches of his face.
A driver opened the hatch but
didn’t see him.

A rocket hit the corner, but
Panas propped up his cello
and it played “My Love Is Near.”

Larysa, his wife, and
Lyudmyla, his child,
ran out from
the bomb shelter
to hear.

Pavel, a Russian saboteur
saw the two, aimed
and shot them dead.

When Panas touched the bow
all the strings flew off and wrapped
around Pavel’s neck

Even today,
the cello still plays itself
in the middle of a fountain of tears
and a headless body wanders aimlessly
for the amusement of the mourners.

But Lyudmyla
still cries like a
baby ghost of war
who wants to hear
her father’s cello.

A Random Love

A Random Love

I don’t know anything about coping,
I’m just hoping you’re hopping to
cop a plea for me in a vague space
just because I have randomly
found you wanting,
maybe wanting me
with my random wisdom
that says I could love you
with a silly quip
that would make you smile, and
I so much want to laugh, as if
I could be your comedian of sorrow
who would grasp the
preposterousness of the rhinoceros
whose horniness for love we share.

‘Ove You

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.

[** Warning: spell-check will blow up.]

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

Retrospective (6)

Quirky Perfect

Sometimes you make me feel magical and
I love how you think I have
a beautiful way of doing things.

Sometimes for a microsecond I feel perfect, and
you seem perfect to discuss a symphony and sing with me.

Maybe there’s a perfection cake to taste together, and
I’d share the strawberries with you.

Many times you seem perfect for the moment, but
I can’t promise any feeling is reality; I can only say

I love the moment, love how
I imagine you as if we could be quirky perfect.

The Need To Say (Draft 1)

I always wondered if
you kissed my gifts, ’cause
you really needed them

Tulips for you when I was blue
so you wore the blue dress for me

You tickled me and needled me
’cause you loved my laugh
your two lips often said

And too when you were blue
I almost gushed a thought to you
I never said, but

I love Fontina cheese for melting
and on a lily day, I

made you a lasagna
and you said
there were layers to the fragrances
of Parmesan, of provolone, of wet flour
creaminess to mascarpone, though you
thought I said
mass car pony, and
I had oregano and basil
but I couldn’t buy you
a pony or a car —
only a heart race
at a pace of joy

But now you’re away
and I’m in a cold place

And you always said
I’d share a space
with Santa Claus
at the North Pole

I’d love to see you again
just for a laugh and a pony ride.