About MY POETRY
My humble self was pleased to win an Editor's Choice award from the International Poets Society in the summer of 2004 for my poem titled "The Morrow Matters Naught". It was published in a poetry compilation titled "Tracing The Infinite" by the International Library of Poetry.
Not like you'll find this book out on the shelves at Barnes & Nobles, Indigo, Borders, or Chapters, but it was a nice ego boost to get anything published.
That's two of my poems published thus far. The other being "Love's Pyre" published by Noble House Publishers also in 2004, in a poetry compilation titled "Colours of the Heart".
________________________________________________________________________________
My POEMS
Below are my individual poems (Adobe PDF file format)
___________________________________________________________________________
WHAT ARE BAD BOYS MADE OF?
Saucy lass, she pondered "What are Bad Boys made of?"
I replied with the childhood rhyme, "My such a quizzical one are thee! Why they are made of Snippets and snails and puppy dog's tails!"
She flipped her dark hair, laughed, "I of sugar and spice and everything nice do ask ... are they seekers of lust or love?"
Time to reflect, on the ropes for a second, "They seek oodles fair maiden, dare say I so, Miss Poodles."
She retorted, "Are they playful like otters or deep like the whales?'
An easy answer, "Mischievous types, wise yet prone to playing with mere muddles."
Sharp witted, she pursued, "So wizards you say they be?"
Mirthfully, my turn to laugh, "Indeed, stories of their enchantments spread like an urban legend thru the hills and dales."
Her pouting grin returned, "So Good Sir, nay say this maiden has embarked on a path smitten with glee?"
- written by: Brian R Dillon (spring 2010)
PHONEY
Pretty funny; she called me a "phoney."
Died hair; coloured lenses; sad person schemed to make me feel "alone."
One more coward; destined to live life in a hole in the "wall."
I'm a dog person; she's a cat person; Her lies start @ "midnight."
I dig reality; Her realities are fiction; Poor, pathetic her, always afraid to wage a "fight."
Such a coward; can't even make a phone "call."
Naw; I thought her deserved fate was to be "alone."
Betrayed your man; Other men smell it; No one wants to enter your "zone."
Men are stupid; Yet even the deaf, dumb and blind see your home is in a "mall."
Your're waiting for me to attack? Why would I waste my "time?"
Your lies will bring you down; Beyond your superficial beauty your soul is "slime."
Others see you for what your are; Even a coward knows her personality is too "small!"
- written by: Brian R Dillon (spring 2010)
THE
LILACS
Thighs;
to not meet her would be a loss
Hips;
my how her jeans hung
Eyes;
her wink I couldn't miss
Lips;
fascinated as she applied her gloss
Infatuation;
the moisture of her tongue
Luscious;
the taste of her kiss
Ascension;
her mane of hair she did toss
Copious;
her pressing body nimble and young
Succulent;
the lilac's nectar such bliss
Mojitos?
A harmless
question; wanted to see if she'd go for it; interesting lady I'd "just met."
Surprised, she
didn't give a rats ass about any "stupid bet."
Curious, she
wanted to see if I “could really cook.”
Game on; no
limos; no posing; she thought me “Mr. Microwave.”
They say cooking
is sex; will your taste buds make you this adventure's “slave?”
Potentially an
interesting chapter in “life's little book.”
Yeppers; for a
woman who would burn ”Tea.”
Whether my
cooking sucked or rocked, by 5 Mojitos she was just “Happy!”
When you bypass
the pretense of Wanta-B-Actors; Enjoy the night; "Pawn to Rook!"
written
spring 2010 by Brian R Dillon
Extras
Kinda cute, the lass fancied herself a movie extra; yet
kinda "stupid."
I'm a real guy,
no contestant in a reality show; Nope, no actor playing "cupid.”
Kinda slow, she
finally realized I didn't treat a lady like a “ho.”
Pleased she'd pack the BS. Honey, neither you or I wanta be portrayed as a “chump in a show.”
Called Bad Boy, Sex Toy, Paranoid; I laughed; Her reality had for long been just wallpaper in “the
void.”
