LOVE IN RAIN3If you keep looking for love and never give up on finding it, there’s a much better chance that you will succeed in finding it and knowing what happiness is. Since I’ve experienced this myself, I know this to be true.  It can happen…even on the darkest, coldest and rainiest night or day and at the very moment you’re ready to give up.  It can happen.  And often does!

Patrick The Poet


For years I’ve stood out here in the lonely looking rain,
Counting the darkest clouds in the lonely looking sky.
Searching for someone to count my tears and feel my pain,
And sooth me with a soft kiss and a broken-hearted sigh.

For I’ve looked for you in sunshine and on sunny days
Where love had seemed warm and rife and always strolling by.
But dark and cloudy years only learned to count the ways
How brief is sunshine…and how quickly sunny skies can fly!

And so, I’d walk rainy streets looking for hope and love,
Thinking if I called your name, I might hear you reply;
And we might see more than lonely looking skies above
(And find something more from this life than dreams that only die!)

For one day you’d look and know your hopes were not in vain.
You’d see I’ve lived a lifetime for you to walk on by!
Then learning I’ve counted all your tears and felt your pain,
You’d know I’ve been waiting here in the lonely looking rain
To sooth you with a soft kiss and a broken-hearted sigh.


sad loversWhen you grow older you are more likely to have an experience like the one I write about in my poem here.  It’s the experience of breaking up with someone you loved, of facing possible divorce, of having to end a relationship you thought was for a lifetime, and of having to confront the unexpected and horrendous change we all think will never come.  But on the hopeful side of things is that force each of us has that can defeat the power of change.  And that force inside us is the free will to resist, and the force to not give up and try with all of one’s might to hold on and not surrender and not let go.  We can call this force determination.  Some might call it love.  Others still, desperation.

Patrick The Poet


Another summer day in winter comes along,
And overhead the seagulls soar, and scratch and caw.
And though the morning feels warm and the sun seems strong,
My heart’s still too cold for the frozen sand to thaw.
The beach is hazy, and lazy waves lick the shore,
Here where we first met and used to come years ago.
And though we’ve come here now to find ourselves once more,
How lovers can fall out of love…I’ll never know.
I only know we found each other by the sea,
Back when our hearts were earnest and our lives were young.
Here in this place where love was made and meant to be,
And words like goodbye were meant to remain unsung.
For it’s a sad thing to see perfect love go wrong.
And find happiness impossible to arrange.
Sometimes you have to sing alone and not along,
And stop trying to change someone who will not change.
Still, growing tired of being lonely and apart,
Should we not take another stroll along the shore?
Might I then reach into your mercenary heart
And now convince you that love is worth fighting for?
For a summer day in winter was when we met,
Though the past is lost–I know love can live again!
For my lips are earnest not to let you forget,
And kiss you now as you forgot I kissed you then.



Sometimes a thing can be happy and sad at the same time, and too painful to deal with but also incredible beautiful that you just can’t turn away from it.  This duality exists in many things in life I believe.  But what can you do but embrace the very thing you know you cannot bear to hold and suffer in your heart? What can you do when you know you cannot live without the very thing that will kill you?  Here is a poem about this very subject we all must face at some time in our lives.

–Patrick The Poet


I fold my arms around you,
You slip into my embrace.
While the anguish of my tears
Seems mirrored upon your face.

So I imagine them there,
Like sunlight on rainy days;
My lips kissing memories,
Like sweet lies the truth betrays.

Still I savor one last kiss,
Then lift you into your grave.
One last kiss to court the past,
And the life love failed to save.

Gone is the warmth of your lips,
Gone the treasure of your breath.
And though everything is gone,
You are beautiful in death!

For a faint smile lines your face.
Sunlight lingers in your hair.
And though life seems present still,
It’s as lifeless as despair!

Were it I could steal away
And give even one more kiss.
Instead of embracing death,
And giving more tears to this!

Yet such are life’s memories
Death scars with tears and regret:
Too painful to remember.
Too beautiful to forget.


