Ambrose Ambles

 

Love poems to a complete stranger..#1.

Monet.

So very near to my heart’s desire.

I dreamed that time was in reverse,

And never came that ending tryste,

I hold you still in night’s embrace,

And never came that ending kiss..

And never stilled that loving fire,

So very near to my heart’s desire.

A lover’s thoughts.

When I laugh,

‘Tis a lover’s laugh..

My love’s smile enough to lift my heart.

When I weep,

‘Tis with a lover’s tears..

My lover is gone and my heart grows drear.

When I lay at night,

‘Tis a lover’s thoughts..

That I think of my lover and my love flows clear,

A rippling stream over flowering fields steeped in snow…

And these thoughts I think, I think my lover knows.

A Life of Solitude.

“No man is an island”, so the poet led,

Tho’ I ponder on that presumed refrain,

As I quietly lay awake in bed,

The small hours of the night ticking away overhead.

And I shall presume he included women,

Tho’ such things usually go unsaid.

But for a while back there, when gravely ill,

(And I will speak for others more stricken still).

An island I certainly felt..in a sea of pain,

Tho’ thoughts and comforting words,

Of close friends were given time and again,

But the pain…an ’twas MY pain..would always remain.

Then for some; the pain of loneliness?

Or the loveless, wed in vain..?

The empty house, the unfeeling spouse?

Can comforting wisdom fill the void?

Or unsee televised braces of laughing faces,

Without a seeming care in the world?

When all sometimes needed is that one reassuring word,

That is given so many times of late,

In banal, flippant exclamation heard;

“LOVE the cut of that coat”, or “LOVE that layered cake!”

So condemned do we always an island remain,

Surrounded by an ocean of the equally vain,

Crowding in suburban estates about,

To assuage a niggling, subconscious doubt;

That in the safety of a multitude,

Under one roof shelter from fortune’s rain,

We live out a life of dumb solitude..

Secure amid plenty of that one misspoken refrain.

Beautiful.

A little bit of beautiful,

Just a touch of fine,

A small blush of wonderful,

This little moment in time.

A little bit of beautiful,

A simple thing to see,

Those tender moments of sunshine,

Within the soul of thee.

That little bit of beautiful,

Those small touches of fine,

When you blush it’s wonderful,

To know that you are mine.

Things memory sees.

These are things once memory sees,

Cannot be forgot, nor disdained.

These things that we do treasure,

Things lost or all forlorn,

Which I did adore is grown pale and wan,

What was ever so beautiful once,

Is gone…is gone.

Nature may mark the species,

But history marks the men,

Lies shape the person,

Whose fortune is already damned.

The stupid repeat their mistakes-and

A fool is condemned in vain.

These things our memory has seen,

Not to be forgot, nor to be disdained,

Lest that we most treasure, be lost or forlorn,

And which we adore grow pale and wan,

So THAT beauty that ever once was,

Is gone…is gone.

Diedre.

She was older, hair as red as an autumn sunset,

With beauty would turn men’s eyes to adule’ ,

And I was a young and impetuous fool,

Laughter was my first love, with a youth’s frivolity,

Hers was one silent, sincere and true.

I joked of our relationship, I wasn’t ready for wife,

I wanted the freedom of the world..a voracious hunger for life!

Now, every woman harbours secrets, hers I never knew,

My thoughts to her were an open book..I was an impetuous fool.

But in truth, what has a young man to offer, a woman so refined,

Save that rush of physical strength, an energy so defined,

THAT, she embraced more eagerly, than any goblet rich with wine!

She was older, with hair flamed as an Autumn sunset,

With a  beauty would turn men’s eyes to adule’ ,

But I was a young and impetuous fool.

And I remember I laughed when she bade goodbye,

For the frivolity of youth has time and world on its side.

Why lament one fish when we cast our nets so wide?

But now, as old age whispers its dark, foreboding secret,

And these last leaves of Autumn begin to fall,

I yearn for a memory’d kiss.. just that one last kiss,

From love lost..most of all.