No guts; no
glory; I didn't fit into her stereotype; Me being the kinda man momma told
you to “avoid.”
Critics called me
a Bad Ass, an M&M. I tossed out, “Hey Gurl, You seeking dollars or gold?”
She pondered it squirrely eyed; Eventually she decided “Hey, I'm good for Gold! I dig you for being so bold.”
written
spring 2010 by Brian R Dillon
IGNORE
Stupid Girl, she thought it a head
game about who could handle “ignore.”
Reality check, it was about who
would make an effort, who had the guts to step thru the “door.”
The false perception of popularity,
as the boys blasted her cell “phone.”
Kinda sad, the guise of posing,
I sensed her reality was “alone.”
I challenged her, “So? Wanta
step into my zone?”
I perceived the answer B4 I asked,
kinda lady that couldn't handle reality beyond “the game.”
No, as I threw down the challenge,
sensed she had a fixation with “the same."
The choice was hers; to "step up" or act "lame."
Alas, her definition of “quality of
life”, was call “stats”, for she lived on deceptions in the “night.”
“WTF lady?" Text that darling! Ya
ain't no one's “wife.” Miss Popularity was just too damn
“uptight.”
written
spring 2010 by Brian R Dillon
Cleaning out the Storage Room
Packed to the hilt, been lethargic about doing the the storage room spring cleaning.
Needed to filter through boxes and bags, each full of hidden meaning.
Throwing away or filing my own times, both good and bad.
Moved here years ago, every object or person seemed to end up in a box.
Every boys-with-toys gadget, every trinket or gift from a former flame you once deemed a fox.
Odd to touch things, in the here and now, now the feeling no longer pleased or mad.
With the passage of time, the memories are different with each find.
Just mere objects that frame a memory, chapters in life that ended up in a shoe box of the human mind.
Be it stilettos or lingerie a lass or two left here some distant night, ya, the nights weren't so bad.
written spring 2010 by Brian R Dillon
So...
So, I
asked myself, “what the hell went wrong?”
Crazy
girl, I once thought we had something strong.
Daughter
of some burnt out 60s love child,
What
the fuck happened to the night you were wild?
Realize
2 late, she was just like her mother.
Leading
a scripted life, she kept the real her under cover.
Older,
knew how to fence and parry.
Got
her pissed, she went to bed with her cat.
I slammed
the door on my way out, went home to my dog.
Chilled
out over a beer, found myself thinking she just wanted me to marry.
Never
liked her cat, more like a shifty rat.
Realized
walking with her was a walk in the fog.
At times ya
don't see where yer going until the fog burns off after the sun comes up.
Ya
sweat pea, at first light, realized it was a good call to go home to
my pup.
- written winter 2010 by Brian R Dillon
Bursting the Bubble
Things got strange, for I lived long in a bubble.
How the hell it happened, through the tricks and deceit, I can't say for sure.
What I do know for certain, it has brought me much angst and trouble.
Wherever I go, every move I make, the bubble watchers tagged along.
Their behavior insane, I see the field of pursuit, their actions I deplore.
Adding to my amazement, everyone tell me nothing is amiss or wrong.
Always, confronted by forces unknown, as in a perverse game.
Angered, I burst the captivity of the bubble, for I'll take it no more.
Now I turn the light upon them, to reveal their shame.
I seek an explanation, to whom and why, I was bought and sold.
Digging for the truth, I plant my feet firmly on the floor.
Be gone dark deception, I want an answer, I must at last be told.
- Written: Winter 2006 by Brian R Dillon
Exit The Mist
We parted in anger, both brooding, this dark November day.
The roots of our demise, the ups and downs, a very long play.
From the onset I'd walked along, in hindsight, as a fool in the mist.
At moments, her words, her deeds, implied it perhaps all an act.
When I queried and asked, she denied my concerns were based on fact.
I naively blew it off, unwise man, every time our lips kissed.
Today, an erupting volcano, words of hot, molten lava.
