Great Poetry Circle

Great Poetry Circle

About the Poetry Blog

Selection of Great Poetry and some from Tommy Stroller - choose your category - and see my other sites -

You constantly made up to me

TS LovePosted by Graham Thompson Tue, March 20, 2018 10:36:44

You constantly made up to me

In mascara, liner and rouge

Though I never asked for that at all

Nor ever made the first move

Then I was the partner left unseen

When you sals'ed thru the night

I was the secret that danced between

Your breasts and other men

My love you took the tram to Moscow

That got sidelined in my heart

You wanted to dance one last dance for me

On life's perfect seamless strand

It was a day you gave back to me

But really it meant the end

Then you tried to skate away from me

But fell and broke your wrist

You mailed me an X ray of the bone

That still treasonably hurts

Now you skate on kitchen floors

With home and babe and man

You never answer the phone to me

You've found another's wings

So when the time comes to count

All those ballroom heroines

I'll put you high above everyone

Though I'll have to unclip your wings

I can't remember the lines I said

When as friends we finally did part

But all I know is that breasts your size

Should never be let out alone

Hey angel, this utopia is upside down!

TS LovePosted by Graham Thompson Tue, March 20, 2018 10:23:27

“ … and (s)he was the devil of my dreams, the handsomest angel.”

Antonio Machado

Hey angel, why do your visits

come so often? Were you once

more human & voluptuous,

instead of ice thin & boney,

like my incarnate lover?

Are your wings of wider span

now you need to defeat

my gravity?

& who is escaping from whom?

Hey angel, the first time

you left me, you were parked

on a slab of stone, not in paradise

but the morgue – did you

fly up to heaven

all on your own?

Then you haunted me

constantly in muddy lanes

& briared paths

between sunrise & dawn

and in the soon-to-be-harvested

wheat-fields of my youth.

Were you taken in your nest

like the sliced & quartered rats

I found when they

came to take the grain?

Later, when I'd lost you,

I thought it was

forever, you flew in

from Lisbon

or some other port of whores.

You came back to tempt me, seduce

or pre-empt me – but I

knew your game right from the start.

You might have given me

the clap, but not the bee-sting kiss

of a Hecubus from hell

pretending to be heaven.

In Flanders fields I found you

blindly strolling through the graves

that ten feet below

tugged at your heels, but stop

you never did

except to undo this kid

who had single-mindedly

failed to win the war.

We slept between the graves,

made love between the folds

of the dead, we consumed

one another in passion's fire;

but there were no phoenixes,

only sadly failed intentions

as I escaped

out of your coffin door.

Hey angel

I thought I was free of you

in the far north of my freedom

a place where angels can catch


in their extremities,

but you found me

you came knocking

at my balcony window door

as I paused from my words

on the page. Of course,

they were of you, only you,

as you reached again

into my fiery coal-black heart.

You came to wrench me

from the page to the precipice,

you came to tear me

from my fate

ringed by circles arctic

and of stories old.

You dragged me to the balcony's

rough ledge,

then it was push & pull:

your push to make you thrill

at the dizzy heights below,

and at my fall,

my pull to draw me back

to the stage;

for it is an act, a play,

a whole production on the road

I'll never live to see:

it's our common desire

to join beyond the grave

at the crossroads

where all the angels

met the witch

(of the north?).

Written in a bar on the Avd. Antonio Macho, Playa del Balamadena, Andalucia, March, 2018

Vanilla – a mixed metaphor

TS LovePosted by Graham Thompson Tue, March 20, 2018 10:00:43

The candles in this stranger's house

reek of vanilla – a scent

that takes me back unerringly,

compulsively, to,

not the love of my life,

but loving that once seemed

unquenchable – it was her soap

and from it her skin

that gave off a perfume

which preceded her every entry

to my presence

by seconds:

Vanilla! It's origin

no mystery: those long

sensuous dark pods

the hidden fragrance of their insides

a life history

of pollination by hand -

a strange kind of sex

at its foundation

leading to another

more personal history

of childhood custards

seaside ice-creams

motherly cheeks and apple pies.


wreaking of life, sex and even the death

captive in its unlit interior

exteriorised in my love's

every tender move

this love haunts me now

from some distant place

I can no longer reach

but only smell

and here retell

again and again

our injured history and

miraculous intercourse

almost preternatural in its origin

a passion now belonging to

its own relational geology

an ice-age erratic left

forlorn, isolated

on some foreign strand:

how many times

will it lead me astray,

this lone signpost

to a pre-historic love

Love's Corner

TS LovePosted by Graham Thompson Mon, October 03, 2016 14:07:29

The cold held us;

A street corner of directions

Wheeled us apart.

