Sonnets Assuming Love

THE WOMEN AT THE RACES.

The women were in their glamorous frocks.
Showing, in a group, couple, and singly.
Any sobriety, their outfits mock.
They’re meant to be seen, immediately.

A variety of styles and colours.
Figure-hugging cuts emphasising shape.
Seem to say, ‘would be excellent lovers’.
Or, at the very least, ‘a splendid date’.

Photographs. It’s ‘look at me, and record’.
In an instant, adopts a model’s pose.
Facial expression, and body, accord,
so that the beauty that’s aspired to, shows.

But will the dress material and frills,
last the whole day, with all the thrills and spills.

SONG. I FOLLOWED MY HEART.

I followed my heart and it led me here.
It’s brought me to the edge of happiness.
A place where past failures can disappear,
and where fulfilment replace emptiness.

I was crying out for love to guide me;
to where my tears of pain, became of joy.
Until you, what I sought was denied me.
Would-be lovers did no more than annoy.

But my heart was set on finding better.
Set out to discover the best for me.
Went where it went, I’d say, to the letter,
and I’ve arrived with this intensity,

to where you are. Your love within my reach.
The ‘keep out’ wall, my heart has helped me breach.

‘I WILL LOVE YOU MORE THAN THAT’.

I insist, I will love you more than that.
I can, if you agree to take me back.
We can get this love of ours, back on track.
I have changed. I promise you that’s a fact.

We don’t have to continue separate.
Being apart need not be beyond now.
I know I was a foolish idiot.
You were right to say you would not allow.

But I have learned. Take you seriously.
This love includes treating you properly.
I hope we will not end permanently.
No one else compares to you, believe me.

We need not be stuck there, when we look back.
From now on, I will love you more than that.

AN ENLARGED HEART.

Her doctor diagnosed an enlarged heart.
Metaphorically, I agree with that.
Big-hearted, generous, the place to start
to describe her. That is simply the fact.

All that Love, no wonder not normal size.
Has to fit in, and yet it overflows.
Good-heartedness will materialise
from her. It exudes, and frequently shows.

As swollen, a physical impairment.
Become tired sooner, initial effect.
In the end, heart failure, by which death sent.
But, have as long a life as still can get.

The consequence may make the blood run cold,
but I know that she has a heart of gold.

A DEVIANT GERONTOPHILE.

Was called ‘a deviant gerontophile’,
the suspect in the Montalbano case.
Love for elderly ladies, was his style,
but him murdering one was out of place.

Anyway, became a victim himself.
And his mum said he would not hurt a fly.
Kind to the old, not a crime in itself.
And not as deviant, as police implied.

Many such women are still attractive.
Suitably curvy, and well-proportioned
Interesting in the way they’re active.
Say this, and by police I might get cautioned.

So, keep these thoughts to myself for a while,
than thought ‘a deviant gerontophile’.

ROMANTIC POWER.

Don’t be romantic. That is illusion.
It may well become, later, delusion.
And, as not as expected, confusion.
Stunned by harsh reality’s intrusion.

Love may not necessarily keep on.
Start out good, but subsequently go wrong.
In a relationship where don’t belong,
With the first romantic feelings long gone.

Don’t let them purely determine for you.
You may suffer entrapment, if you do.
Better to think for a moment or two,
If the would-be partner is best for you.

Romantic power, ‘though intangible,
is there; is felt. May take beyond recall.

HER FACE.

What is at stake? Is it sex? Is it love?
The woman struggling with her emotions.
Thwarted desire; it can be pretty rough.
Being unrewarded for devotions.

Face screwed-up, holding back possible tears.
These contortions clearly discernible.
Thoughts searing her mind, is how it appears.
The cause for her upset, not fair at all.

The reality less than she hoped for.
Realising her dream not be achieved.
Love failing to make happy anymore.
At least, this version, at this time, in deed.

A twist away from her expectation.
Not all, though. Just for now, complication.

ROMANCE.

Romance is about love; being adored.
A connection in mutuality.
Special place with a special one; to lord.
Love-life engaged. This, its centrality.

But it’s a bumpy old road to travel.
Not necessarily self­­­-correcting
like a rom-com, where aspects unravel,
yet perfection, somehow, still perfecting.