Poetry should not have to be only light, bright, and happy, and about love and nature.  It can be other things, too.  The one and only Edgar Allan Poe incredibly demonstrated this.  So have many other popular poets.  A little darkness and sadness and misery can be well-shown and treated in a poem, and uniquely expressed beyond the capabilities of prose.  So I offer up such a poem here.  It’s not only a dark poem, but its sole purpose is to be dark  And maybe something more than this.




 Fraught with fear and sadness, caught in this mind-numbing flood
The water is just the right tint of darkness–and blood!
For the morning is long gone and the night is well fed
Upon the synonyms and metaphors of existence,
Human and otherwise, and all who failed resistance…
Where this driving, pitiful river hopelessly led!
Choose the path too easy and the purpose without rules
You find yourself drowning in a world governed by fools!
For we hate these truth-filled answers so take lust to bed
Or upon the desert air pretend stark defiance,
As the Morning Star knows for whom you swore allegiance,
As lies bring comfort while vultures circle overhead!
We sell our lives for pennies, we sell our souls for gold,
Then comes the Devil’s due we pray death won’t be so cold!
Did you think to sulk in safety and escape the dread?
That God was always near and would forgive each dark day?
And show that the righteous path was the easier way?
All the while you walk graveyards and live to rob the dead?



A lot of women, I long ago discovered, have fantasies of making love beneath a waterfall.  There are many reasons why, but I won’t go into them.  Here is a poem a little bit about that fantasy.  It’s more a poem about being loved and loving someone as wildly and permanently as a powerful waterfall whose permanence is not so permanent nor symbolic of only these romantic qualities.  Oh yeah, in the poem petals from a flower also have importance.  Don’t ask!

I remember the cacophonous waterfall,
our bodies bare and tender beneath;
I remember the warmth and basking sunlight,
and love so real and wonderful…but all too brief.
Then like scripture spoken on a holy night,
and sculpture carved from a solemn art,
I remember the intimate contours of your soul!
…and lips as soft as petals
from a flower that touched my heart.
Then gentle waters flowed over us
like timeless, incandescent amber,
and we were embedded in glory without breach.
For the story of beauty was in your eyes,
and passionate eternity seemed within reach!
For like a poverty overcome by happiness,
and a madness too beautifully mad to appall,
I remember succumbing to infinite paradise
and deathlessly drowning
beneath its infinitely soothing waterfall.
But now I must endlessly ponder
timelessly and hopelessly why
paradise is often but a day
and lives no longer than now.
Oh, I can but tirelessly wonder
why such ultimate love
would rather perish
than swear eternal vow?
For I can only believe in the eternity of things
and in the ultimate deathlessness of love.
Until faint grows the memory of it all,
as aging years rush on to only remember
the fading roar of an intimate waterfall
and the infinitely bitter brevity of all things.
For bare and tender is this solemn art
where now the memory of silence sings!
…and lips as soft as petals
from a flower that broke my heart.

Sacred Treasure

On this date exactly eight years ago I lost my sacred treasure.  And she was the most sacred of life’s treasures that God gives to man.  And time is a strange commodity: for the years can sometimes seem like days, and eight years but eight hours ago.  The fraility and preciousness of life is something we all often take for granted.  So for a long time now I frequently advise people not to do this and to cherish every blessing and every treasure they have in life.  In any event, this and related topics are things I often write about in verse.  When I lost my scared treasure I was forced to write several incisive poems, and this one here is a major opus from among them. 

But it’s just a poem and an opinion expressed in verse, and not something anyone has to take to heart.  Still, I haven’t seen or experienced anything to change my philosophical view and the opinion I expressed in this poem.  Like a favorite Jackson Browne song, I guess I’m a holdout for such a change to someday come.  If or when it ever does, I’ll make sure to let everyone know!



When I was a child I watched the world hurrying about,
And sometimes wondered what was all the worrying about?
What for all the hustle and bustle and desperate need
That kept everyone running everywhere at mindless speed?
What was the gem that made everyone dying to find it
Which somehow always left everyone one step behind it?

