Let’s Get Personal —with Personal Poetry
Eight example poems follow essay.
Many attempt writing poetry first during adolescence, filled with crushes, puppy-love, and longing. Heartfelt yet Hallmarkian tropes, one must start somewhere. While some of those love poems may fly an arrow in yon subject’s heart, more oft waft an aura not of flowers and romance, but of the poetic callowness and romantic desperation. Much as holding a serenading boombox above one’s head while wearing a trench coat, without need to say anything.
One aspiring anonymous poet I know, recollects after having delivered his soul (aka poetic love sonnets) to his heart’s desire, soon observed his beloved reading them aloud to her snickering, actual boyfriend. (Inspiring poem 1.)
Young romantic poets most probably fail rising to the level of Eric Clapton’s masterpiece “Layla”, the transcendently urgent love song literally inspired by the wife of George Harrison, Patti Boyd. And literarily rooted in the ancient Arabian tale, “Layla’s Mad Lover” about a poet so madly in love with a woman named Layla that he actually went insane.
Eric did have assistance with his song which eventually won him his objet d’affection. Besides his co-writing partner Jim Gordon on the tune, the iconic guitar riff was conceived and played by the great Duane Allman. Plus additional helpers. Melanie Davis of “American Songwriter” declared “(‘Layla’) might be one of the most star-studded collaborations of rock ‘n’ roll history.”
Young poets, post heartache and lust, may of course mature to write emotional personal poems, loving and endearing odes, dedicated to spouses, family, friends, and lovers. Some may be a bit cryptic with inside jokes and puzzling references.
Here are a few examples, starting with one dedicated to the aforementioned romanticist’s account—who did not mature and remains humorously bitter about his would-be affair.
8 Personal Poems
Romeo Void
(read in British accent)
If only I were Romeo
Don’t you understand?
If only I were Romeo
I could be a happy man
I wish that I were Romeo
Then you would love only me
How I wish that I were Romeo
Legendary lover ‘cross the sea
Forget Don Juan and Casanova
the greatest lovers of them all
Just let me be your Ro-me-o
So I could have your heart ‘n soul
To me you would devote yourself
And call out my name in reverie
You’d give me all your passion
And you’d think of only Romeo me
(imagine baroque harpsichord here)
O I wish that I were Romeo
How I wish that I were he
Then I needn’t yearn for you
and I s’pose, he would have to be me!
Never mind gifts and roses
Never mind the ring
You would love me as I am
You’d love me because I am your man
If only I were Romeo
That would be the best
I could just be Romeo
And you would do all the rest
If only I could be Romeo
My life would be complete
If only I could be Romeo
If only –for – one eve’
—JMK (Romeo Void was a popular SF club band in the late 70s early 80’s)
For Dad
(written soon after poet’s father sudden death)
Your large hand held my little one secure
and I was safe and loved for sure
No words were said nor needed
No advice given, nor heeded
Through your strength I felt my own
and this power has always grown
To the father’s hands I too have sown
Down the ages through what the winds have blown
A father’s strength is always there
In deferent ways without compare
—Alex McKleroy (brief bio follows poems)*
Endearment
(dedicated to daughter, Natalie Whitlock Kaliss)
I laugh a little,
and I love a lot, that
here’s a woman,
young and lovely,
seated at
our weathered wooden table,
looking up at me
with the family eyes
of my favorite aunt,
and she’s wondering,
as my wife, her mother, might,
just what is love.
You are,
I might tell both of them,
and your asking is love, too,
(though Mom might not ask,
not out loud).
Natalie nods
with hearing this,
wondering if her Dad knows
(and yes, I do)
that she’s looking for her love to be
a younger, taller man,
whom she might make her own,
a claimed embodiment
of love —
lover, husband, householder —,
their lifelines linked
like canny coils of DNA
that they’ll combine
in launching more to love
inside this lineage.
Natalie sees I see this,
and I see her seeing,
and in our wordless recognition
there’s piano laughter,
and loving in the music of that mirth,
which she’ll recall someday
in chuckles of her own children.
Tell them then, Sweetheart,
that love is all the music
that was ever made,
that ever made it
to our ears and hearts,
it’s all the wording —
spoken, written, shared —
between us and around us.