Shocked by the revelation, thoughts synthesized, aroused by the aroma of java.
Eyes wide open, I exit the mist, former lover, the deception will not be missed.
-
Written: Winter 2006 by Brian R Dillon
Pelirroja y Morena (Red & Black)
Romeo, anguished soul, Juliet so tragically mistaken
Eve, serpentine temptation, humanities sensuality thus born
Delilah, lover’s betrayal, Samson’s strength forsaken
Bragi, rune tongued, from his mead amorous poetic rendering
Lancelot, chivalric knight, centuries ole rituals of courtship
Aphrodite, love’s goddess, our passions in her hands so meddling
Cleopatra, Nile queen, your wiles one man’s driving whip
Knave d’Artagnan, cunning Milady, laugh at the joust never ending
-
Written: Fall 2003 by Brian R Dillon (To passion's game through time)
LOSING MY TOUCH
Damn its lure, skyward I'd glanced, no chance now of escape
Full moon’s force, under its spell, I'm bewitched by her nape
The game begins, we commence the chase, eyes locked as in a trance
Under a harvest moon, two sleek hunters, the timeless dance
Kissing her hand, sensation past due, succulent first taste
What mad folly, precious time, we both did waste
She waiting for my infatuation, I now certain she lusted as much
Coyly claims her victory, "I thought you'd lost your touch"
Nay sultry vixen, under this moon’s rays, your sensuality was raw power
Enchanted, resistance now futile, Venus rules this witching hour
-
Written: Fall 2003 by Brian R Dillon (Lovin in the USA)
LOVE’S PYRE
You relished such a delight, to take me in your love so high.
Then cleave me down, looking on with Loki's smile.
You savoring with a malicious sigh.
Far away in his arms, believing me a victim of your guile.
You turning away, thinking me dead on your love's funeral pyre.
As an ancient Norse warrior, on his way to great Odin.
Relishing the flames, rising high from my body and soul on fire.
Little knowing I'd rise, refusing to join my ancient kin.
Now reincarnated, I breathe with Thor's passion.
Hear my heart, like his hammer, its roar in the din.
My magic, mere Valkerie, unveiled in its fashion.
-
Written: Fall 2002 by Brian R Dillon (Of love gone awry, of one called Spellbound)
-
Award: This poem won an award from the International Society of Poets in 2003,
-
Published: Poetry compilation from NOBLE HOUSE titled "Colours of the Heart"(2004).
MIRROR - The Reflection to Behold
A special lady asked me of a mirror, what ‘tis the reflection I see?
An intriguing question, for that’s her way to be
On the outside, I see a man handsome and virile
Of eyes so blue, broad shouldered, with a playful, sexy, smile
On the inside the mirror sees but a prism, for that’s my way
Of passions keltic and deep, a real man, with flaws forever to stay
Yet, the reflection in the mirror, somehow he feels is not right
He ponders but a minute, then a bewildering insight
The reflection he sees is of just one man, a single soul
When it need be of two, for the reflection to be whole
Lady dearest, take my hand, let the mirror behold
A spectacular reflection, of amazing times yet to unfold
For lady, in your beauty, body & face, heart & soul
This vision would cause any man to lose control
Eyes of passion, hair lovely & dark, a body so divine
Your soul to move my spirit, your moxy so delicious and sublime
I entreat you, take my hand, let the mirror embrace my Venus
Be my lady, I your man, mirror behold the magic between us!
. Written: August 2002 by Brian R Dillon (To Spellbound)
The Morrow Matters Naught
Sweat drips, from her face to mine, bodies locked, eyes a glaze.
Her nails dig, her sensations, her long hair caresses my chest.
This mare, unlike so many, senses my needs, she a woman at her best.
This night, reunites us, emotions crashing on the cliff of malaise.
Months since we'd last parted, angry words, lover’s bond ripped apart.
In a fury of passions released, love, anger, lust, rupture thru this eve’s start.
Fleeting, I wonder the 1st thoughts of the dawn, this moment a distant haze.
Next, thought races away, using flesh she takes back my attention.
