POEMS 4( BY- WORDS
Silent Letters
By Gavin W Smith
My mind and I go wandering
Through sadness and through splendour as we sit
In twilight shadows, clasping hands in thought.
I suffer for the thought of her but smile.
I seek her out in the corners of the light,
For any simple sign or symbol to
Rejuvenate the motions of my heart,
But am caught in a motion not my own.
There is so little that I can cling to,
Whether given to me or else taken,
That can grant me solace in the face of
This apprehension without an object.
It is something like a missing meaning –
A space left, poised in anticipation
To be filled with what it has in mind already.
Missing – but not lost. But whether or not
It can be found is another matter.
Even in plain sight we often miss it;
It sits before us in upturned photos
Or half-opened letters; opened that is –
But not read. Just the mingling scents of ink
And perfume left to drift throughout the room.
The mere presence of her words says far more
Than words are able to say for themselves.
Carried on a rhythm that is not theirs
But hers; a breath that rounds on and tames them
So that they dare not utter out of turn.
How she makes her meaning is a mystery,
And neither scent nor sense can come to terms
Before the words are read – but I dare not
For fear of gaining hold then losing her
In holding on too tight or loose. Or worse:
Having to let go just when I’ve got it right.
Unrequited Love
By Gavin W Smith
I thought to take a lock of hair,
A strand or two left lying there.
Enough to knot or tie across;
Just one or two would be no loss.
I thought myself a fair reward
For no intention untoward.
A lucky charm, like rabbit’s feet
Whose gathering was more discreet;
With no harm down, a harmless sin
Committed like I’d never been.
But then my conscience starts to pare:
I’d know who had been skulking there.
Invitation only extends
Through the covenant of friends
That I can never disregard,
For even secrets leave their mark.
By Gavin W Smith
Irony’s a half-cocked smile,
While parody’s all teeth.
Sarcasm’s a furrowed brow,
And a pun’s a rolled-up eye.
This Much Now You Know
Her beauty is not like a blooming rose.
It is more than so limped a cliché;
So trite and derived a thing to say,
For beyond mere simile it goes.
There is no simple way
To show in its splendour how it grows,
And the rapture that its truth bestows.
One struggles to convey
The fullness of that truth in essence;
One dwells not the least laborious,
Intent upon one so glamorous,
To fathom deep into her presence.
The state of being called amorous,
Foreshadowed in pre-eminence,
Reflected in her countenance,
Openly disclosed, yet onerous
Upon those few fortunate who abide
The legacy that her splendours wrought,
(Adhering to ones duty as one ought)
And neither shirk nor attempt to hide.
For her beauty, highly prized, is sought,
Yet in the seeking is oft belied
In presumptuous gaze, and thus denied.
Her love is not so easily caught.
One must love without expectation.
This much any man must know:
Submit unto the ebb and flow,
Yield to the imminent sensation.
This much of the truth I can bestow,
Unveiled in this meditation;
The rest is her imagination.
Fairly warned, and so
This much now you know.
Behold
By Gavin W Smith
http://by-words.tumblr.com/So rarely does one find in life perfection
That when beheld it robs a man of speech –
And left in silence face to face is he
With beauty in and of itself. No more
That words could add – nor any other action.
It is rare indeed that matter and form
In the soft density of human skin
Emerges plain to sight, and validates
The quiet longing of imagination.
For it alone had courage to believe
Where the senses had only ever hoped.
Now both are satisfied to find that beauty
Is embodied in what we know as Woman.
Delight
By Gavin W Smith
http://by-words.tumblr.com/Let us lay face to face
Our legs together laced.
Your thigh between mine
And mine between yours.
Our fingers in playful caress
Deep down in the pocket
Of our pressing flesh.
Let me taste your breath
On my lips, and your lips
On my tongue.
The motion of your hips
Entice my hands to roam.
And find each curve a delight
To touch; to hear
Your muffled moans.
Beneath the blankets,
Quickly filling with our heat,
An intoxicating fog. We gasp!
Filling all my lungs with you;
Each new threshold that we grasp,
Your muscles flexing
Their moistened dance;
Rapture of my stroking hands.
In rhythm and time;
In motion, your body and mine.
Desires clasp in oneness, tight.
Hands and legs entwined,
Lips locked in breathlessness;
Together closely pressed
An earthly delight, newly found;
Our bodies’ ecstasy unbound.