The Writing of Thane Zander
Love Poems
The Hawg Series
General Poetry Six
General Poetry Seven
General Poetry Eight
General Poetry Nine
General Poetry Ten
General Poetry Eleven
General Poetry Twelve
General Poetry Thirteen
General Poetry Fourteen
General Poetry Fifteen
General Poetry Sixteen
General Poetry Seventeen
General Poetry Eighteen
General Poetry Nineteen
General Poetry Twenty
General Poetry Twenty One
General Poetry Twenty Two
General Poetry Twenty Three

Just to prove - a Man with Feelings 

Enchanté monsieur.

Oooh la la, but oui monsieur,
part my quivering lips
with your mere words,
enchanté, your fingers caress
explosions from volcanos long dead.

The heat of my passion boils,
you have cooked Hors D'oeuvre, cherie,
and are needed to try your creation.

I lick your phalange with a mince look in my eye,
catch you looking all over,
oh monsieur, I nearly scream 'take me'
nearly I said, I am in control here.

Your mouth takes that which is offered,
turns a pancake into syrup coated fillet mignon,
moist, succulent, and very rare,
remember that sir, as you feast.

For I remember nothing now,
the shards of energy shooting like the sun
from an exploding nucleii, a starburst
through the solar system of my nervous system.

The radiation affects the neurons that is my brain,
sends chaos reigning down,
a polite, responsive moan escapes the atmosphere,
only then do I hear the ministrations of your intent.

The sun bursts another corona, another wave into space,
I signed a contract with God, a hidden clause,
when confronted with an expert mouth,
ones mind must remain intact; I forfeit,

with you monsieur, lunch is served.


Two Seas of Love

She stands so solid,
on a sea of gold corn,
fields stretch for miles
in the place she was born
he stands there hovering
over a sea of blue,
endless horizons
and plenty to do.

Waves enter both realms
washing their presence,
with delights of love
and human essence,
hers' whispy and light
in autumnal breeze,
his dancing and playful
despite winters freeze.

Combine harvesters plow
through that field of gold,
Ships hew the deep blue
with bowsprits so bold,
Dust and spray jump
and mingle in the air
and compound in unison
love, devil may care.

Hearts in the cornfield,
hearts in the sea,
hearts together,
a rare unity,
eyes that observe
each others domain,
both visions dance
in summers' warm rain.

The sea ebbs and flows
and stays the same place
The golden corn grows
in that special warm space,
Their hands never touch
yet their hearts are one,
like sea and field,
natures' work done.


Whales Song ( for Susan)

They're the leviathans of the deep,
mournful singers whose songs
reach out,
across many oceans and seas,
calling for their families
wherever they may roam,
in a deep blue playground
of bittersweet memories
Whales song lingers on.

She is alone, a cow with her grown son,
singing her way to a new beginning,
following the herd to Hawaii
and points,
North and South,
Her song arching out for all to hear
some far, some near, some deaf to
her whales song.

Her path takes her many places,
and one day a new face appears,
sings back to her
in unison,
He, from a point so far away,
but his resonance echoes deep channels
across oceans floor,
echoes to Whales Song.

And they meet, mid ocean, and frollick
in the gay abandon of knowingness,
Singing the same tune
play the same games,
swimming the same channels
and attuned, they go on
singing each others Whale Song,


A Five Course Meal


Like a bowl of soup,
warmth to my lips,
embraces my throat in a dish
of pure awakening.


A delicacy of nature's best,
She melts in my mouth
and settles like a caress from heaven.


A concoction of lifes platter,
immeasurably enhanced
by time and living, and sits beside me,
a true accomplishment.


What a sizzler,
flowing juices to my touch,
hot sensual exquisiteness,
a rarity dancing circles around my plate.


She loves me,
And I her, forever it seems,
her ice cream to my maple syrup,
and left untouched we melt
in each others nearness.


It Started with an Online Chat

Yeah, we talked
talked for the first time on the phone
our loneliness quashed with nervous words
and platitudes, once uttered online
the PC our only touch, but now,
she is real, breathing love to my ear.

It started with a chat,
helping a sufferer through her marital
breakup and drunk husband trouble,
she and I advising with no clue who we were
until I passed my chat logon's
and she called me up later, thank you God.

