I have an easygoing way about me. Her body is not so white as anemone petals nor so smooth—nor so remote a thing. It is a field of the wild carrot taking thefield by force; the grass does not raise above it. Here is no question of whiteness, white as can be, with a purple mole at the center of each flower. Wherever his hand has lain there is a tiny purple blossom under his touch to which the fibres of her being stem one by one, each to its end, until the whole field is a white desire, empty, a single stem, a cluster, flower by flower, a pious wish to whiteness gone over— or nothing.
I love you as a sheriff searches for a walnut That will solve a murder case unsolved for years Because the murderer left it in the snow beside a window Through which he saw her head, connecting with Her shoulders by a neck, and laid a red Roof in her heart. For this we live a thousand years; For this we love, and we live because we love, we are not Inside a bottle, thank goodness! I love you as the sunlight leads the prow Of a ship which sails From Hartford to Miami, and I love you Best at dawn, when even before I am awake the sun Receives me in the questions which you always pose.
Sometimes she is like sherry, like the sun through a vessel of glass, Like light through an oriel window in a room of yellow wood; Sometimes she is the colour of lions, of sand in the fire of noon, Sometimes as bruised with shadows as the afternoon. Sometimes she moves like rivers, sometimes like trees; Or tranced and fixed like South Pole silences; Sometimes she is beauty, sometimes fury, sometimes neither, Sometimes nothing, drained of meaning, null as water. A post shared by amanda lovelace ladybookmad on Oct 10, at When we are old and these rejoicing veins Are frosty channels to a muted stream, And out of all our burning their remains No feeblest spark to fire us, even in dream, This be our solace: O sweet, O heavy-lidded, O my love, When morning strikes her spear upon the land, And we must rise and arm us and reprove The insolent daylight with a steady hand, Be not discountenanced if the knowing know We rose from rapture but an hour ago.
She is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine. And her voice is a string of coloured beads, Or steps leading into the sea. She loves me all that she can, And her ways to my ways resign; But she was not made for any man, And she never will be all mine.
Typewriter Series by Tyler Knott Gregson …. Go grab some holiday gifts at chasersofthelight. A post shared by Tyler Knott Gregson tylerknott on Dec 17, at 4: Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly; Their beauty shakes me who was once serene; Straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen. Only your word will heal the injury To my hurt heart, while yet the wound is clean— Your two great eyes will slay me suddenly; Their beauty shakes me who was once serene. Upon my word, I tell you faithfully Through life and after death you are my queen; For with my death the whole truth shall be seen.
Some say a cavalry corps, some infantry, some, again, will maintain that the swift oars of our fleet are the finest sight on dark earth; but I say that whatever one loves, is. This is easily proved: 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. 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! For there were countless numbers of stars: 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. My desire is always the same; wherever Life deposits me: I want to grow something. 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. I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. 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. A post shared by Aman K. Fame is a fickle food. Fame is the one that does not stay.
Fame is the tint that Scholars leave. Fame of Myself, to justify. Fame's Boys and Girls, who never die. Far from Love the Heavenly Father.
58 Beautiful Love Poems to Read Right Now
Fate slew Him, but He did not drop. Finding is the first Act. Finite — to fail, but infinite to Venture. Fitter to see Him, I may be. Floss won't save you from an Abyss. Flowers — Well — if anybody. For Death — or rather. For each ecstatic instant. For every Bird a Nest. For largest Woman's Hearth I knew. For this — accepted Breath. Forbidden Fruit a flavor has. Forever — is composed of Nows. Forever at His side to walk. Forever honored by the Tree. The lady with the Amulet. Four Trees — upon a solitary Acre.
Frequently the woods are pink -. Frigid and sweet Her parting Face. From all the Jails the Boys and Girls. From Blank to Blank. From Cocoon forth a Butterfly. From his slim Palace in the Dust. From Us She wandered now a Year. Funny — to be a Century. Further in Summer than the Birds. Garland for Queens, may be. Gathered into the Earth. Given in Marriage unto Thee. Glass was the Street — in tinsel Peril. Glee — The great storm is over. Glory is that bright tragic thing. Glowing is her Bonnet.
Go not too near a House of Rose. Go slow, my soul, to feed thyself. Go tell it — What a Message. Go thy great way! Go travelling with us! God gave a Loaf to every Bird. God is a distant — stately Lover. God is indeed a jealous God. God made a little Gentian. God made no act without a cause.