The morrow matters naught, her desire will not tolerate my distraction.
. Written: Winter 2004 by Brian R Dillon (To surrendering to one's impulses)
. Award: This poem won the Editor's Choice Award from the International Society of Poets in 2004
. Published: poetry compilation titled "Tracing The Infinite" (2004) by the International Library of Poetry
A Tale of Tulips and Two Lips
Hey there, what’s that I hear?
Is it the sounds of luv or just the birds chirpin in the air?
Whatever it be, the wind and cold, once a lion, now merely nips
‘Tis winter’s farewell, of that you've nothing to fear
For spring is upon us, time to be wild, to frolic, without a care
On a breezy terrace, her sangria she sips
Yes indeed, the days longer, the sun’s warmth so near
To strut the urban landscape, look into her eyes if you dare
Into the concrete jungle, creeps the scent and kiss of tulips.
Or is that two-lips?
. Written: Winter 2003 by Brian R Dillon (to a lady of rock)
FREAKY GIRL
You said on first meeting, you were a freaky girl.
As we locked in eye contact, you licking your lips so red.
Sexily in my ear, a tale of nails, bites, and kisses, you'd give me a whirl!
Promising much, you winked, slapped my ass, what had I to dread?
Now, I not so green, I'd heard it all before.
Little did I realize, she'd deliver it all and more!
As a panther on her prey, she pounced on my bones.
It took little time for the boudoir to be rocking with sighs & groans.
She made Rick James’ ‘Very Freaky Girl’ seem a mere squirrel.
Owwww such a night, from the many oysters, I'd landed a true pearl!
‘Tis dawn, I pen this, there’s much more to say.
Alas, she’s awaken with a decadent smile, throws my pad aside.
Next, she snickers its ’time for more play’.
Freaky girl, I'll be happily exhausted from this wild ride!
. Written: 2003 by Brian R Dillon (To a moment and a lass long ago, and her spirit of fun luvin!)
Running for Dawn
Clouds racing by the moon, night air pulsing, your flesh is a quiver
Hounds closing now, weary fox panting, will you greet the dawn hither?
Dodging canine fangs, frantic pulse, a few grasps of life yet to hold
Noble fox, dart & dash, use your wits, be so ever bold!
Lead dog, leap you sod, for the hunt is the gift of your race
Bounding log, jaws closing on flesh, fox in desperate haste
Devil’s cunning, clever red, your next rouse must not fail
Diving a hit, through hedge of thorns, from the hunter a bitter wail
Sweet escape, breathing space, trotting fox glances back
Jaws agape, a scent they can not trace, for this night fox evades the pack
. Written: Fall 2003 by Brian R Dillon (to staying forever one step ahead of the teeth)
Final Stroke of the Brush
Paint still wet, Iberian red, glistens on the wall
Long this eve has been, I struggle, my thoughts distracted
Anxious, concerned, I’ve been awaiting her phone call
This weekend, my distant lady, has promised to arrive
Painting this wall, a final touch, everything must be just right
Uneasy, yesterday our conversation odd, is this love still alive?
Long, too long, I’ve waited for our special night
With each stroke of the brush, eve now dark, wall now deep red
Stark realization, so ironic, its my heart splashed on the wall
Final stroke of the brush, there will be no call, a lover’s dream now dead
. Written: Winter 2004 (From a moment in May 2002, of one called Spellbound) by Brian R Dillon
The Lion Within
In the darkness of deep night
When your far away lover has turned her back and walked away
In the moment that you feel this betrayal was not right
When you seek the reason why she chose not to stay
In the depths of restless sleep
It remains a mystery the reason she couldn’t say why
In the darkness of love so deep
She ignores your calls, preferring not to try nor even say good bye
Let you know your sun will rise again
For the lion within refuses to die
. Written: May 2002 by Brian R Dillon (to personal survival in the depths of love torn apart)
Candle Wax
Crazy, she’s really a sensuous freak
Animal, she claws her way down my spine
Naughty, my baby is in no way meek
Deviant, she nods to the burning candle
Lusty, I’ve no doubt, she’s given her sign
Erotic, her fantasy I can handle
Wicked, her thoughts, a maze, a mesh
Anticipation, droplets descend, a rush so divine
Xanadu, she gasps, as hot wax meets flesh
-
Written: by Brian R Dillon (to stimulation of sensuality, both mind and body, of her I called mi fior)
Path of Safety
You look into my eyes, so deep, so blue
You see your reflection, but ask yourself, is the image true?