Emptying your arms

I ran against the startling cold,

My face upturned and cradling stars,

My heart in the dark nowhere.

Then time streamed down my bitter cheeks,

And forced a turn of mind

To the statue of your beauty,

Immured in wrapt attention:

A woman of scarves and anticipation

Propped by her bicycle.

Alone, so utterly alone you stood,

Refusing all directions except my own,

Which in that moment turned on yours,

To the warmth of neck and hair.

And on the street we took away,

As long as two minds meeting,

We felt the words we had no need share,

Were turned on this love's corner.

Spectre & Other Luvpoems

TS LovePosted by Graham Thompson Mon, December 28, 2015 17:01:10


Let it pass;

Let it pass over you

Like the curtain of night

Drawn by invisible hands.

Let it come;

Let it come to swallow you

Like the lips of the sea

Close over your whiteskin flesh.

Let me assure you:

You are the light in my saucer sky,

The succulent source of my wishbone seas

That ebb towards procreation.

For the tides will leave us landlocked

On the desolate sands,

When the bright dayblood dispels the nightwitching,

And our seashells will lie hollow to the sun.


We know the way so well

Every path, hill and curve

Of this country is like

A mnemonic for bitter love.

As the future

Has run out of fashions

And metaphors

We will make do

With the map of these bodies

And explore them

Indefinitely well


Remember me when you are old

For age will be the lesson

Of your completion

In things you do not savour now

But will only pause to miss when so long gone

Including this.

Remember us when you grow old

For we were young in loving then

And perfect in asymmetry

I - old in years

You - rolling in the profits of untramelled youth:

Dancing in limbs and fingers

Singing like a winsome flute or sadder violin.

Remember yourself when you fall old

And care for those things that time

Had no time to spare when you were young

And nurture memories of how it was

When wrinkles and dust did never seep

Into these corners of our lives

And trust was greater

Than any chasm yawning between generations.

Yes - it skewed us

Into opposing halves:

The divided paths that ended here -

Again as lonely spirits on this ledge.

The Night Forest

When the world was green
I was a hunter without gun
But once, just once, I saw
A brown fox looking
Carving her body out of the beckoning trees
And it was my shot

We knew this fox and I
The how and why
And so we at once agreed

But............ I wondered
Who would run and who would kill

The soft brown fur mistook my eyes
Hyena mouthed she smiled
Powder footed she stepped away
And the forest was deep
Without that silent body
It crept up and hit me round the neck

In Parting

In parting we lose not only the lover

But also a part of ourselves.

When undoing that first embrace

We signal the final move;

Untying the knot of our hands

Permits the final wave.

If you look in the eyes of the woman departing

They will mirror a glance from the grave.

You Tiptoed Away In The Night

Long ago
Your arms encircled the void
Inside me

In the still desert
That was my heart
You planted yellow roses
And watered them every day

My nose
- so bloodied from blindly
tearing around in my darkened room
bumping against furniture
and walls -
You rubbed so gently
and kissed away the pain

You loosened me from the rack
Of my deceits
and half untruths
Untied me from the table
of my flattened universe

You sat constant
in the sickroom of no hopes
When the doctors
Had given me up
as mad
and gone

In the void where once your arms encircled
In the desert of yellow roses
In the dark room of torn spaces
On the rack of my unprovoked lies
In the sickroom of my patient madness
There is now no-one

You tiptoed away in the night

And I?
Yes I have given you up to the stars
So you can maybe alter mine
Then hopefully your own

How Life Begins

Out of the blistering silence

Comes the fire of our words.

So cool the night against our loving ways,

Paths of burning thoughts raised

On black and bitten bodies.

Suns were born and die again

In the days that these monstrous seconds fill.


Like flags, waving through the night

Of sudden caresses:

A track forever traced by fingers

In these singular brains.

Kindred spirits dally one last moment,

Hanging up their bodies like

Overcoats on different hooks

In the stillness of the early morning hall.

Over The Sea

Over the sea of love's last looking

No sail comes to deliver you

Over the gales, the ribbed and beating clouds

The hormone night lights the blood´s short fuse

My heart is a bay for your safe anchor

My eye a mirror for those calmer days

I cannot walk the headlands of our forever

Without the tightening of memory's stays