God permits industrious Angels. Good Morning — Midnight. Which put the Candle out? Good night, because we must. Good to hide, and hear 'em hunt! Gratitude — is not the mention. Great Streets of silence led away. Grief is a Mouse. Growth of Man — like Growth of Nature. Guest am I to have. Had I known that the first was the last. Had I not seen the Sun. Had I not This, or This, I said. Had I presumed to hope. Had this one Day not been. Had we known the Ton she bore.
Had we our senses. Have any like Myself. Have you got a Brook in your little heart. He ate and drank the precious Words. He forgot — and I — remembered. He fought like those Who've nought to lose. He found my Being — set it up. He fumbles at your Soul. He gave away his Life. He is alive, this morning. He lived the Life of Ambush. He outstripped Time with but a Bout. He parts Himself — like Leaves. He preached upon Breadth till it argued him narrow.
He put the Belt around my life. He scanned it — staggered. He strained my faith. He told a homely tale. He touched me, so I live to know. He was my host — he was my guest. He was weak, and I was strong — then. He went by sleep that drowsy route. He who in Himself believes. We will forget him! Heart, not so heavy as mine. Heaven — is what I cannot reach! Heaven has different Signs — to me. Heaven is so far of the Mind.
Heavenly Father — take to thee. Her — last Poems. Her breast is fit for pearls. Her face was in a bed of hair. Her final Summer was it. Her Grace is all she has. Her little Parasol to lift. Her Losses make our Gains ashamed. Her smile was shaped like other smiles. Her spirit rose to such a height. Her Sweet turn to leave the Homestead. Her sweet Weight on my Heart a Night. Here, where the Daisies fit my Head. Herein a Blossom lies. High from the earth I heard a bird.
His Bill an Auger is. His Bill is clasped — his Eye forsook. His Cheek is his Biographer. His Feet are shod with Gauze. His Heart was darker than the starless night. His little Hearse like Figure. His Mansion in the Pool. His Mind like Fabrics of the East. His mind of man, a secret makes. His voice decrepit was with Joy. Hope is a strange invention. Hope is a subtle Glutton. Hope is the thing with feathers. Houses — so the Wise Men tell me.
How brittle are the Piers. How dare the robins sing. How destitute is he. How far is it to Heaven? How firm Eternity must look. How fits his Umber Coat. How fleet — how indiscreet an one. How fortunate the Grave. How good his Lava Bed. How happy I was if I could forget. How happy is the little Stone. How Human Nature dotes. How know it from a Summer's Day?
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How lonesome the Wind must feel Nights. How many Flowers fail in Wood. How many schemes may die. How many times these low feet staggered. How much of Source escapes with thee. How much the present moment means. How News must feel when travelling. How noteless Men, and Pleiads, stand. How ruthless are the gentle. How sick — to wait — in any place — but thine. How slow the Wind.
How soft a Caterpillar steps. How soft this Prison is. How still the Bells in Steeples stand. How the old Mountains drip with Sunset. How the Waters closed above Him. How well I knew Her not. I am afraid to own a Body. I am alive — I guess. I am ashamed — I hide. I asked no other thing. I bet with every Wind that blew. I breathed enough to take the Trick. I bring an unaccustomed wine. I Came to buy a smile — today. I can wade Grief. I can't tell you — but you feel it.
I cannot be ashamed. I cannot buy it — 'tis not sold. I cannot dance upon my Toes. I cannot live with You. I cannot meet the Spring unmoved. I cannot see my soul but know 'tis there. I cannot want it more. I cautious, scanned my little life. I could bring You Jewels — had I a mind to. I could die — to know. I could not drink it, Sweet. I could not prove the Years had feet. I could suffice for Him, I knew. I cried at Pity — not at Pain. I cross till I am weary. I did not reach Thee. I died for Beauty — but was scarce. I dreaded that first Robin, so. I dwell in Possibility.
I envy Seas, whereon He rides. I fear a Man of frugal Speech. I felt a Cleaving in my Mind. I felt a Funeral, in my Brain. I felt my life with both my hands. I fit for them. I found the words to every thought. I gained it so. I gave myself to Him. I got so I could take his name. I groped for him before I knew. I had a daily Bliss. I had a guinea golden. I had been hungry, all the Years. I had no Cause to be awake. I had no time to Hate. I had not minded — Walls. I had some things that I called mine. I had the Glory — that will do.