"Your photo is cute, in a rugged sort of way,
and I like your name, sounds.......different",
four hours later, then five days,
we spoke, and it was real then, even though
the net was real too, but just hearing her
breathe made the difference.

Now we are crazy,
crazy in love,
crazy writing letters,
crazy making phonecalls long distance,
insane with the utter belief we love each other

I sit here in New Zealand, 8.57pm
and she is asleep dreaming of me
in the US Virgin Islands under tropic night sky,
I dream of her when I am awake
and of us holding hands and walking
in white coral sands.

I dream of her when I can, when
I least expect to dream of anything,
I have her photo, she smiles at me daily
and when she rings, I see and hear her,
one day we will add touch, physicality,
yet we touch each other now, not the same.

Yes, I dream, and she dreams
and no one would ever have dreamt it possible
in the real world.


Watching her die

Do you stand in the room?

Everyone in gloom,

Do you see the dancer before you?

Or do you see the cancer?

Can you see her yellowd face?

The pain etched strangely,

Do you touch her skin?

Cant you touch her within?

Are you crying?

Is she dying?

Will you doubt her life?

Can you forget her strife?

Will you marvel

At what she has done?

Will remembrance be strong?

Or all her memories gone?

Theres no shame,

You're not to blame.

Take heart in her love

She gave to many,

Her life being shared

Did you get any?

Give some back in her hour of need

Don't see her bleed

Make it OK,

Dont let her stay.

And pray that her pain

Is short once again,

Give her you,

She will help you through.


Captain, My Father

The gentleman sailor,
strong as oak,
tough as teak,
finds it hard in this hour,
to speak.

The sailor's daughter,
strong but weak,
butterflies speak,
whispers of hope,
give him some rope.

The sailor poet,
feels the pain,
of his fellow mariner,
pass the wind
back to the storm again.

In her hour of need,
the angels fly,
are the butterflies,
swimming on tears,
carrying his fears.

The time for friends,
to lend a back,
carry some slack,
take the weight,
from her father's fate.

Whatever we think,
the sailor won't sink,
but gracefully sail,
like the mighty whale,
out to his home, the sea.

Have hope, hold tight,
take hold of your might,
your power
to love the sailor dad,
in his sailing hour.


Ghosts of the Abyss

There's a shade of grey,
walking the fine line of black and white
off the edge,
of an abyss to oblivion,
she shrieks in perceived pain,
the torment of souls striking.

You approach, inquisitive
as to why she walks and doesn't fly
into the yawning gap,
her screams resonate eardrum to eardrum
pain flies, pierces the synapses,
understanding billows forth.

She looks at you then,
eyes searching your soul, deep into the heart,
the abyss flashes through your mind
and you race to protect your own,
yet in so doing you see her plight,
her ghosts, and you cry.

You reach out,
touch her hand and her heart, her torment
carry the burden of her courage with you
together, you walk away from the edge,
in so doing, the ghosts flee, out of her soul,
strike paths for the abyss, their home.

She slumps, freed,
her realisation a weary grey on her mask
your hand elicits a smile,
a wan thank you, a happy retort now,
her face, once grey now alight in gold
you touch her again, for life.


Rue the Day

Look upon an enigmatic smile,

thrust stainless steel crossed swords

into a deceitful heart,

see lifelessness flow out,

a sign of the traitor, gaze upon the same face

see the smile turn up into an uproarious laugh,

and wonder at the dementia of devil worship.


Love has a cruel sense of drama,

cuts deep into the maw of conscience

plies its' trade under the guise of hope,

yet under those blades,

it shines, blood red, and kills.

A twist of fate?


Nay, the sad end to a sad start,

only truth always glows,

the face of true love is tight lipped abandonment,

the taste of victory in the passion of a lasting kiss,

not the penny-pinching snatch of lust,

and that glowing knowing smile.


Black Food

She stands there,
at the foot of the bed.

Black baby doll, sheer,
sillk stockings shiny,
in the early morning glow.

A smile on her face,
teasing, and enticing
licks ruby red lips, her tongue.

I pull the covers to my chin,
naked, ready to be consumed
pass my glaze to her laced V.

She climbs on the bed,
that look, only hers, for me
walks towards her goal.

I close my eyes and think 'maneater'.

Feel her toes of one foot,
trace a delicate line over a chest
now heaving with anticipation.

A shiver escapes, shakes pores open
as her slender foot traces a trail
down to my groin, groan.....

