Saturday, December 10, 2005

Sorry

I opened my closet
sorries came tumbling out.
Too many stored for years
there just aint no doubt.

They push against the walls
and bulge the closet door.
Don't think there's a spot
to store not even one more.

Look, there's that one
promised to meet in Atlanta.
Drove from Chattanooga, a no show
Felt like a rotten banana.

But, she didn't forget the sorry
oh no, she sent me plenty to use.
Made not a damn bit of difference
still got angry and had the blues.

And you, dear, got your sorry too.
All that braggin bout lusting for me
yet when I arrived early in Portland
at the door kissin him, passionately.

I threw many in the trash can
but you kept sending those regrets.
Told you can stop but they keep coming
as if you owed me some sort a debt.

And you, my friend, told you at the start
someone esle had a tight hold on my heart
but you needed the drama to be for real
sent sorries cause we remain far apart.

All these damn sorries are going out
to be dumped in the trash for good.
Don't know why I kept so many
never gave a damn nor understood.

But if you were really sorry
why send so many over to me.
You'd do better to change your ways
and live life more peacefully.

As for me. No more sorries at all.
Never again let them pile up like this.
From now on when I am in need
off I go to a visit to Poetic Bliss.

Del Cano 2005 Dec

Friday, December 9, 2005

Miss Smith's Diary

Oh my, I stumbled up
thought I needed some tea.
On the way to the kitchen
something came over me.
 
Deep in a misty fog
mind seemed to fail.
A rush overcame me
emotions on a sail.
 
What is this cloudy fray
making me drunk and weak
Driving emotions wild
passions to a peak.
 
Tea pot whistling
steam massaging face
Had to grab the counter
to steady and brace.
 
Sat down for a moment
passions rose to firey.
Ahh, dammit, got it now
that Miss Smith's Diary.
 
Del Cano 2005 Dec

Since I first stopped in on Miss Smith's Diary I have been a total submissive to it. She writes of her life and intermingles it with gripping stories of activities on the southern island on which she lives. From her intimate stories of the ghost in her house, the ghost busters she is working with, her lover who is feeling left out to an occassional poem anyone should find something to attract them back.

Her writings are a continious tale for the most part riddled with just enough sensuality to tease you and when she stops a story just at a gripping part you are begging for her to continue with it. Her attention to details is amazing and when her closest friends get involved there is a mix powerful enough to explode from the screen.

Go visit Miss Smith's Diary http://journals.aol.com/lasskk19/MsSmithsDiary/

Spencer

 

Wednesday, December 7, 2005

I Think of You When Alone

Lately round midnight
I awake from a fitful sleep
mostly nearly awake
never get off real deep.
 

When I tire of the tossin
I get up and make some tea
then start thinking bout ...
well, there really is no we.
 

But when I get lonesome
my mind drifts your way
start looking up poems
read the words you say.
 

Why is it I search you out
when my aloneness sets in
Mixed in with the gulf shore
or even places I never been.
 

Thoughts of pleasant walks
round a lovely pond or lake
sharing nature's glory
with the strolls we take.
 

What makes me think of you
when time comes with me alone
Perhaps its the history
and that our friendship's grown.
 

You have such pleasant ways
soft and tender is my thought
Never touched you but the spirit
is the one you have brought .
 

Spose it doesn't matter why
there is no reason shown.
Know my thoughts go to you
everytime I am alone.
 

Del Cano 2005 Dec  
 


 

Monday, December 5, 2005

Off To Poetic Bliss

When I step off into Poetic Bliss
great to know you're there
Emotions charged to the brim
passions freed like a flare.

Mighty good to know
we can share in this joy.
Scatter the pieces all about
like a child with a new toy.

Stepping thru that magic door
calls for a companion's hand.
So overwhelming it all can be
sharing is no less than grand.

Within those majestic bounds
one can love or touch and feel
Act on your wildest imagination
in Poetic Bliss nothing's real.

When one passes the very edge
and every one of the senses is right
Nothing better'n having you around
sharing in savoring the delight.

Oh, it can so wipe you out
shooting stars sailing by
Smiling moonbeams winking
those sunspots in your eye.

Can you imagine walking, alone
thru a huge maze of lust.
All those raw emotions cooking
frying you to a crispy crust.

Now and again we smile together
and nothings wrong with a kiss
Oh take my hand as we walk
stroll with me thru poetic bliss.

Del Cano 2005 Dec

Saturday, December 3, 2005

Response To Phillip's Inquiry

Phillip

I appreciate you reading me in that ...that is the reason I post my poems so others can share in them and hopefully enjoy the creation. All of the writes unless noted are written by me. If the write was inspired by something someone else wrote I give the name of the write and the author of it at the bottom of the post as I did in this one. Sometimes I post collaboritive writes which creation was shared by me and another. In those cases I make note at the title level that this write is a collab and at the bottom I always add that person's name to make sure the readers know who shared in the creation.

