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Seven Poems - M.P. Smeer

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As words would be,
by far too weak,
to climb your tower,
embrace the flower,
ahigh and far from reach.

Sweet love to be,
hope you'll agree,
to let the scent,
of roses fresh,
caress the heart inside thee.



However silent once,
in adjustment harmoniously,
in full control you were,
of all your senses.
Yet aloud and louder still,
within me you are pounding.
Is this my heart, I wonder,
now completely astrayed,
and eager to be plucked.
Now seemingly attempting,
to beat a way out.
Out of my chest.
Out of this life.
And desperately, convincingly,
persuading me of its inertness,
this body rendering me,
motionless and empty.



A final wish, the hero true,
a silent greet of last goodbye.
His ship a-painted 'cross the far,
in colours red and bright.

Ashore; a thousand weeping eyes.
A-beating at the silver sand...
...the sea, a flood of salty tears.
A gulf of time, a-parting them.



Picture thee an endless sea,
in which an island ours would be.
Off deepest blue to gaze upon,
the whitest strands to walk along.

With forests dancing in the breeze.
A meadow loud with honey bees,
and birds to greet the day with song,
with cloudless skies all summer long.

The highest peaks a crest with snow,
a waterfall to swim below.
A full moon smiling every night.
A flowerbed to rest our eyes.

Wild horses we could ride all day,
a silver stream to sail away.
A dream this sweet could never be,
if thou would not be here with me.



Through the haze of winter dawning,
crystal brand a new day call.
Magic of a skylight frosted,
watermarks a rainbow wall.

Eyes in deeply pillowed comfort,
of this splendour unaware.
Persevere ye chimes of morning,
lavish me the light ye shed.



Dawning gently,
satin cradle,
sweetest rapture,
may we share.

Arms enfolding,
eyes of fire,
eager fingers,
through your hair.

Body rushes,
reaching focus,
liquid summit,
drowning mind.

Dreamscape fading,
slowly beading,
hot and salty,
down my spine.


These waves I hear,
by oars be crushed,
each stroke by sweat,
though free they run.

And songs I hear.
Of muscled murmur.
Hearts a-silenced,
by the drum.

Of worlds they tell,
new hope to bring,
these seas beyond,
in ball and chain.

These waves I hear,
by oars be crushed,
each stroke by sweat,
though free of reign.


M.P. Smeer (poems) and D.F.M. Vidal (illustrations) are living in The Netherlands.


These and many more poems are collected in my latest book entitled:

Sweetest Rapture - a collection of poems.

A luxury edition from: 'Duoscope Special Publications'

ISBN: 90-802617-1-8


Notice © 1999 M.P. Smeer (poems) and D.F.M. Vidal (illustrations)

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