I see her smile, brings her hand from
behind her back, a pikelet,
with strawberry jam, and whipped cream.

She bites into it, jam on her lips,
whipped cream oozing over a tongue
that dances delight, and hunger.

Lick my lips, and she asks-
"Breakfast, honey, or, or..."
she smiles deliciously, seductive.

I admire her again, black lace, black silk,
red red lips and white chin,
my tummy rumbles, but deep.

 Eternity just is......

Sit here with broken heart,
a head caved-in in grief.

Solitude cries a hungry wolf,
baying through a wilderness
of an empty apartment,
the scent of your gaminess
long wafted from barren portals.

I form paper mache clowns
to tease my sense of self,
laugh at me like I do at Oprah,
when she has some fat woman on
saying this is her fourth diet,
and it works!

The landlord my only visitor,
said he was sorry, he liked her too,
I just spat in a pair of discarded Nikes,
rang her number over again,
hearing the footprints of the busy signal.

Somehow the barrel of the 12 guage
didn't seem big enough.

I lived this way for forty five years,
one love, never held, never forgotten,
cried every anniversary, made your
favourite Mocha Spider, with coke,
hoped the door would knock.

You'd be welcome, always.

I thought I saw you once,
knew it was a dream, you were too young,
still it made me go home and open the album,
touch you one more time, just there
where we spent eons playing.

The doctor diagnosed me clinically deranged,
you have that affect on people,
I so hope your future loves
loved you like I still do.


Oh Baby

Ooh baby
lick my lips
sup of my desire
play me like a cello
bass moans and highs
reaching for a climatic

When blue tunes
set erotic mood
sway with sensation
love elevation
yearn for release
a wave washes
memories away.

On the morn
life is reborn
made anew with
vigourous passion
a symphony erupted
now lava cools
time for life.


The Lady and the Dumps

She smiles a crooked grin,
cries ruefully in a coffee cup
that's brim full of salty tears,
tries to drink her misery
it only gets worse.

He tries a smile,
here and there, adds sugar
and a touch of humour,
yet still the salt out-tastes
his earnest intentions, what to do?

Changes the subject many times,
yet through the screen
her misery explodes,
sending sounds of harshness
and desperation to all who see.

They talk about the small things,
try to focus away from the area
of deep concern, she warms a little,
yet another subject brings a misery face,
they find themselves trying to float.

He suggests she read a poem or two,
maybe a couplet here and there,
his ones of course, they make her smile,
so she does, and she feels his words,
touches a place she had forgotten.

Her humanity! Eaten away by self,
slowly comes to the realisation
her depression is a self generated thing,
beats a hasty retreat into reality
comes to the conclusion, it's nothing.

They taste the new glass of wine,
poured from the meeting of minds,
an aroma of love and understanding
tinged with the reality of distance,
yet the taste is no longer bittersweet.

They raise their glass, sup of each other,
a problem shared, a problem halved,
the salty tears washed away and replaced
with a certain sureness that things will be,
suddenly smiley faces replace
the gloom.


Mothers Day

She appeared before me, a vision
someone dancing my heart to her strings
calling my mind to place
and sending me reeling off,
into empty space,
But not so empty, you understand.

Bearing the weight of matrimony,
to me, we're together but free,
and a baby cries not once but twice
two girls,
how nice
and wife becomes mother and me the lover
sometimes, but father most.

Each day, once a year we honour her,
the bearer of humanity,
saver of insanity,
put her high upon the pedestal,
ensuring her efforts rewarded,
never let her fall.

Mother, my children are you, your effort
your time,
my crime
to be a man, a father supportive and loving
but not the moving feast
that is their mother.

Every day of the year, it's quite clear,
is mothers day
never sway
from respecting her efforts
touting her rewards
placing her children where she stands,
Mother and children hand in hand.

A tribute for all mothers, but this was written for Marita, my wife, in 1999.


The Old Couple

This poem is a story about two old people who religiously walk past our house every night at 730pm, holding hands, and never smiling. But come rain, hail, wind, whatever, they have done it every night since we have been here (6 years). God only knows how long before we came to this neighbourhood.

The twilight years have burned their faces,

the street their picture board,

the buses pass

and children laugh

at the ancient love they share.


Nightly the trodden paths are beaten by their tread,

hands linked in bondage

heads bowed to the wind

I ask what did they find

so many years ago ere they met.


