Fear

From “The Poems of John H. Watson”
Reprinted By M. Vernet
The Missing Years 1883 – 1886

Fear

From an oily puddle of the darkest dark
Dripping hands rise to grip your heart.
Eyes grow wide as a face appears
The deathly skull of the ancient one, Fear.

Fear awakes in yellow fog and mist
Around your limbs it entwines and twists.
Till you stand immobile, unable to run.
Frozen in place till Fear’s deed is done.

Flickering lights on the moor at night
Change to demons outside your sight.
Footsteps heard on the rocky Tor
Fuel your nightmares forever more.

Ghastly shapes and shadows of doom
Transform even the friendliest room.
Torture and horrid dreams of death
Challenge your senses and take your breath.

Fear can bind even a brilliant mind.
Holding back, trembling, afraid to be kind.
For kindness kills the fearsome doubt.
Suddenly there is nothing to worry about.

Fear can not resist the game
Two humans play, it’s always the same.
Conquering Fear is not done alone.
It takes two hearts that love has grown.

Fear can not live where love is confessed.
It can not continue its frightful quest.
For words of love dissolve Fear’s hold.
Two true loving hearts are forever bold.

The Cure for Loneliness

From “The Poems of John H. Watson”
Reprinted By M. Vernet
The Missing Years

The Cure for Loneliness

The rain on the roof makes a tinny sound
Like thousands of pins on the way to the ground.
I can not nap or work or eat
While thousands of pins may endanger my feet.

The wind whines and calls my name.
If I do sometimes answer I am not to blame.
I need to hear the sound of my own voice
Responding to my name, I have no choice.

Lonely thoughts and lonely nights
Echo in darkness and dim all the lights.
Surrounded by people the wind’s all I hear.
You are not whispering in my ear.

So alone in the midst of a crowd
I want to shout and cry out loud.
But all I seem to do is disappear
Into the background when people are near.

I suppose the cure for loneliness
Is to gather courage and befriend the friendless.
But courage fails when you are away
I’ll just talk to the wind for one more day.

Circles

From “The Poems of John H. Watson”
Reprinted by M. Vernet
The Missing Years

Circles

Circular thinking is driving me mad
A thought of you and my heart grows glad.
Yet wait for the turn and worried I’ll be
That you’ll circle back and stop loving me.

Circular rings upon our hands,
Secrets wound in our wedding bands.
Why does a circle mean eternal bliss
When it’s mostly formed of nothingness?

So strong the pull of your circular orbit
I, your moon, circle never to quit.
It seems we have been this way before
Our souls have circled each others orb.

Circular thoughts, please, help me set down.
Placing peace on  my head like a crown.
A circular crown of spiraling vines
Binding me in an endless circle of time.

Romance Abounds

From “The Poems of John H. Watson”
Reprinted By M. Vernet
The Missing Years 1883 – 1886

Romance Abounds

Candles lit in a swiftly darkening room
Bringing new light to the dusky gloom.
A wine bottle cooling on the window sill
Two goblets sparkling ready to be filled.
Wine and candlelight seek to enhance.
Methinks the night abounds in romance.

A table laden with savories
Is waiting in the warm room for me.
A fire dances in the glowing grate
I am ever so grateful I was not late.
Savories and firelight seek to enhance.
Methinks the night abounds in romance.

You come to me with ease and grace
A look of wondrous love on your face.
I moan a sound of gentle surprise
When I see flames flickering in your eyes.
Grace and flickering flames enhance.
Methinks the night abounds in romance.

You take my hand, put a goblet in it
I did not notice the pouring bit.
For I was floating in a moment timeless
My body alive but utterly mindless.
Goblets of floating time enhance.
Methinks the night abounds in romance.

When your lips at long last meet mine
I am drunk from your attention, not wine.
When you pull me along with a smile
All you have done is more than worthwhile.
Lips that taste of smiles enhance.
Methinks the night abounds in romance.

My Friend

From “The Poems of John H. Watson”
Reprinted By M. Vernet
The Missing Years 1883 – 1886

My Friend

It is so forlorn to say goodbye
To a friend well nurtured who satisfies
The quintessential definition of friend.
All good friendships too soon must end.

I leave you with a bit of my heart.
My wistful smiles and jokes as we part
Will linger still in your soulful eyes.
Friends like time so swiftly fly.

I am glad I knew your clever ways.
Your memory I will visit on quiet days.
Remembering the words you shared
Each gesture and thoughtful tug at your hair.

I will treasure each and every scene.
Every pronouncement and every dream.
My Friend, I will always keep you near
Alive in the distant laughter I hear.

