Love POETRY is not familiar territory for me but we’ve all gone through the terror and awkward excitement of first love and the pursuit of love.

Where have you been
since when, first seen?
in a pub, drunk and befuddled.
on a pitch, wet, be – puddled,
who knows ’til now,
love’s confusing signals,
the sweaty lip,
the furrowed brow
the dread of each encounter?

There is no map,
or uncharted path,
In love’s rough seas
to point the way.
All who are in springtime life
know the chill of innocence ,
while those of Autumn
live in dread, scorched by
fate and experience.

In the comfort of a love’s embrace
we soothe, praise, salivate.
In another time and circumstance,
We cry, deny and denigrate,
but the solace is shallow,
the hour late,
Is it better to live and love,
Hate to love or
Love to hate?

I spoke her name,
the wincing horror
of love’s sharp pain,
to measure in perspiring palms,
Irrational thought
and shallow breathing,
the challenge of acceptance,
the nightmare of rejection.


6 thoughts on “Love Poem

    • Why thank you, Lucy. I’ve been trying to put together a selection of poems related to Dublin’s Viking past. Frustrated, I decided to go for a pint. In the pub, a couple sit down beside and it soon becomes clear they’re first daters. Then a woman arrives, alone, orders a drink and then gets busy with her phone. She calls her partner/husband/bf/gf. She leaves a message. Her anxiety is palpable. I borrowed a pen from the bartender and wrote this in the back pages of the book I was reading because I was reminded of that pain.

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