Poems, Prose & Penniless Vol 1.

by John Muir

  That you must never know my friend

  Just how my heart just feels.

  We chat we talk of many things,

  I’m far too scared to say

  the things that really cross my mind

  may frighten you away.

  My mind’s become just so confused

  that if you showed some sign,

  I may just think my mind played tricks

  or miss the magic line.

  I’ve looked for it and longed for it

  in everything you say.

  But if I speak way out of turn

  I’ll lose you from that day.

  You’d then just think I was a fool

  to hold out forlorn hope.

  My heart just then could not withstand

  the cutting of the rope.

  For we are bound so differently

  to each others path.

  Though you will never know the bonds

  from me to you by half.

  For you are in my thoughts all times,

  But I can’t give a clue

  how much I wished you thought of me

  just like I think of you.

  I know that I could make you proud

  if you just thought of me

  as what I am, not who I am,

  then you might really see;

  That side of me that I must hide,

  The warmth I’m scared to show

  the person that I know you seek,

  but cannot let you know.

  Maybe your hearts with someone else,

  you’ve taken mine from me.

  But you don’t know just what you’ve done,

  I can’t tell you, you see?

  So you’ll be there and never know

  just what you’ve meant to me.

  And I will see you everyday,

  but you wont see all me.”

  **********

  FAIR WEATHER LOVER

  “My mind begged

  for reassurance.

  My body craved

  for security in your arms.

  But my mouth

  could not speak of my fears,

  As you

  turned away

  and switched off your mind.

  To me,

  you switched off your love

  when I most needed it.

  When my confidence wavered

  you made it worse

  by walking away,

  like I feared you would.

  See the tight-rope walker,

  and see the pole he carries.

  When his confidence wavers,

  the pole gives him back

  a balance that he seeks.

  He doesn’t always need it,

  but when the doubts appear,

  it’s there to help.

  You just want to be

  just a fair-weather lover.

  While I need your help

  through the gales and storms,

  as well as fair weather.

  My confidence in you

  to stand by me,

  is being washed away.

  Just like my beach built dream castles,

  You’re built of sand.”

  **********

  WINDSURFER, WINDSURFER

  “Windsurfer, windsurfer,

  Who do you love?

  the wind or the sea?

  As your sail caresses the wind,

  And you board makes love with the sea,

  are you loyal to either?

  Or are you just the broker

  that joins the wind and the waves

  in a fleeting marriage?”

  **********

  FOR SOMEONE

  “Tonight,

  I stayed out as late as possible,

  Not wanting to think

  of the alternative, probable,

  and ultimate conclusion to the evening.

  I didn’t want to return

  to an empty house.

  Not hearing the lilt of your voice.

  Not receiving the touch of your hand

  or seeing the warmth of your eyes.

  Now home, I sit,

  nursed only by the chaise,

  and some cushions.

  Though tired,

  so very tired,

  not wanting to retire.

  Not wanting a cold and lonely bed,

  without you

  beside me,

  cuddling in warmth.

  I know too,

  that by the time

  these thoughts reach you,

  Your heart will already have soared

  to the company of another.

  So fear not.

  I will cope.

  Having done so before

  I will do so again.

  So goodbye dear friend,

  And thank you for the time,

  love and warmth

  that you did give me.”

  **********

  BED AND BLANKETS

  “Can you feel the cold wind?

  It traps you beneath the bed covers

  as you pull the sheets

  around your neck.

  Tug at the blankets

  to keep the warm in close.

  But what’s the use?

  It sneaks down

  your unprotected back.

  Plays an icy finger

  along your spine.

  So the shudder rises quickly

  from your spine

  to the hairs on your neck.

  Just pass it off

  as someone walking over your grave,

  and pull the blankets closer.”

  **********

  LOVE IS CRYSTAL

  “Love is as fragile

  as the finest crystal.

  Untarnished, unchipped, and polished,

  it is the most beautiful thing.

  But neglected

  and abused

  it fails to meet the close up test.

