alias, Badger Stone,
LOVE SONNETS FROM THE PORTAGEE
Hate nothin’ more than to be parted,
And will stand and watch and wave as you go
And will look back and smile, don’t you know?
But when you leave, you always look straight ahead,
And never look back with a smile instead,
And I stand on the cement feelin’ alone and dead,
Wonderin’ why we can only get together in bed.
My love is boundless but it seems, it seems,
My expectations are but romantic dreams.
Is love just mercy that has not been fed?
Does love really fuse with the eternal flow?
Or was it just eyes and tongues that flickered and darted?
And where it falls or lies I cannot say,
And cannot precisely reveal true love’s creed,
Or if faith’s wisdom can defeat lust’s greed.
But it seems that love’s dreams and schemes
Opens the heart and soul and not demeans
Life’s bright sun and all its beams,
And is more than shadows of heartless fiends.
Oh, why like the stars’ distant flickering light,
Love that’s dead appears still bright?
As I ponder and wander through each hour’s day,
Seeing an eon’s moment in every deed,
I ask myself are rights’ rights right in wrong wrongs’ dreams?
And does it matter? Does it matter?
When the glass love that was does shatter?
Or are the pieces to be swept up and thrown away?
Like the potter’s shards are worthless clay?
Or can former lovers find
Friendship in the end and peace of mind?
Or does love’s death cut all the ties that bind?
Or does love’s emotion become hatred so unkind?
Or does love’s hope end in wroughten despair.
Or does deep love linger inside somewhere?
Can leftover dough be mixed with tomorrow’s batter?
Can yesterday’s rainbow be memory’s treasure today?
I guess it depends, my friends, on how deeply you were entwined or if you are so inclined.
I once shouted a thousand judgments
Like a street preacher’s broken record deranged,
But if I could now make them all blessings,
All those judgments would be changed.
But anger is the fortress of the broken-hearted,
Just as love was freedom’s rose before it farted.
If love could be grabbed, it could also be carted,
But it is elusive & slips away like the faithful departed.
Oh, I ask you can love be worth 10,000 sonnets?
If not, what a waste of springtime’s virgin bonnets?
Separate souls pay separate soul’s rent,
Just as some dogs’ coats sleek and some manged,
Oh, let yesterday’s woe Go
And let new hope today be started!
New love’s always blowin’ in the wind freely,
Old loves try to stop new loves, but they can’t, not really.
New love is just another chance
To grab the merry-go-round’s brass ring romance.
In search of lanky loins and a flat belly
The lingering sweaty musk is more than just smelly,
Yet is soon forgotten like a program on the telly,
For love cannot be applied like cream or jelly.
And love must come from a bit deeper inside.
Yet perhaps lust is love as love makes lust,
For what compels lovers to do what they must?
If brains could give birth to brains, would by endstinks we so abide?
Michael Lynn Coelho
alias, Badger Stone