Welcome to My Poetry Site

268,416 poems read


Fantasy, mother of love, lust, longing, passion

And surrender, wherein one may find love as

Love was meant to be found and know love as

Love was meant to be known. Journeying to the

Well-guarded, some might say unexplored centre

Of the heart, where love and the demands of love

Are held secret and whispered only (with a little

Coaxing and encouragement) when wrapped in

The arms of the one who knows where the sea

Of dreams lap the shores of sweet rapture.


Delay me not, for I am love, and I cannot be

Halted.’ ‘Some may think me slow, others not

There at all; but discredit me not, for I am wise

And I am wicked and my dwelling place lies in

The arms of the unexpected.’


The tears of Venus are often shed to little

Purpose, but be assured that such times pass

and with their passing comes love that may be

Unimaginable at present. There is no true way

Of knowing where love rests its head, again, it

Is where one least expects, locked firmly in the

Certainty of uncertainty. There is no charter or

Treaty on earth possessed of such delicate

coordinates, romance has no password nor

Does it need one, for love comes by chance,

No n
otice need be given, no forewarning, not

Even i
n the stars, no search for love required,

Teuth i
s, love will find you.


It is the eyes, the fingers, the flesh and the

Heart that lay a pathway of consent between

Lovers, where the boundaries are blurred and

The rules unclearly written. Light or dark, touch

Acts as the as the eyes of the heart, images of

Love, contours of creation, until finally, fingers

Touch the source of man’s creation… but let us

Retrace our steps a little, for watching a lady

Slowly disrobe has a power far beyond words

(Some may may call wicked) be that as it may,

Touch enhanced by such means is at the roots

Of love, thus further shortening a fuse already

Mightily close to detonation.


Lost and alone on a starlit night when suddenly

An image to die for appears astride a galloping

White charger; an iron glove swoops down like

An eagle sweeping the lady off her feet up into

The air and into the arms of a nobleman known

In the realms of fantasia as the Heart Healer. He

Will soothe her pain and she will know love this

Night as she has have never known love before.


Castles in the air, pie in the sky, wishful thinking,

Daydreams, all these things are found in fantasy

But look here, fantasy is not to be taken lightly, for

Fantasy is the flip side of destiny and one day all

Those things you thought unlikely and well beyond

Your grasp may in time come within easy reach, for

This is the beauty of fantasy. The girl who couldn't

Possibly love you but does, the boy who couldn't

Possibly want you but can't stay away - now that

My friends is fantasy at its best.


© Joseph G Dawson

Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem