The Writing of Thane Zander
Love Poems Two
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

More poems of a love nature from a hopeless romantic

Had the lip lock marathon
well in place,
the lasting impressions
left on our faces,
yet still the hearts needed
to beat as one,
a commitment to show
this wasn't just for fun.

So I bought her chocolate
dripped it on her tongue,
had some myself and we both
took a plunge,
found a common beat
where hearts melted together
and we swan in the brownness
of a chocolatie weather.

The caramel ones stuck
our lips fast tight,
and the panting of chocolate
went long into the night,
the peppermint flavour
made it all so sweet,
so we danced our love joyfully
into the street.

The night I gave her chocolate
we become one for sure,
and now we have it often
to make love endure,
but sadly to say,
the results of our folly,
we're so fucking fat, no matter,
we're also so jolly.
A 5 year old boy and his Nanny
Could be any hospital anywhere,
blue rooms, white sheets,
nurses in and out, busy,
the sounds of the ill and the well,
marching or hobbling
down pristine corridors.

In one room, a small boy
short on years and height,
but long on love and innocence,
holding a frail cancer-scarred hand
of his nanny, his Alma Mater.

Nanny, are you awake?
Can you speak to me, tell me a riddle,
his silent blue eyes searching for life,
the hand moves in affirmation
a croak from an ancient throat,
yes dear, I am here, and no riddles,
it's too late for those.

A tear washes across a blinking cheek,
Nanny, are you dying?
What's dying and does it hurt?
She closes her eyes and smiles
wrinkles like ring barks creasing in age.
Dying is not living anymore, son.
A tear escapes hidden from her eye.

The boy is silent, senses the need to be,
presses her hand tighter,
runs a thumb over the back of it,
a nurse walks in and smiles,
checks the old lady's pulse, her vitals,
the boy oblivious of her ministrations,
sees his Nanny's eyes close in grimace.

Does it hurt to die Nanny,
it looks like it, I know I will never die,
because I know it hurts
and I don't like hurting. He sobs a little,
holds his chest out in a feint manly posture,
sucks in a deep breath,
But Nanny, for you I will hurt too.

Her cracked dry lips smile
a loving knowing reflection of his youth,
she remembers her own nanny then,
when she was his age, and her's was dying,
and she understood, felt a bond.
Son, love cures all hurts,
and your love is curing my pain,
easing my aches, thank you.

The boy smiles, then puts on his grim face,
places both hands over her hand,
and closes his eyes, wishing her well,
hears the sudden gasp, the exhalation
of her final long breath,
is startled, her hand not responding,
he hears the flatline
of the heart monitor,
but doesn't need it's affirmation,
just knows his Nanny is gone,
but not in pain.
An Octagenarian Muses

You dined on my innocence,
took my gullibity with your wiles,
creating the roads making the lines
of my ancient face creep closer,
you saw the smile that corrupts me,
and took your trophy, conqueror.

The plaque at your grave says Death,
yet my memory lives only for you,
for your victories over my defeats.

I see the babes of our babes,
the generations of your efforts,
the walking stick glides then,
my walking gait measued by the kisses
you planted, the scent that mingled.

I drink diet coke and each sip
swims champagne bubbles
in acknowledgement to existence,
to cohabitation in eternity,
my heart beats slower now,
ticking away until we rejoin,
epitaph to epitaph.
Natural empires

Two mountains in a rural setting,
a small copse in a valley spreading,

a castle on a face manicured to perfection
a small moat guarded by pearly white gates,

two pools of blue/white water glisten
beneath a cascade of flowing blonde waterfalls,

Ten sentinels guard the borders,
one set to the south of valley of birth,

ten more, five east and west of the mountains,
a prince with a rapier rides in,

attempts to enter her empire with her blessing,
she is in charge, moves mountains and ridges

all sentinels wriggle in anticipation,
pool covers spread over and hide her jewels,

he fights his way into the woodlands
and is met with the sight of evening dew.

Land is reborn, a volcano builds south of mountains,
north of the woodlands and the valley,

soon, the cojoining of man and mystery give issue
to a perplexing enigma of reformation.

The audible cry of nature at work,
from an empire of perfection.

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