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Back home

 

‘I think it is time,’

he smiled sadly

collecting up

his battered notebook

black pen

dark cloak

sad guitar

and half empty bottle,

and kissing her forehead,

‘for me to go

back home.’

.

.

© the author writing a Romantic Dominant

Photograph of Johnny Cash. Source unknown.

 

 
7 Comments

Posted by on April 28, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Be home soon

 

The rain falls,

drops like tears

on the glass.

The light fades,

yields to a night

without stars.

You will be home soon

.

The air cools,

makes the house shift,

creak and moan.

An owl hoots

somewhere near.

A wild sound.

You will be home soon.

.

The clock ticks,

marking time

in endless seconds.

The day breaks,

grey and empty.

The rain still falls.

 

Please come home soon.

.

.

Copyright the author writing as Romantic Dominant

This poem was originally written many years ago for someone whose lover did not come home that night. They never came home again.
I posted this here nearly five years ago. It suits my mood today.

Art by Karen Woods

 
9 Comments

Posted by on April 27, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Real

 

I am not a shadow

nor an invention

nor a character created

for a virtual life

to inhabit scenarios

of make-believe

role play

and pretend.

.

I am not a projection

a fantasy

a construction

of someone

I would like to be.

.

I am not just

an avatar

I am corporeal

of flesh and blood

a heart that pumps

a mind that thinks.

A hunger

that burns.

.

And if I should play

a game

in any way

in any context

it is always

for real.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Written and posted this time last year. Still true.

Art by Jack Vettriano

 
2 Comments

Posted by on April 26, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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High

 

I have been high

on the bottle,

the rich taste of red wine in my mouth

blackberry, cinnamon, tobacco, leather,

Another glass, and another.

And perhaps another.

Until all I know is crimson liquid.

Then brandy or port or absinthe.

Or all three.

Pour me out of a taxi and take me home.

 

I have been high

on acid.

Pills, blotting paper, microdots with happy, hippy names.

Colours bleeding into surfaces into shapes into light.

Music holy with new tones and textures to touch.

The revelations, the meanings, the weird,

finding a new religion in a carpet.

The warm fade and glow

of coming down.

 

I have been high

on adventure,

on exploration, on discovery, the wild, the different, the strange.

On art, on words, on music, on performance, on poetry.

On the strings of my guitar.

On winning, on deals, on negotiation.

On a high-five finish

On landscapes, seascapes, lucky escapes.

On the lights on the harbour twinkling like diamonds

On snow, on ice, on powder.

On that feeling, at the end of the page

when everything

is perfect.

 

I have had

a lifetime of highs

but nothing

absolutely nothing

not a single thing

comes close

to you.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Hamish Blakely

 

 

 
17 Comments

Posted by on April 25, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Like a drum

 

The sound

of your name

spoken aloud

by strangers

or written

in the pages of a book

or immortalised

in the words of a song

never fails

to make my heart pound

like a drum.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Posted on here a year ago, but who is counting?

Art by Loui Jover

 
5 Comments

Posted by on April 24, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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‘Oh’

 

If I told you

how much

I want you

desire you

ache for you

yearn for you

long for you

need you

to belong to me

body and soul

then your eloquent lips

would form

a perfect circle

as you say

‘Oh’.

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Art by Mihail Korubin Miho

 
5 Comments

Posted by on April 23, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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Like gunfire

 

I absolutely love

the staccato sound

of confident high heels

exploding

like gunfire

across an expensive

expanse

of polished

marble floor

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

The art is supposedly by Rob Hefferan, but I have my doubts (Thomas Saliot?)

 
4 Comments

Posted by on April 21, 2017 in Poetry, Still Life

 

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