  **********

  IT’S LIKE THE WAY

  “Have you seen big red balloons

  so fat they’re near to bursting?

  It’s like the way my heart feels

  inflated by your love.

  You know you’ve seen white fluffy clouds

  and marveled at their softness.

  It’s like the way my body feels

  when cradled in your arms.

  Have you seen that fragile crystal

  that sparkles in the light?

  It’s like the way my eyes see

  when you are in my gaze.

  This is the way I think of you

  and hope it grows that way.

  My heart, my life, is in your hands

  as long as you want me I’ll stay.”

  **********

  EFFIGIES FAIL

  “Last night as you lay sleeping,

  my eyes crossed the shape of your face.

  Amazement crossed my mind

  as to why you should want to spend

  time with me.

  Then my mind wanders back to the beauty

  I protect in my arms.

  From your forehead to your chin,

  my mind tried to chisel in granite

  the features I don’t want to forget.

  Yet your face is so soft

  that granite or marble

  would not tell a true story.

  Justice could not be done

  to your beauty.

  Stone is so hard,

  you are so soft.

  I could not put such life and warmth

  in a chiseled image.

  But your face,

  asleep and warm,

  remains clearer in my mind

  than cold false effigies.

  I still hope to awake many more mornings

  with your head next to mine.

  To catch your waking warmth.

  To see your morning beauty,

  and once more, make love.”

  *********
*

  FLYING FRIEND

  “Tonight we spoke, and bridged

  the hundreds of miles between us.

  I felt your pain

  and forgot mine,

  for you needed help.

  What a turn around.

  I phoned you for help,

  and begged your company,

  and you being you are coming.

  But within minutes you needed me,

  my support,

  and my ever ready shoulder.

  To you dear friend,

  my troubles

  will always be second.”

  **********

  UNDER THE HEADPHONES AFTER SWEETWATERS

  “Oh music,

  with cans on.

  I can leave this world.

  Its noisy intrusions

  blotted behind padded ear muffs.

  This inner world

  of crashing noise,

  volume high.

  I was there,

  there when they played this.

  The sound is all around me.

  As I was before,

  the sound puts me there now.

  On my command, they’ll play again

  that same song.

  And if I ask again,

  they’ll start and stop

  at my command.

  Yet play as well

  As the time before.

  So I have left this world.

  Yet I need all in this world to leave it.

  To leave it is only a fantasy,

  of an addled brain.

  What of the poets?

  Their brains addled too.

  For motives for writing vary

  between poet and man,

  whichever he is.

  Is it for love?

  Is it for money?

  Or is it just pseudo intellectual

  with words of length to show your plum,

  instead of in our language

  to read and enjoy.

  Then sickenly linger over interpretations

  while the smooth mood escapes.

  The money men I comprehend,

  For it is the money that chases the poet,

  for poets do not chase the money.

  If they do,

  They become writers of fiction

  as cash addles their brain

  with dishonesty.

  Their escape is to the money tree

  whose leaves are dollar notes.

  But my escape too

  is through a tree.

  But a tree whose leaves are love

  and warmth.

  This is real music

  with the cans on.

  And the outside world

  is padded out.”

  **********

  WON’T YOU EVER LEARN?

  “Hide,

  hide again,

  a need to lick your wounds.

  Run,

  run just when,

  this time you thought you’d found it.

  Time,

  need time,

  to let the ache subside.

  Scars,

  more scars.

  Why won’t you ever learn?”

  **********

  YOU ARE EVERYWHERE

  “I wander

  from room to room,

  Forgetting why I went there

  to begin with.

  I turn on the radio

  to keep me company,

  Only to hear some song

  we had often sung together.

  I watch TV alone,

  only to recall

  your cuddles as we watched.

  I escape and drive the car,

  only to pass some place

  we had been together.

  I meet people we both met,

  and ache when they ask me

  about you.

  So back I run

  to the shelter of my home,

  Only to be reminded,

  it was your home too.

  I have hidden away

  all those tangible reminders

  of you in this house.

  I’ve opened all the windows

  to blow you out of the corners.

