Monthly Archives: February 2015

on seeing late february’s gibbous moon

cool saurian eye
ashen  unblinking: the moon
slinking behind clouds

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© Gregory V Driscoll  2015

Foiled again, being a poet’s intemperate and ribald ode attempting to sketch his lover’s marvels

To your buttocks – whether naked or in hose –
an ode how long I’ve wanted to compose!
But so engaged am I when in their proximity,
my every thought of verse does swiftly flee.
Not paper, not pen do my fingers grasp,
but the firm and busy muscles of your ass.
Then – once all the doing’s done and you sleep –
instead of framing phrase on phrase, I keep
watch, entranced by those bold and wondrous globes,
until – still flush with lust – my manhood probes
once more that sweet world ‘twixt your down and rump.
So, again awake, wildly we do thump
wet measures mad, bound but by our whims.
Again delayed, my ode in silence swims
through roiled seas of unspoken rhyme to light
on some deserted shore where Time’s full might
may free my poet’s voice and art,
to paint, in words, your fundamental part.
But look!  You sleep and here am I, awake, alone,
and have begun my skills to craft and hone.
Yet those sweet, sweet spheres I fail to trace.
For now visions of lips – not those of your face –
do fill me quite with mad and fleshly fire.
Damn it!  The ode I did so much desire
never shall be writ!    Come then, let me grasp
the full and frenzied beauty of your ass
whilst my quill deep within you dips,
a captive to those luscious nether lips!

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© Gregory V Driscoll  2015

seen while out walking near utility poles

a bird on each wire
they seem like notes on a staff
chanson, chanson d’amour

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© Gregory V Driscoll  2015

the evidence of things not seen

sheer clouds veil the moon
is it Salomè dancing?
where’s Herod?   where’s John?

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© Gregory V Driscoll 2015

thought for a windy winter’s night

stars   mere far-flung specks
half-moon   ship tossed on night’s dark wave
and we   castaways

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© Gregory V Driscoll  2015

lovers’ pledge

may I caress you always without pause
so as to make of you a fond ecstasy
of lilies and wild roses   blooms
moaning with delight in a garden
of wrinkled silk dyed the color
of lilacs lustrous   glowing

may I touch you ever without haste
in such manner that your skin becomes
a shining nebula of nerves firing
utterly beguiled and beguiling
under these my loving hands

may we always be filled with sweet madness
so as to fuse in passion’s heat
abubble with love’s fever
with sighs and love’s secretions
that chant songs of flesh con brío
through the shameless night

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© Gregory V Driscoll  2015

seen while shoveling snow

jaunty ice berets
cap the blue-green privet hedge:
not la vie en rose

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© Gregory V Driscoll  2015