Trust

From “The Poems of John H. Watson”
Reprinted By M. Vernet
The Missing Years 1883 – 1886

Trust

In the dark deep night of a Winter’s day
I ponder thoughts that happen my way.
Warm by your side, yet a chill draft comes
Making me think of the nature of love.

I do not trust that we will be perfect
That our love we will never reject.
I know we are human and likely to fall
If put on a pedestal haughty and tall.

I do not trust that we will never fail
Our bodies are wicked and tend to be frail.
The best intentions come crashing down
When piled by two lovers and sloppily bound.

Trust can be a most  flighty thing.
Trust hovers about on flimsy wings.
One thing we know, there can be no doubt
We trust in each other to work things out.

Love Is Not Fair

From “The Poems of John H. Watson”
Reprinted By M. Vernet
The Missing Years 1883 – 1886

Love Is Not Fair

Love is not fair, and lovers will find
It is better with love to be tolerant and kind.
Forgiving the faults of the human being
Who all of your faults is constantly seeing.

Love is not fair, it is never equal.
Your hope in your heart, your heart on a wheel.
Spinning and rolling day after day.
It seems things never go your way.

Love is not fair, it will turn on you,
But your lover will be there to comfort you.
Grateful, you will lean and be held.
Growing stronger as the two of you meld.

Love is not fair, but it is so right.
Seeking a hand in the dead of night.
Taking control then giving completely.
Helping and guiding each other tenderly.

Against The Foggy Night

From “The Poems of John H. Watson”
Reprinted By M. Vernet
The Missing Years 1883 – 1886

Against The Foggy Night

I do not want your constant care,
Nor seek your presence to be always there.
I do not need to be your whole world,
Nor seek for my cup to be overfilled.
I just need to see the strengthening sight
Of your silhouette against the foggy night.

I do not need you to run with me,
Nor seek the comfort of your company.
I do not need you to hold my hand,
Nor seek you to love me as only you can.
I just need to see the strengthening sight
Of your silhouette against the foggy night.

I do not need your compliments,
Nor seek your approval to be confident.
I do not need your criticism or praise,
Nor seek your attention to brighten my days.
I just need to see the strengthening sight
Of your silhouette against the foggy night.

A Poem Of August

From “The Poems of John H. Watson”
Reprinted by M.Vernet
The Missing Years  1883 – 1886

A Poem Of August

Hotheaded August worships Mother Sun.
It is hot before the day’s even begun.
The only month that makes you think fondly
Of snow, ice and temperatures wintry.

A young maiden on an errand of mercy,
Wipes her brow and feels so thirsty
She wanders toward the sound of water.
Not giving a care for whether she ought to.

The trickling sound, soft and cool,
Reveals in the woods a sparkling pool.
She stoops by the bank to take a sip,
Brings a hand with sweet water to her lips.

She dips again and splashes her face.
Looking around there is not a trace
Of anyone living near or far.
She has an idea that for her is bizarre.

She takes off her blouse and linen skirt,
Careful to lay them away from any dirt.
In a few minutes more her corset is sprung
Shoes and stockings all undone.

She slips into the water her dainty foot,
Nearly trips on a gnarly tree root.
Soon she is in the pool up to her knees,
Gazing around and privately pleased.

She thinks of her Mother, who would gasp.
Her Father who in his shock would clasp
His heart and wonder where he went wrong.
She smiles mischieviously, humming a song.

All at once an fierce August storm
Rumbles threateningly in the calm.
Dark clouds come to blacken the sky.
She shakes her head and wonders why.

The maiden struggles with her clothes.
Her parents will worry, her duty she knows.
Wild, hot winds usher in the rain.
Lightning strikes the quiet lane.

She ponders as she walks to town
With thunder, lightning, and rain pouring down,
If August knows how naughty she’s been.
For she was now soaked right to her skin.

To Write A Poem

From “The Poems of John H. Watson”
Reprinted By M. Vernet
The Missing Years 1883 – 1886

To Write A Poem

To write a poem I do not dare,
My muse has left my side.
I dwelt too long in dark despair
And lost my ethereal guide.

I am so conflicted about my life,
Somehow the spark is gone.
All I can see is rage and strife.
The days grow cold and long.

My love seems far away from me,
Happily unaware and complacent.
Yet through a fog  my mind doth see
Shadows of dark reason reticent.

I can not help but turn my face
Away from bliss and joyfulness.
My love must never see the trace
Of lines formed by pain and bitterness.

How do I write a passionate poem
Abandoned by all I hold dear?
Where is the rose lined path I roamed
Before I succumbed to fear?