  But you come back,

  with every breath of fresh air.

  I just can’t hide away

  from the thoughts of you

  within my mind.”

  **********

  FOR MICHELLE’S BIRTHDAY CARD

  “Why did you ask for funny lines,

  in a card you want from me?

  Are you scared that I,

  just make you think?

  For you know what you are,

  though so afraid to show it.

  Why be ashamed of feelings?

  Learn to make them show.

  You’ll find too many shallow souls

  that hurt you without care.

  And wish you could be shallow too.

  But they won’t fly where eagles dare,

  or float on cotton wool,

  They’ll maybe shed a tear or two

  for sadness briefly felt.

  But hours will pass,

  they’ve forgotten why

  they felt down, was it today?

  Don’t be afraid of feelings,

  just feel the long time joy.

  But you’ll learn of pain as well.

  The one where the hand is squeezing

  your gut so hard,

  you don’t want to go on living.

  The other side of squeezing

  is like a balloon,

  so inflated with love,

  it too is near to bursting.

  Those are times you’ll realize

  That the Devil’s grip that gave you pain,

  makes your soul learn how

  to soar like a gull

  ignoring rubbish at your feet.

  Trust your heart to tender hands

  and they will cherish it

  like their own.

  I’m sorry I can’t write funny lines.

  For in another time span

  and somehow we did meet,

  I’d want to cradle your heart

  in my loving hands.

  To have looked behind your eyes,

  and soothed away the hurt.

  You wouldn’t be able

  to hide from me,

  behind some funny lines.”

  **********

  ANOTHER DAY

  “Another birthday

  Alone.

  Another night,

  The three-quarter moon

  mocking me in a white toothy smile.

  Another year

  wasted.

  Maybe,

  Maybe not.

  Has it helped me learn more

  about myself?”

  **********

 

  I LOVE YOUR NEED TO BE CUDDLED

  “Your sweet self consciousness

  pulling the sheets over your breasts,

  Reminds me of my own

  self consciousness

  of many years ago.

  Your need to be

  in darkened rooms

  as we strip for love.

  Your desperate need

  to hold me close,

  Even with the summer so hot,

  you still cling like you need the warmth.

  But it’s more to prevent

  my glimpsing what you hide,

  than a need to hold me tight.

  But I don’t mind.

  For the warmth of our heaving chests,

  locked together,

  and lubricated by my sweat,

  leaves a legacy of hair

  from me on your breasts.

  Even out of the darkened room,

  and dressed,

  I love the need you have,

  to cuddle me.

  Like the need of a baby

  to feel comforting arms

  surrounding you.

  So the need to be cud
dled

  makes me feel strong.

  I thank you

  for making me feel useful.”

  **********

  WORDS CAN SAY ANYTHING

  “From your list of men,

  much too long by far,

  you tell me that you love me

  like you’ve never loved before.

  That this true love is special.

  But love is more than words,

  For words are lost

  like smoke in a wind.

  And words are used

  in lies.

  Have you never learnt

  that actions through

  a touch,

  a glance,

  are real?

  So especially in love,

  the actions are always

  more truthful

  than the words.”

  **********

  About The Author

  John Muir was born in Hamilton, New Zealand. Attended Palmerston North Boys High School and graduated in accounting from Massey University. Spent 25 years in Sydney, Australia; and time in Asia.

  Discover other titles in eBooks by John Muir

  -The Siege Of Apuao Grande (novel 1 involving TA)

  -Just Cause Wrong Target (novel 2 involving TA)

  -Short Shorts & Longer Tales (short stories)

  -My Other Shorts & Formal Tales (short stories)

  -Denim Shorts & Foxy Tales (short stories)

  -An Artist’s Freedom (from Short Shorts & Longer Tales)

  -A Sunday Market Seller (from My Other Shorts & Formal Tales)

  -A Soap Slippery Bath Imp (A short story for 8-80 year olds)

  -Patch (A short story for 8-12 year olds)

  Novel soon to be released “Singapore Straits, Diamond Pirates”, (3rd novel involving TA)

  **********