You stir restless in the night
You ponder us together, you feel it would be delight
Still you fear to take the chance
Do you have the nerve to sway to this dance?
No, I see you’re not ready, paralyzed with fear
Too tame, too uncertain, to travel this route, you won't risk another tear
As long as she needs to ask, she will not enter my fray
She takes the path of safety, she turns her back at dawn, walks away
- To: She whom lacked courage
- Written: November 2001 by Brian R Dillon
Ray of Light
You light up my living day
With your most delicious way
You brighten up the very night
With a fire of passion burning bright
Though your doubts and fears have kept us at bay
There remains a flicker of hope that this love will find a way
The barriers we will climb, the gates we will pass through
The summit we will reach, if we have a love that is for real and true
I know it has not been easy, be that as it may
This romance between two lovers, in places so far away
The winds, its true have not been kind
The rains, so hard we both feel blind
Still in my heart I believe this will be, its time for us to play
This chemistry most amazing between you and me, its now for us to sway
For if it is fate, our destiny to be one
To frolic, to embrace, and bask in the sun
Then this love so deep, will not this time, be undone
. Written: Spring 2002 by Brian R Dillon (To Spellbound)
Dancer of the Moonlight
A little mystery and intrigue, is that what the moon seeks?
As it dances in the night sky, night clouds travelling so quickly by
And you charming lady, what stirs your soul, from what shadow it peaks?
You perhaps a spirit dancer, dancing with the moon in the sky
This evening shan’t be when first we will speak,
Before the new moon, ‘til then an adieu, an evening’s goodbye
.Written: December 2001 by Brian R Dillon (To the dangers of a full moon)
Of AMBER
Amber hair to the blades of your back, and legs so long
Your smile and grin, the promise of delicious sin
As you walk away, the strut says nothing is wrong
She throw her head back, beckoning me to come within
Now alone, bodies pressing together, we embrace as two
Your nails on my chest, eyes sultry, your lips wet
My fingers caress your abs, run down to your thighs, sensing the arousal in you
You slide down to the floor, pulling me on top
Now a fever so intense, pleasure for hours will be ours non stop
. Written: Spring 2003 by Brian R Dillon (To the allure of her, a red head)
I've posted my poems on POETRY.COM. A great site for all poets or poetry lovers!
________________________________________________________________________________
The Poet's Corner:
PETRARCH Loses his head over a woman!
Here’s a good one, the trivial stuff in the news that often fascinates me more than a big headline, this one from the National Post (Summer 2004):
"How Italian poet lost his head, er, skull is a mystery. Plans to celebrate the 700th anniversary of the birth of one of Italy's greatest poets have been turned into a mystery whodunit by the discovery of someone else's skull in his tomb. "
Skull swapping, now there's a hobby. The poet was Petrarch. The dude whom wrote poems, sonnets (hundreds according to this article) to a babe by the name of Laura.
Petrarch focused on one lovely gal, his Laura, whom he supposedly saw at a church or something one day and became infatuated with her. Goes to show you're never too old to lose your head over a woman.
Beyond his contributions to poetry, he did much to stimulate a renewed interest in writing and reading as Europe exited the middle ages and headed into the renaissance. Actually it seems his tomb was opened at various times in past centuries, and thus a list of possible suspects exists in this 'who dunnit' mystery.
A great 'humanist' whose 700th birthday bash was July 20, 2004 in Italy. Alas plans of doing a portrait of the man, a reconstruction that would have been based on his skeletal remains, was a problem as the skull is that of a lady!
Copyright . Brian R Dillon. All rights reserved.