And loving too,
I must remind you, Dear
(and this may be
the hardest part)
is the love that waits
when you’re alone
with soul and body,
between the busyness
of days and dreams,
the private bliss
of your own being,
the wonder of your way,
the timed and timeless
gratitude of genesis,
my darling,
we must love that
first and last.
— Jeff Kaliss, 13 August, 2025
Longitude and Attitude
(dedicated to daughter, Lucretia Fair King)
In nineteen hundred and ninety-six
the girl arrived
with longitude…
and attitude
Old soul reborn
with dash of sass
Smooth as a song
and glow… so fair
Her daddy said…
doesn’t matter
where you go. Just…
what… you do
Only matters
do your best
Give your love
to those… close… to you
With her paints she’d
brush her world
Trees of Life
dazzling shades
of…gothic… hues…
She’s lost some rounds
yet won her share
divergent dreams
red hearts burst
she’s had… a few
Now…
Her passion dwells
verve and grace
guiding young lives
on paths more sure
to ‘yond frontiers
I will try, but like
shooting stars
I don’t always….
hit it right
… said Daddy’s girl
—With love, J.Macon King, 2020
Wedding Song
(for sister and future brother-in-law)
October is now in our midst my friends
The spirits of Summer are rife
We gather to watch
as JK and Perry
Do jam as husband and wife
We sing for their happiness
Sing for their peace
Sing for the days we’re sharing
Sing for their happiness
Sing for their peace
Sing for the joy we’re sharing
We wish you well down
life’s long path
As together you walk down the way
And here’s to the best that
you each may bring
Each in a special way
The seasons come and
the seasons go
the snow does melt away
And long, long may your love last
As the sun does shine in the sky
We sing for their happiness
Sing for their peace
Sing for the days we’re sharing
Sing for their happiness
Sing for their peace
Sing for the joy we’re sharing
—by Alex McKleroy* 1987
Muse Money
It’s not me.
If I could just play with the Muse
it wouldn’t be a worry.
I dream on her,
wake to her,
bring her to my lap
on mornings,
and play words with her,
and she gives me back
for my time.
She makes me look good
when we go out
to magazines
and cybersites,
people thinking:
what’s she want with him?
It’s not me.
But when I work words with the Muse,
shouldn’t there be money?
I think she dreams in me.
But as I take her
through the world,
I’d have her walk
a gilded way,
paid for her prettiness,
valued for her gifting.
I’m so proud of her.
Could she take pride in me?
—Jeff Kaliss
Perryelogram
(Happy Birthday to Perry)
Angelic beams
Eyes of green
Spirited light
for all happily near
Celebrated
animated enthusiated
Alpine Hypotenuse
of awesome possum powder
Après ski instructor
Hyper-ath-a-letic
Moon Dancer delight
or softly sleeping
Little lamb dreaming
through all the night
Druid magick
for parking spaces
timing traffic’s traces
so greens ignite
Golden Midas touches
with mental lace laces
She can’t be straited
Cultivated but
not collated
Classy sassy
Soul immersed
Rhythmic Romance
Key of Life in
Clef, chord & clave
—Your man, JMK, post highpotnoose, 2026
Speak!
(for friend Chase Watts, who “never had a poem written for him before”)
Hey, there!
He’ll tell you
I’m always by his side.
He doesn’t always say much
but he will tell you that.
If I could,
I’d tell you
that I’m not
always by his side.
No, because
I’m sometimes in his lap.
Where I can feel him.
I mean, feel him,
and feel with him.
Warm, and wanting.
He’s a very feeling fellow,
is Chase Watts, my master.
His side, his lap,
his hand, his heart,
full of feeling.
Just ask Zuma!
She had his lap on Monday.
He doesn’t say much.
But he calls us his bitches,
and we lick him for it.
Just call his name,
because we can’t:
Chase!
Then let him call us:
Mouse! Zuma!
And watch us all
chase us all
out through the door,
up into the trees,
feeling the place,
feeling the chase,
what a day!
Lovell Street,
where we live,
where we love,
curves gently
on the side
of a warm and lovely life.
From where you sit,
now reading this,
can you see
that same warm curve
on Chase’s mouth?
His smile a welcome home,
happy to hear you,
happy to feel you,
you with him,
you with us.
Look through
his open eyes:
where will
the weather go
behind those panes?
Shine and showers
make for rainbows,
make for feeling.
Will you stay with him too,
as we do,
always by his side?
—Jeff Kaliss, 8/28/20