I knew soon enough a few years later (though still a youth!)
What they sought and would always be the most sought-after truth;
One day when I found myself strangely searching for it too
(Ah, in every place I went and on every face I knew!)
That my life too would be forever committed to this…
Elusive heaven…some sunken treasure…a lover’s kiss!

And so, I went about my life while learning to survive,
But still I waited for the Sacred Treasure to arrive.
Often I sought it in the places where I labored and toiled;
Sometimes in the heart of beauty, whose heart was cold and spoiled.
Or even within the corridors of power and fame
Till I saw in their eyes the Treasure had given no claim!

So I spent years gazing upon the lifetimes of some few
Who would boast they had found it–to learn if one claim was true!
And though their words were tinged with joy, and their faces would smile,
I knew the treasure they had found would only last a while.
And that the Sacred Treasure–if it did really exist–
Was as temporary as a frail, early-morning mist!

And though the “while” was a sweet and beautiful and great thing,
It was doomed to always be a brief and found-too-late thing!
Still, I looked among lovers and children and families
Thinking (but just a while!) that I would see what true love sees!
And the Sacred Treasure would come and rescue my sad life
Then finally end the travails of my unending strife!

But no, the pain was not to end! the joy was not to be!
Every well-sought life is met with darkness and tragedy!
For some it comes in a friend or loved-one’s sudden last breath.
For others it is the unforeseen, unexpected death
Of any gist of success you had ever dreamt or planned
Suddenly lost…or taken from you…by some unseen hand.

Then I would visit any pertinent temple and church
And even for a while…thought now that I could end my search,
Only to find that all my hopeless life would ever find
Was some dubious taste of faith and mindless peace of mind!
Whose prayers for deathless life made this one less painful to feel
So some can give up the search and swear the waste is not real!

No matter, one disconcerting day…not so long ago
I finally caught the Specter (oh…little did I know!)–
Fame and fortune were mine! Success had come to me at last!
By God! I had even grasped true love from the dark, cold past!)
Then I woke up one next day from my placid, giddy bed…
To find my success gone bankrupt…and my true love was dead!

Though now I hear the beauty of immense music and song
And can feel the grace of the stars in heaven sing along,
(Along with all the wonder and splendor upon this earth!)–
The presence of truth and goodness, the miracle of birth,
The thrill of great events, the rewards of brave endeavor,
Are all meaningless to me…and will be so forever!

The Sacred Treasure does not live and is not meant to be!
(So life is hapless! And freedom is wasted on the free!)
The Sacred Treasure does not live–and we are blind to see
That the purpose of the journey…is only the journey.

And though I would gaze through the eyes of a desolate child
Hoping yet to find one soul upon whom the angels had smiled,
That it could be mine till the day old age would see me die
(Before I curse for the last time the dreaded word “goodbye!”)
I would keep to the baseless search for the Sacred Treasure
Blessed by what I may find from brief joy and fleeting pleasure.
But no! I must tell the searching world…and with little cheer…
If you’re looking for happiness…ah, don’t look for it here.


Maybe the only thing worse than having no one to love is having to suffer platitudes from people who do.  They never cease giving advice and telling you what you need and how to obtain or earn it.  They’ve got love so they’ve got happiness.  So obviously they’re way ahead of you and closer to answering the mystery of the universe than you ever will.  So I find these people sometimes quite annoying; you know, the people who seeming got everything.  And know it.  And all you want more than anything is someone to love.

Here’s a poem that better explains–or at least more deeply explains–exactly what I mean.

We all need someone to love and be loved by,
Clearly and dearly and with deep affection.
For such love makes our lives full–and so did I!
Long ago make such a cosmic connection.
And her eyes were endless and her hair was black,
And her smile was the color of happiness.
Still, though it’s been years since she never came back,
My life lives for the knowing of one more kiss!
For her lips were rubies and her love was bliss,
And every night the fire inside our hearts would dance!
So what care have I for those who’ll never miss
The infinite longing for a second chance?
So, was I ever happy, you dare to ask?
You who have no quarrel with happiness or why!
Oh, spare yourself pondering the thankless task.
Have you not someone to love and be loved by?

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