I pass them on my nightly journey to the shop,

and feel the need to say hello,

but like their grip,

their locked hip to hip,

and pass by really slow within themselves.


The post at the corner of the road has some meaning,

their noted turnaround zone

as they take the same

steps back ere they came

nestled in each other's warm embrace.


But where are the smiles of joy and love, I wonder

where is the mirth of happiness,

not a kiss appears,

just their walking fears,

and the surety of each other alone.


Why am I puzzled with them, intrigued beyond resolve?

How can they be in love

No emotion do I see

No talk, or thought of me,

Just that relentless back and forth.


How long do you think they have been doing this?

Why aren't they able to share?

have they something

I am missing?

And is their emotion, fifty years without kissing?


But I know one day will come when they don't!

And I will miss that certainty,

that lifelong attention

to fated convention,

Forgone but not forgotten, leastwise!


The Old Couple are the crux of a life so sure,

we live as one but survive as two,

I long to tread,

the long path since wed,

and have someone marvel at my daily ritual.


The Old Couple,

I will miss you

when you walk no more


My Mothers Requiem

Once proud Lady and Mother

you were like no other to me

you made me grow up

from age zero,

helped me become a man,

made me realise, Mum

you were simply grand.


Mum, my friend and childhood chum,

you made me work and play,

you made me run and jump,

helped me over life's bumpy roads,

I admired your patience and diligence.



most of all you were there for all,

whenever anyone needed help

or loving care,

made the difference when it mattered most,

made the effort, the perfect hostess,

sunshine beaming smile,

every other while.


My Mum,

I lost you way too early,

I miss those smiles

and boyhood hugs,

deleted now

that comfort phone call,

died in pain but ne'er again,

nay more gaiety to share,


I miss you, as all the world does, too.


There is a Child In Me.

There is a child in my head,
When I hear her screams
She troubles my dreams,
and those fears reach my subconscious,
then I see her lingering smile,
and I simmer a while.

I see that child in my heart,
sometimes breaking it with her weird decisions,
forcing me to ache when she doesn't get it right,
There's a glow in that heart, though
when she gives me a hug,
and says, "I love you, Daddy".

There is an ache on my soul,
when her handicaps stall her life,
and cause my wife to choke back her tears,
There's a light in our lives, too
when she grows and miraculously survives
the tough trials that life offers her.

There is a child in my head,
and she is mine,
oh, for sure, she's divine.

This is written as a tribute to my young daughter who is handicapped by disabilities from being a Blue Baby at birth.


Pangs of Desire

Can you feel the pain
as the rawhide bowstring draws,
and the notched hickory
spears a beeline for your ache.

Do you feel the yearning
as the love of that action
releases itself unburdened,
on your waiting heart.

Imagination racing hot,
the intent of your attacker
plain to see, but the passion,
contents of a mystery.

Bow down to your feelings,
look to the stance of the bowholder,
and receive whatever pangs
of desire are sent your way.


 Boca Chita

The picture that inspired this poem can be found at

Battleground of love,
two participants swim,
linked by their environment
an island that lights the way.

Palm trees wave their approval
in a tropic breeze,
signalled by fluffy clouds
dancing across the seas.

In crystal clear water,
for all to observe,
the curve of speed and grace
side by side, in their place.

The sparkle of the sun on water
hints at the coming birth
of son or daughter.


Redneck Romance

Darlin', ah love yer hair,
th' way it stan's in th' machine oil
of mah car maintenance yard,
cuss it all t' tarnation.

Love th' rose petals of auty grease,
spreadin' on yer sensual curves.
Smell th' aromatic scent of gas fooms
permeatin' th' smell of yer leather moosk.
Shet mah mouth!

 Enjoy throttlin' yer gears,
as we ride th' hardtop in a sensual moment of speed,
cuss it all t' tarnation.

'67 Co'vette, marry up wif me

English Translation

Darling, I love your hair,
the way it stands in the machine oil
of my car maintenance yard.

Love the rose petals
of auto grease,
spreading on your sensual curves.

Smell the aromatic scent
of gas fumes permeating
the smell of your leather musk.

Enjoy throttling your gears,
as we ride the hardtop
in a sensual moment of speed.

'67 Corvette, marry me.

All material this page Copyright of Thane Zander.  Any requests for reproduction to be emailed to me at