I have a Bird in spring. I have a King, who does not speak. I have never seen Volcanoes. I have no Life but this. I haven't told my garden yet. I heard a Fly buzz — when I died. I heard, as if I had no Ear. I held a Jewel in my fingers. I hide myself within my flower. I keep my pledge. I knew that I had gained. I know a place where Summer strives. I know lives, I could miss. I know of people in the Grave. I know some lonely Houses off the Road. I know Suspense — it steps so terse.
I know that He exists. I know where Wells grow — Droughtless Wells. I learned — at least — what Home could be. I like a look of Agony. I like to see it lap the Miles. I live with Him — I see His face. I lived on Dread. I lost a World — the other day! I made slow Riches but my Gain. I make His Crescent fill or lack. I many times thought Peace had come. I meant to find Her when I came. I meant to have but modest needs. I measure every Grief I meet. I met a King this afternoon! I never felt at Home — Below. I never hear that one is dead.
I never hear the word escape. I never lost as much but twice. I never saw a Moor. I never told the buried gold. I noticed People disappeared. I often passed the village.
Short Sweet Love Poems
I pay — in Satin Cash. I play at Riches — to appease. I prayed, at first, a little Girl. I read my sentence — steadily. I reason, Earth is short. I reckon — when I count it all. I robbed the Woods. I rose — because He sank. I saw no Way — The Heavens were stitched. I saw that the Flake was on it. I saw the wind within her. I see thee better — in the Dark. I see thee clearer for the Grave. I send Two Sunsets. I send you a decrepit flower.
I shall keep singing! I shall know why — when Time is over. I shall not murmur if at last. I should have been too glad, I see. I should not dare to be so sad. I should not dare to leave my friend. I showed her Heights she never saw. I sing to use the Waiting. I sometimes drop it, for a Quick. I started Early — Took my Dog. I stepped from Plank to Plank. I stole them from a Bee. I sued the News — yet feared — the News.
I suppose the time will come. I taste a liquor never brewed. I tend my flowers for thee. I think I was enchanted. I think just how my shape will rise. I think that the Root of the Wind is Water. I think the Hemlock likes to stand. I think the longest Hour of all. I think to Live — may be a Bliss. I thought that nature was enough.
I thought the Train would never come. I tie my Hat — I crease my Shawl. I took my Power in my Hand. I took one Draught of Life. I tried to think a lonelier Thing. I want — it pleaded — All its life. I was a Phoebe — nothing more. I was the slightest in the House. I watched her face to see which way. I watched the Moon around the House.
I went to Heaven. I went to thank Her. I worked for chaff and earning Wheat. I would distil a cup. I would not paint — a picture. I Years had been from Home. I'd rather recollect a setting. I'll clutch — and clutch. I'll send the feather from my Hat! I'll tell you how the Sun rose. I'm ceded — I've stopped being Theirs. I'm saying every day. I'm sorry for the Dead — Today. I'm the little Heart's Ease!
I'm wife — I've finished that. I've dropped my Brain — My Soul is numb. I've got an arrow here. I've heard an Organ talk, sometimes. I've known a Heaven, like a Tent. I've none to tell me to but Thee. I've nothing else — to bring, You know. I've seen a Dying Eye. Ideals are the Fairly Oil. If all the griefs I am to have. If any sink, assure that this, now standing. If anybody's friend be dead. If Blame be my side — forfeit Me. If ever the lid gets off my head.
If He dissolve — then. If He were living — dare I ask. If I can stop one Heart from breaking. If I could bribe them by a Rose. If I could tell how glad I was. If I may have it, when it's dead. If I should cease to bring a Rose. If I should die. If I shouldn't be alive. If I'm lost — now. If it had no pencil. If my Bark sink. If Nature smiles — the Mother must. If pain for peace prepares. If recollecting were forgetting. If she had been the Mistletoe. If the foolish, call them flowers. If this is fading.
If those I loved were lost. If What we could — were what we would. If wrecked upon the Shoal of Thought. If you were coming in the Fall. If your Nerve, deny you. Image of Light, Adieu. Immortal is an ample word.
