Yesterdays And Tomorrows

It was only yesterday
I saw you, held you, loved you.
Barely twenty four hours spent
and still five long days until
I hold you once again.
Why is it that the future
is so more distant
than the past,
and five sleeps yet to come
would match a year ago?
A year to live,
a lifetime gone?
And how is it that a day
with you, so warmly in my arms,
can be weighed in heartbeats.

poem by Red O'Mara
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But Enough

I love the look that's in your eyes
when we're lying close together.
Gentle warmth with a hint of smile
telling me you love me,
just a little bit.
I love our long slow kisses,
lips and tongues so softly
caressing one another
while breathing breaths
that thrill me deep inside.
And then your eyes once more,
with their matchless message,
that I am loved,
by you,
just a little bit.

poem by Red O'Mara
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My Maggie's Rhymes

My Maggie has such honeyed lips
and such lovely eyes in bed
reality slips my slippery grip
to trip lightly from my head.

Her smile cares not for good repute
as she poses in positions
that bid me stray from virtue's route
to set course for sweet perdition.

Her body is gifted curves and bits
that make her sweetly buxom.
And though Meg's ‘bits' must rhyme with ‘tits',
who guessed buxom Meg's so fucksome?

poem by Red O'Mara
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Love Loosed

To draw your soft warm body
close to mine.
To melt into you,
with everything I feel for you
stirring deep inside me,
surging, struggling,
to escape
its cramped and male reserve,
as it sometimes will,
in some strong embrace
with untamed cry
of reckless joy
that might otherwise
embarrass or offend me.
But, I have this need
to tell you how much love
is in me.
And you do, I think,
understand.
And that pleases me.

poem by Red O'Mara
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On a Photograph From Singapore

You enhance Raffles and its Long Bar.
Better, I would think,
than it needs or, perhaps,
than it deserves.
Happy, tanned,
and fair and open.
And, somehow,
beneath all of your bravado,
innocent.

In Melbourne, today,
it was cold and squally.
Now bright with bracing
breeze and sunshine,
then dark with stinging,
windblown showers.
The ground and trees are wet,
and strewn about with autumn.
I wish that you were here.

poem by Red O'Mara
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The Lover

The lover, bold beyond his years,
loved when she held him by his ears,
as in their lovely mingling place,
he kissed her as he washed his face.
For ever he'd have stayed down there,
but for his need to rise for air.
And at the end when they both rose,
up from their lust to put on clothes,
he saw within her looking glass,
his naked image, sagging arse,
and knew his past did best his future.
Or they don't make mirrors like they usedter.

poem by Red O'Mara
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Her Golden Veil

She moves to kiss me from above,
her body over mine,
moves to brush back her hair,
to keep it from my face when,
stopping her hand,
I draw her closer and,
nearing me, her hair
falls around my head.
A curtain, golden, for us,
just her and me,
intensifying intimacy,
and concealing us,
just her and me,
in a golden dusk
that, as it closes,
disregards all the world,
but her and me.
Her face,
her lips,
her breath,

[...] Read more

poem by Red O'Mara
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You Changed Me, Maggie

You changed me, Maggie.
Just by being you,
you changed me.
You made a less selfish,
more thoughtful
and more caring man
from that one that once I was.
By allowing me to love you.
Me. Not some other man I
might have tried to be, but me.
By being the woman who you are
you caused me,
shallow me,
selfish me,
thoughtless, careless me,
to think thoughts of you
I'd never thought
speak words to you
I'd never spoken,
write verse for you

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poem by Red O'Mara
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Godswill

Consider first the humble bees,
who do God's work upon their knees,
when nuzzling deep in dewy laps
and drinking deep of scented saps,
they softly spread the potent germ
that brings each rose to its full term.

So 'tis bees who seed that fragrant breed
that man's coarse nostrils can't but heed.

This brings us to a second thought,
which seems to be so deeply fraught
with doubts about the universe.
Could God's intent be so perverse?
What number of bees do you suppose is
fucked when sucked up people's noses?

poem by Red O'Mara
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Fondling Sweet Memories of You

I enjoy my time alone,
when missing you.
Missing you while fondling
sweet memories of you,
while free to lapse
into silly, inappropriate smiles.
Free to sit and write,
to you,
undisturbed.
Free, with no threat of discovery,
no fear that my face
might tell more than I want known.
Free to to explain my feelings for you,
and how you make me feel about myself;
so much more kindly
than I had before.
I'd never noticed that with other women.
None ever gave me cause
to like myself more,
because of her,

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poem by Red O'Mara
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