I have written poems from the time I was a very young boy and have established a creative ability to write almost instantly in response to reading something, feeling a thought arise, an experience, a feeling, a passion or any of a myriad of inspirations.

You seem to be concerned about to whom I am addressing and what part you play in it. This write was strictly a direct response to the poem "Dream Giver" written by the writer who uses the ID  Dreams With Wolves. She prefers not to use her name on line. In her poem it spoke of all sorts of passionate feelings about a love with whom she shared but in the write she decided it was just a fantasy in her mind. That the loved one did not actually exist. That poem immediately inspired me to write somewhat of an answer to her poem.

As far as what part you play. You, as the reader, should allow yourself to wallow in the write, hopefully to grasp enjoyment and potentially see images which are familiar to you or just some wishful thinking. I have a most creative mind and most times a reader has no idea if I am writing to them directly or not but I normally design the layout in a way which would cause each individual to identify with the write. To me it seems more personal and more intimate that way. It allows all who read the write an opportunity to put themselves within the words and thus be a closer part of the creation.

Surely I write directly to some one at times but that person knows it is to or for them. On any write I may have a specific person in mind with whom I am speaking or directing the write to. Then at other times I am simply being creative. I can love, be passionate, yearn for, crave and use all of the human emotions to help portray a specific image. To touch people. To reach their passions. To make them think about a similar circumstance. Those type writes are my favorites in that
I am not only attempting to touch others but my own inner self as well. My writes are my attempts to spread joy, love, concern, passion, smiles, sensualility, to give an uplift to the reader as a relief from the rigors of daily life. I read other's writes be it prose or poetry and pull pleasures from them adnd hope mine does the same.

My wish is that you and others can use my poetry as an escape into another stage away from the normal often hum drum daily life. I am normally a loving, happy caring person who uses his art to touch people in a pleasant way. Then my goal has been reached.

Phillip, it is not necessary to know if a poem is directed to someone special. In that case consider yourself special if this write or any of mine has touched you in a pleasant way. Then I am happy. If you wish explainations on any write feel free to ask. I'll be most happy to fill in the background for its creation.

Do be blessed and keep reading.

Spencer

Note: Phillip was referring to the poem  Keeping the Dream Below.

Friday, December 2, 2005

Keeping The Dream

I so inhaled your words and felt there smooth edge
yet wonder why I'm banned to mere fantasy.
When we entered the bounds of love's valley
we were introduced to the blessings  of ecstasy.
Have I lived a lie in my mind's eye that we reached
on that day, the maximum, the epitomy of a storm
that swirling, blinding, volcanic twist of passion
which has kept me firmly wrapped in your arms.
Oh, please don't rock this explosive fevered dream
cause that day we met in the remnants of creative lust.
Tho our fire ignited from the drippings of our need
it became more than simply an intoxicant to us.
As plain as day I still see the sparks bursting
thru the darkness we invaded on that special night.
I have so many times retraced the trail of our venture
which remains my standard of love's sweet light.
My hands tremble touching the ski slope of your back
fingertips finding each delicious foray discovered
as I dive within the mysteries of your passions
could care less about tomorrow or if I shall recover.
Oh, sweet thang, deliverer of dreams come true
my lips and tongue continue tasting flavors you are
as the cravings rise to even higher levels unbound
my senses soar past the heavens to a lavender star.
While caressing your breast, the the desert of your neck
my own fingertips quiver with the outlandish thought
that this is not real, that we did not meet in a lover's dream.
That my senses simply crashed from imaginations wrought.
On my knees I beg you do not allow this, our legacy, to die
not one frame of our night in love's valley should be lost.
When you again open the door to our dreams details
we shall be together again at our whelm at any cost.
 
Response to Dream Giver by Dreamswithwolves
Del Cano 2005 Nov 
 

Cold December Night Air

On this cold wintry night
look forward to your embrace
as my whirling wind blows
can see the image of your face.

Know so well your warmth
ignites the embers in me.
The cold in my wind is heated
by you so magically.

As I kiss your window panes
begging to breathe on you
My soul hopes you show
and heat me thru and thru.

In knowing silence we share
the most intimate of a scene.
In winter's harsh cold air
your warmth is but a beam.

I so love to caress totally
as we exchange the sensual fare.
Me needing your warmth
while cooling your heated flare.

Oh, to just blow over you
caressing under your gown
The whispers we silently share
without making a sound.

Exploding my cooling touches
your heat turns to a flame.
My wintry harshness eases
with just the sound of your name.

I blow and blow that coldness
yet your heat is a sparkling flare.
Matters not if I bring snow, I'm warm
me, Cold December Night Air.

In response to In December by Vivienne

Del Cano 2005 Dec