Do I miss thee?

Does a field of blossoming flowers,

Not miss the sun at high noon?

The gull in full flight,

The sea on a glowing dawn,

Wind blowing above fierce and free,

Tossing the crowns of the Mallee trees..

And. . .

You ask if I miss thee?

The sweetheart who turns the page of a letter,

Writing to wish good health to their lover,

Sunset on the seashore,

Hand in hand we explore,

Finding strange shells, creatures and more,

Kicking the seaweed up in wild scree,

Laughter shared over such nothings with thee,

These things I crave to happen with me..

And you ask ; “Do I miss thee?”

Miss thee?

If I could but shape my love from pure clay,

I would shape that feeling from start of the day,

From that waking sweet kiss of delight,

The sight of you beside me at first light.

I would mould my love in the form of desire,

That I see in thine eyes by an evening fire,

In the mould of your arms as you reach for me,

The glow so soft of your limbs sweetly..

That..is how my love plays for me,

Music passionate..a Puccini symphony..

So ask no more, my love ..

“Do I miss thee?”

For even madam time…

For even Madam Time is paused,

Her dead-hand held fast as the young women sly pass,

With but a glance and wistful smile to those who adore,

Touch not vain blade lest the moment spoil,

 But gaze upon and weep with desire.

Oh women!…thine eyes alone,

Would tempt a greater God than man’s humble creation,

Thy beauty even only in my beheld eye,

Enough to blind the honest to thievery,

And if thou desires; let thee accrue the price, the cost,

Be holden to no man’s pitiful measure,

For it is thy cup that pours the bouquet,

Let know but that you will choose the bloodline,

Your body the place, the time….no disgrace!

Your choice ; glory or vainglory,

Let time grow jealous and men grow old,

While you can choose to look to either,

For heaven befits a granted grace,

And beauty will reach even the heart of a stone,

But the moment loaned of a woman’s touch,

Can be for a wanting man enough to satiate,

The longing hunger for heaven’s gate!

The last waltz to a lost age.

I was dead-keen, eighteen,

I loved you..and then I lost you,

I was young and you were of an age.

I was voracious, you were weary,

I wished to tarry with you but it was too late..

You said I had to choose you,

Or I would lose you..because you were on your way,

I wanted to hold you caress you, enfold you,

I wanted to convince you to stay..

Now at seventy I no longer want you,

I don’t like this age, I don’t need you,

I want it to stop, to stop, just go away!

I don’t want any of it anymore, stay away!

I excuse you..refute you, I refuse you,!

I’ll take me back to a time rich with meaning,

A time when I had so much to believe in,

I want to return to memory’s pleasant land,

Back to times had the touch of a tender hand,

Back to my time, there was fine wine,

There was music and wild play..

And there was the promise too ..

The allure of love from you..

Such priceless gold I was willing to pay,

It was the hope of my age…a boomer age.

A personal love between self and thine..

With your soul in tune with mine,

A – power – simply – divine.

You were my world..you were my pride,

But you had no time to tarry, as was the tide

Who waited for no-one when it was done..

So you took from me my dancing Ophelia,

My wilful Circe, my loving Desdemona.

You ARE that unstoppable haste of life,

And it was in my hurry to course with you

As you rushed me through the passing years,

That saw me work’d, kids, marriage an’ strife.

With these I was defenceless..with these undone..

Now we are so far from home, a strange land,

Reluctant bedfellows clasping hands,

In fear of the unknown..

But I no longer want this age, its cynics, false sage.

The music long gone, so too the reason,

I am old now..what have I lost! What have I lost!,

I’ll go back to trap my dreams in mists of wonder,

Again..I’ll chase the elusive butterfly of love.

If only..:

Would my wit be a sage much wiser.
Would my courage be somewhat bolder.
Would that time could take me back yonder,
To de León’s youthful fountain mythical . . .
There in a blush of delight so typical,
Would I and thee..as Adam and Eve,
As those children in the garden of Ede’,
Brighten our eyes to that first sight,
Of a new dawn rising over the mountain’s height.

