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Robert Davidson Poem
DROP ON MY HEART A ROSE
by Robert Davidson
My voice breaks against those lips of thine:
Before I leave for war I must implore
Let me love you gently your first time,
As dumb-tongued to you my love expose.
And then I'll return to thee once more
To bring to thy heart a rose.
I long to merge myself in you
And lie with you all my last long night
Making each to the other fit true;
While love's deep wonder to you shows
Heady passion given for your delight.
I leave with your heart a rose.
You laugh as in my fond arms you fall
As you respond with your passion pent.
But before I answer the bugle's call
I want us to lie entwined in still repose
As in mad delight sublimely spent
You press to my heart a rose.
As the war rages on I see you yet
Mourning red-eyed your lost love. I cry aloud
'If I die, I know you'll not forget
For on our troth one request I must impose:
If I am swathed in the silence of a shroud,
Then drop on my heart a rose.'
Copyright © Robert Davidson | Year Posted 2005
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Robert Davidson Poem
MRS PROTHEROE
The Night Your Landlady Came To Your Room
by Robert Davidson
A loose gown in which her flesh swam free
Fascinated
Your eyes resting diffidently, the full white breasts
The shadowed cleft
Your mind searching the unknown
Hesitated, resisted
Locked within the closed circle of yourself.
Broken into tears
She moaned your name against your mouth
Said her old man had deserted the year before. You saw
Silver tears sliding down the sad moonlit face.
She said you were too withdrawn within yourself =
You kept to your room, too much alone, she said. And so lost
Lying on your bed, reading Schopenhauer late at night
You were reading everything yet could believe in nothing, you said.
She clinging to you with her mouth
Arousing. Inflaming flesh. You losing the will to resist
You would solve the mystery of yourself, you thought
As your bodies took the shapes of passion
You would come out of yourself in this long waited moment.
She searching your boy's body for the lost images of youth
The skin stretching transparently on your ribs
She making a moaning, loving sound
While taking the taste of you with her tongue -
And you holding tightly the muscles of her plump white thighs
As interlocked her body became as one with yours.
When you opened your eyes
Your room. your books still preserved their apparent shapes
Despite long shadows in pools of early morning light
She was as a rock to which we cling, you thought
She was the rock of love
On which we all have founded, you further thought.
And as you wandered deeper into yourself, no longer lost
You felt you'd slithered down a solid slope. sensible
Of a dream-time womb in smooth transparent skin
While she lay prone and spent on you -
And for a moment you felt as wise as God.
Love? - an equation for two bodies -
Or the subtler colloquy of disparate souls?
Copyright 2005
http://www.robertdavidson.blogsource.com
Copyright © Robert Davidson | Year Posted 2007
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Robert Davidson Poem
MOON DANCER
A prose poem by
ROBERT DAVIDSON
Tonight I walk the beach to the stone jetty where my boat is moored.
Moonlight caressing waves causes a quivering pulsation of light over water.
Looking out over the curve of the bay I see the moth-like figure of a girl
dancing on the shore. She pirouettes, advancing retreating, as moonlit waves
wash shimmering sand. A slight wind from the sea blows through her hair
moulding her dress to her body. Her movements captivate.
She comes up to me and all woman she is. Her breasts rise and fall as she
speaks and we soon become as one - pressed together in the dance, my
love-kiss finding her mouth. The white moon at full inspires emotion and for
a night she becomes my passion as smooth the bare flesh I feel her body
surrender. She cries as sensuality washes over her in multiple waves. Her
breath warm in my ear.
This is where I belong, spoke my heart. But many are the moods of the moon,
the wind having risen with the turn of the tide. And as a moonbeam glides
across a wave, she slips from me saying, I never said forever.
My heart sinks like a stone flung into a deep pool. She drifts away from
me, a withered leaf on the edge of a storm. My passion shipwrecked, my voice
- a drowning sailor’s call.
Copyright 2006 http://www.robertdavidson.blogsource.com
Copyright © Robert Davidson | Year Posted 2006
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Robert Davidson Poem
MISS CLITHEROE
by Robert Davidson
And They Thought She Had Missed Out On Love.
They called her an old maid
Said Maud never had the chance to test her virtue
Said she was like a pressed flower in a book.
But little did they know -
You just didn't boast about it when she was young.
As she moved in the garden
She touched a crocus - its little golden phallus pressing the air
And allowed her mind to flicker
Amongst the tufts and wands of plants in the garden -
And that red curved thorn on the rose bush.
Suddenly there were images ... alternating in the dancing sunlight
The past popping up in embarrassing guise
Often with landslides of emotion.
'Did you sleep with him?' she heard them ask.
'Well, you have to when there's a war on,' she had said.
And then there was that Senator
Had a heart-attack whilst on the job
And died astride
Her dimpled milk-white knees.
Often she would find herself
Giving way to her inner nature after a few brandies
When naked as the monlight
She would wrestle with a young man in the garden
In an inferno of love.
One doesn't last forever, she had always thought
And I'm not as young as I was
And knew a spasm of relief she was still desirable.
And as she grew older
Lust continued in fantasy and dream
Dreams of flesh to be rubbed against flesh
And inserted into flesh.
And now as she sat alone in the garden
Little did they know
Her freckle-encrusted cleavage
Was bursting - bursting with unspoken love.
Copyright 2005
Copyright © Robert Davidson | Year Posted 2005
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Robert Davidson Poem
A Poem Of Friendship
by Robert Davidson
to escape the prison of my skull
you have become a necessary part of me
lurking on the fringes of my dream
relationships i find are vast deserts
demanding all, challenging all
and for that purpose we are given one another
left to myself i become inward, morose
whipped by self-pity's bitter lash
so when the ultimate separateness of soul frightens me
i return gratefully to the sympathy of touch
a friend of entirely different temperament
becomes a relief from the monotony of personality
a balm for the wounds of human love
now i know the thoughts of your heart before you speak them
our solitudes broken, you help me find myself
i guard your privacy in fear of my own
Copyright 2006
http://www.robertdavidson.blogsource.com
Copyright © Robert Davidson | Year Posted 2006
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