Likely come with illusionary thought.
Possibly, in part, delusionary.
In ‘wanting’, extraordinarily caught.
Web of self-interests’, duopoly.

Sex, too. Ritual justification,
romance. After all, it’s adoration.

THE RIGHT WORDS.

I want to speak to you, and yet the words …
the words … get in the way, to my dismay.
I’ve never heard anything so absurd
as me, not really knowing what to say.

You deserve to hear my admiration.
My admiration suitably expressed.
Instead, my misspeak and hesitation,
that is likely to leave you unimpressed.

I have the necessary eloquence.
I pride myself on my erudition.
Can avoid overblown grandiloquence,
and state clearly to you the position,

which is that I think you are most lovely.
I’ve said it, now you’re not near to hear me.

LIPS TASTING OF TEARS.

How is this possible? Lips taste of tears.
We get to kiss, but it’s as a goodbye.
In that tender touch, my hope disappears.
The feeling with it, is that want to cry.

That embrace little more than a token.
In the same circle of acquaintances.
Our mouths together, my heart is open.
With yours, though, seems there are no vacancies.

So the taste is of that salty liquid.
My eyes stay dry, but later will not be.
Those moist lips, and mine too, a lot could give
to each other, but apart they will be.

I am sure there were tears upon those lips.
Sadness mingled with the joy of your kiss.

INDIAN LADIES.

When Indian ladies love, it’s divine.
An experience that is not just mine.
Millions of cinema-goers, too, find,
the beauty they project, with heart entwine.

Those Indian ladies are goddesses.
Not merely singers, dancers, actresses.
Expressing love, amongst their qualities.
Portraying with all the complexities.

Indian ladies are other-worldly.
Like Lakshi, covering fertility.
But almost, too, unimaginably,
more than a match for men’s virility.

These ladies are like a Bodhisattva,
for whom great love is always a factor.

LOVE UNDER-RATED.

I take the view, love is under-rated.
It is not simply a pair of lovers.
Or mother and child, thereby related.
Or purpose, or delight, one discovers.

It includes the glue of connectedness.
Of being in the world, not a cocoon.
Brings an altruistic effectiveness.
A compassion, so healing can resume.

But, it is even more fundamental.
It’s the very essence of life; its light.
To live a good life, it is essential,
to warm the heart, blood and brain with delight.

Love stands up strong, in face of death and hate.
The cynics wrong to under-estimate.

LOVE SERIOUSLY.

We have fun, but I’m loved seriously.
I could almost say, by you fearlessly.
I would have thought our love could never be.
Now believe you’ll always be here for me.

In practice, love you inadequately.
I suppose I am a little too free.
But, nevertheless, comparatively,
you make living with you easy for me.

Has its tensions but has, too, its moments.
I’d describe the latter as ‘excellence’
Overall, our connection is immense.
And, privately we have the evidence.

Will try to maintain its integrity.
Our love as long-term, not temporary.

LOVE POEM.

It’s not possible to live without love,
pretending it simply doesn’t matter.
That you alone, on your own, is enough.
And, love songs and talk just idle chatter.

But in a life it is necessary.
Don’t be fooled into thinking contrary.
Doesn’t need a detailed commentary,
to accept love as extraordinary.

One can exist if it doesn’t arrive.
Or if leaves sadly or unpleasantly.
Even if have to wait, can still survive.
But when it comes, it is your destiny.

May think what I’ve said, a contradiction,
but miss out, outside love’s jurisdiction.

BEAUTIFUL FEELINGS.

Beautiful feelings. Love runneth over.
Reaching for emotional connection.
Pre-condition for being your lover.
Acting on it, the inspired intention.

Affection, causing my cup to fill up.
Admiration. Can easily acclaim.
From passion’s potion, possible to sup.
Desire’s wish, there at the lips, to attain.

At risk that its expression, is too charged.
May be an embarrassment to behold.
Know that by intimacy, some left scarred.
Imagine different future foretold.

I just say, from these beautiful feelings,
my love for you, here, I am revealing.

Sonnets as Art Form.
Sonnets Health-Linked.