If only. . .

It is beautiful.

I sit here in front of the wood heater,

In my old age.

I sit here with nothing I need to do,

But remember my youth.

And this idle is beautiful.

I have no more need to build empires,

I built them..I lost them.

Houses, families, relationships.

I built them too..some remain true.

I owe no man.

So I just sit here in the warmth of the heater,

In companion with time,

And it is beautiful.

I can recall those moments of passion,

Making love to women in my youth,

Such wonderful women..

And it is beautiful..

Those memories..those women..those times.

I can sit here rebuilding those moments,

Touch by touch..moment by moment..Person by person.

And it is beautiful..

So beautiful..

This warmed, experienced old man can now tell you this;

There is no greater thing in life’s offerings,

Than the look of want in the eyes of a loving woman.

And then to fulfil that want.

And it is beautiful.

Love has thrown me over.

My love has thrown me over,

She never answers my letters anymore,

Won’t talk on the telephone,

Doesn’t acknowledge my knock on her door..

My love has thrown me over,

I’m not welcome in her arms it seems,

Said she prefers her haberdashery,

To the dashing me!

So what am I to do?

Cast myself off a cliff in despair?

Fill my pockets with stones to drown in a river?

No…I think I’ll reflect on my dilemma,

And upon antonyms I’ll consider..:

When playing with fire,

Do we not expect to get burnt?

When drinking too much wine,

Can we not expect to get drunk?

So when seeking the ecstasy of love,

Can we not..at least..expect some heartache?

Are not opposites equal of supposites?

So let ecstasy of heart-love equal the cost of heart-break.

So..no..no desperate act from me,

Tho’ gone the love..the thrilling eroticy,

Let us just be grateful for what once was and…

Give gentle reverence of how it came to be.

Never, never, never.

Should’st thou ever go from me,

         Throw me over for another cruelly,

Scorn as weak, my flattering poetry,

         Would’st complaint I ever make with thee?

Never, never, never..

Has not thouself been shown to me,

          In word and sight so delightfully,

Did make me sigh so breathlessly,

          That I should deny you ever gratefully?

Never, never, never..

And so now in stark light of day,

         Your callous heart you may take away,

Leaving myself with only memories..aye,

         Would regret I have ever knowing thee?

Never, never……………..ever.

Ode to Women’s beauty.

Speechless and numb, I gazed on her beauty there,

Her limbs, her hands, her soft flowing hair.

Her voice the whisper of an angel’s prayer..

SHE..roamed her eyes over the banquet fair,

The roasts, the salads, the fruits so rare,

And of my adoration, just so….au contraire.

“There is so much beauty before us here ,

It is so hard to decide….you tell me, my dear,”..

She said..”What to you is the most desirous fare?”

The Daisy Flower.

A flower plucked from a daisy bush,

Held in trust (I do not blush),

As each petal I do pluck and toss,

With a plea of hope of a lover’s lot;

“She loves me, she loves me not;”

Till the last is plucked with delightful glee….

“SHE LOVES ME!!”

The Tide.

Like a sailor old, who watches the tide,

Life’s many moods I do abide…and still I watch,

For there comes a wash of the river flow,

That carries the ebb, what comes and goes.

That “tide in men’s lives” that carries their thoughts,

Like flotsam swept before a wave wild wrought

By wind and storm or by deceiving calm they be brought,

To wreck upon Charybdis rocks or wash up on rugged tor.

Fortune for that sailor who with astute eye,

Will risk the temper of mood and tide,

And call the exact moment makes best to ride.

He casts the ropes that hold him belay,

All wind and storm be no delay.

Yet I and thee, chained to life’s fickle destiny,

Can but watch as the vessel sails away from we,

While idly biding…

Like empty shells scattered on a wide, broad shore,

Awaiting tide and waves also, to move us ever-more…”