Red O'Mara
Red O'Mara Poems
One day, perhaps if I could spend the night,
I would stack your hearth with firewood,
and we could sit together, on your couch.
You, your feet tucked under you
...
She isn't beautiful as Nefertiti was.
And, unlike Helen,
her face will never launch a thousand ships.
No, her beauty is more open, than entrancing
...
She moves to kiss me from above,
her body over mine,
moves to brush back her hair,
to keep it from my face when,
...
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,
...
Do you remember how we used to be?
It was only such a little while ago,
that we were in love.
We wrote and said and did, too much to doubt our feelings.
...
She likes to cook.
Often, it seems.
Often, and perhaps too much.
Like all good cooks,
...
It seems to me my life,
since a time not very long ago,
has somehow been restored.
That again my world is bathed in light
...
I enjoy my time alone,
when missing you.
Missing you while fondling
sweet memories of you,
...
It was only yesterday
I saw you, held you, loved you.
Barely twenty four hours spent
and still five long days until
...
I've missed you.
All these days we've been apart I've missed you.
I've longed to see you smile, hear your laugh,
to hold you, caress you.
...
I couldn't sleep one night and,
hoping you'd be awake,
poked, and waited,
then found your photograph,
...
Sail most by south, by west the least,
until the moon sets in the east.
There, in a sea the hue of custard,
ye'll see the Ile de Deux Sans Mustard
...
It makes me happy, to be with you.
To watch you smile and hear you speak
and see your eyes turn softly warm,
makes me happy to be with you.
...
If I had passed you, one morning on the beach,
I'd have nodded and, half smiling,
said some ordinary thing
like, ‘Lovely morning'.
...
These here are the facts, very nearly true,
all about this lady I knew who
ate kale as though it was good for you.
And she seemed to be hardly mad at all,
...
You changed me, Maggie.
Just by being you,
you changed me.
You made a less selfish,
...
To draw your soft warm body
close to mine.
To melt into you,
with everything I feel for you
...
There's no denying that she's aged
and mellowed in that easy way
such lovely women do.
Love of life has left its traces
...
Erstime, ere bards nor wondering Joyceters
did glybb their gobs with glanjous tongue,
Sir Slip The Most of Figleefmoistners,
was undangled…and his sling unslung.
...
Red O'Mara Biography
I live in Melbourne, Australia. That makes me an Australian, a Melburnian, a lover of Australian Rules football and someone who eats sharks with his chips and pronounces route to rhyme with boot, and castle to rhyme with vassal. Though, if it suited poetic necessity, I'd have more than enough lack of principle to make castle rhyme with parcel. Almost everything I've written here was for or about a particularly lovely woman. But for Maggie I wouldnt have written this or anything else for this site. I took up writing what I like to think of as love poems to better explain how I felt about her. It's easier, that way, to get straight the things you want to say, easier to write what you mean and less daunting to be honest, than it is to articulate your feelings in situations where words tend to be fumbled in the process. Obviously, too, I wanted to impress Maggie and perhaps I succeeded because it was at her instigation that I came out, here, on this site. What I've written then were mainly love poems, to gain her good graces, interspersed with bits of mongrel verse (ill-bred doggerel) to make her laugh.)
The Best Poem Of Red O'Mara
One Day If I Could Spend The Night
One day, perhaps if I could spend the night,
I would stack your hearth with firewood,
and we could sit together, on your couch.
You, your feet tucked under you
and your head against my chest,
me, holding you close to me,
and breathing that faint and lovely
fragrance of your hair.
And we could dine on pizza and red wine,
in the softly glowing firelight,
one day, perhaps, if I could spend the night.
One day, perhaps if I could spend the night,
there would be nothing hurried,
no urgency in either life,
and we could have another glass of wine
and talk, earnestly, of matters serious,
if we felt that way inclined.
Or, we could have that other glass of wine
and laugh at matters impolite,
one day, perhaps, if I could spend the night.
One day, perhaps if I could spend the night,
when we were ready, we would go to bed
and kiss and make unhurried love.
Or, equally unhurried, we would not.
And we would listen to the wind and rain
and kiss and make unhurried love again.
Or, equally unhurried, we would not.
And we would sleep, egg and spoon together,
with each of us at peace.
And everything,
in both our worlds,
would be just right,
one day,
perhaps,
if I could spend the night.
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4/24/2024 3:29:21 PM # 1.0.0.1119
