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Gold Star I remember as a young boy, going out to play, I would sometimes see old Mr. Kimball, sitting on the steps of his porch, often The Secret The Secret Somewhere someplace not far away a couple lied together. No talk about the future no talk about forever. They had lovers of their own their lovers A Getaway To Ancient Venice I can still recall the look upon His face Each thought still makes me go to that enchanting place The vernal air was floral sweet and honey Shadow Puppets Once, side by side, they walked the moonlit beach in silence, each alone and incomplete in detached worlds, joined only by the reach of tiny, lapping waves upon A Love That Can Wait Dreams of driving in the fast lane hair in the wind, best girl at my side a couple of kids rumbling in the back seat to the promised When Love Is Forever Resting on the beige leather couch next to the dimly lit tiffany lamp He dozed off into an early night sleep She smiled looking at him as What is Love What is Love Trust - unconditionally in that someone special.

Faith - and devotion through divine destiny. Contentment - in knowing love is equally reciprocated. Soul connection - that Return Full moon I sit on the pier as it groans with swells, My Heart Sobs I'm till struggling to connect with you It feels strange that you are actually here, and so near..

So Anactoria, although you being far away forget us, the dear sound of your footstep and light glancing in your eyes would move me more than glitter of Lydian horse or armored tread of mainland infantry. Love Is a ripe plum Growing on a purple tree. Taste it once And the spell of its enchantment Will never let you be.

Love Is a bright star Glowing in far Southern skies. Look too hard And its burning flame Will always hurt your eyes. Love Is a high mountain Stark in a windy sky. If you Would never lose your breath Do not climb too high. I love you for what you are, but I love you yet more for what you are going to be. I love you not so much for your realities as for your ideals. I pray for your desires that they may be great, rather than for your satisfactions, which may be so hazardously little.

A satisfied flower is one whose petals are about to fall. The most beautiful rose is one hardly more than a bud wherein the pangs and ecstasies of desire are working for a larger and finer growth. You are going forward toward something great. I am on the way with you and therefore I love you. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

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I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight For the ends of being and ideal grace. I love thee freely, as men strive for right; I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with a love I seemed to lose With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death. Do you remember still the falling stars that like swift horses through the heavens raced and suddenly leaped across the hurdles of our wishes—do you recall?

And we did make so many!


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For there were countless numbers of stars: each time we looked above we were astounded by the swiftness of their daring play, while in our hearts we felt safe and secure watching these brilliant bodies disintegrate, knowing somehow we had survived their fall. Speak earth and bless me with what is richest make sky flow honey out of my hips rigis mountains spread over a valley carved out by the mouth of rain.

And I knew when I entered her I was high wind in her forests hollow fingers whispering sound honey flowed from the split cup impaled on a lance of tongues on the tips of her breasts on her navel and my breath howling into her entrances through lungs of pain.

Greedy as herring-gulls or a child I swing out over the earth over and over again. I am ready to forsake this worldly life and surrender to the magnificence of your Being. I want to grow something.

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It seems impossible that desire can sometimes transform into devotion; but this has happened. I think I made you up inside my head. The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.

PDF Poetry Of A Young Couple

I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. This was the first ever poem I posted on instagram. I captioned it "I am no longer allowing my poems to collect dust" and I was so, so terrified to post. I get tagged in reposts.

People thank me for sharing my work. One step has led to another and I'm pursuing poetry full time! I say this to show y'all that success is always on the other side of fear. Make the first move, and keep going. I've progressed a lot as a writer, and seeing my growth is one of the most fulfilling feelings ever. I'm moving in the direction I set. There's so much power in that.

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A post shared by Aman K. Batra amankbatra on May 3, at pm PDT. When I cannot look at your face I look at your feet. Your feet of arched bone, your hard little feet.


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I know that they support you, and that your sweet weight rises upon them. Your waist and your breasts, the doubled purple of your nipples, the sockets of your eyes that have just flown away, your wide fruit mouth, your red tresses, my little tower. But I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me. Edit of an older poem.

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Bluebird Typewriter Poetry 7 poetry seanbates typewriter writersofinstagram. You and I Have so much love, That it Burns like a fire, In which we bake a lump of clay Molded into a figure of you And a figure of me. Then we take both of them, And break them into pieces, And mix the pieces with water, And mold again a figure of you, And a figure of me.

I am in your clay. You are in my clay. In life we share a single quilt. In death we will share one bed. O never give the heart outright, For they, for all smooth lips can say, Have given their hearts up to the play. And who could play it well enough If deaf and dumb and blind with love? He that made this knows all the cost, For he gave all his heart and lost. And, alas! How little I thought, a year ago, In the horrible cottage upon the Lee That he and I should be sitting so And sipping a cup of camomile tea. Light as feathers the witches fly, The horn of the moon is plain to see; By a firefly under a jonquil flower A goblin toasts a bumble-bee.

We might be fifty, we might be five, So snug, so compact, so wise are we! Under the kitchen-table leg My knee is pressing against his knee. Our shutters are shut, the fire is low, The tap is dripping peacefully; The saucepan shadows on the wall Are black and round and plain to see. What are your favorite love poems? Want even more love like lots of it?