In Ebon Box, when years have flown. In falling Timbers buried. In lands I never saw — they say. In many and reportless places. In rags mysterious as these. In snow thou comest. In this short Life. In thy long Paradise of Light. In Winter in my Room. Is Bliss then, such Abyss. Is Heaven a Physician? Is Immortality a bane. Is it dead — Find it.
Is it too late to touch you, Dear? Is it true, dear Sue? It always felt to me — a wrong. It bloomed and dropt, a Single Noon. It came at last but prompter Death. It came his turn to beg. It can't be Summer! It ceased to hurt me, though so slow. It did not surprise me. It don't sound so terrible — quite — as it did. It dropped so low — in my Regard. It feels a shame to be Alive. It is a lonesome Glee. It is an honorable Thought. It is easy to work when the soul is at play. It knew no lapse, nor Diminution. It knew no Medicine.
36 Short Love Poems - For Him and Her
It makes no difference abroad. It might be lonelier. It rises — passes — on our South. It sifts from Leaden Sieves. It sounded as if the Streets were running. It stole along so stealthy. It struck me — every Day. It tossed — and tossed. It troubled me as once I was. It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone. It was a quiet seeming Day. It was a quiet way. It was given to me by the Gods. It was not Death, for I stood up.
It was not Saint — it was too large. It was too late for Man. It will be Summer — eventually. It would have starved a Gnat. It would never be Common — more — I said. It would not know if it were spurned. It's all I have to bring today. It's coming — the postponeless Creature. It's easy to invent a Life.
It's like the Light. It's such a little thing to weep. It's thoughts — and just One Heart. Its Hour with itself. Its little Ether Hood. Joy to have merited the Pain. Just as He spoke it from his Hands. Just lost, when I was saved! Just so — Jesus — raps. Kill your Balm — and its Odors bless you. Knows how to forget! Lad of Athens, faithful be. Lain in Nature — so suffice us.
Lay this Laurel on the One. Least Bee that brew. Least Rivers — docile to some sea. Left in immortal Youth. Lest any doubt that we are glad that they were born Today. Lest they should come — is all my fear. Lest this be Heaven indeed. Let down the Bars, Oh Death. Let me not mar that perfect Dream. Let me not thirst with this Hock at my Lip. Let my first Knowing be of thee. Let Us play Yesterday. Lethe in my flower. Life — is what we make of it. Life, and Death, and Giants. Lift it — with the Feathers. Light is sufficient to itself. Lightly stepped a yellow star. Like Brooms of Steel.
Like eyes that looked on Wastes. Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews. Like her the Saints retire. Like Men and Women Shadows walk. Like Mighty Foot Lights — burned the Red.
Edwin Morgan (poet)
Like Rain it sounded till it curved. Like Some Old fashioned Miracle. Like Time's insidious wrinkle. Like Trains of Cars on Tracks of Plush. Lives he in any other world. Long Years apart — can make no. Longing is like the Seed. Look back on Time, with kindly eyes. Love — is anterior to Life. Love — is that later Thing than Death. Love — thou art high. Love can do all but raise the Dead. Love is done when Love's begun. Love reckons by itself — alone. Low at my problem bending. Luck is not chance.
Make me a picture of the sun. Mama never forgets her birds. Many a phrase has the English language. Many cross the Rhine. March is the Month of Expectation. Me from Myself — to banish. Me prove it now — Whoever doubt. Midsummer, was it, when They died. Mine — by the Right of the White Election! Mine Enemy is growing old.
More Life — went out — when He went. More than the Grave is closed to me. Morning — is the place for Dew. Morning — means Milking — to the Farmer. Morning is due to all. Morning that comes but once. Morns like these — we parted. Most she touched me by her muteness. Much Madness is divinest Sense. Must be a Woe. My best Acquaintances are those. My Cocoon tightens — Colors tease.
My country need not change her gown. My Eye is fuller than my vase. My Faith is larger than the Hills. My first well Day — since many ill. My friend attacks my friend! My friend must be a Bird. My Garden — like the Beach. My God — He sees thee. My Heart ran so to thee. My Heart upon a little Plate. My life closed twice before its close. My Life had stood — a Loaded Gun.
My Maker — let me be. My nosegays are for Captives. My period had come for Prayer. My Portion is Defeat — today. My Reward for Being, was This. My River runs to thee. My Season's furthest Flower. My Soul — accused me — And I quailed. My Triumph lasted till the Drums. My Wars are laid away in Books. My wheel is in the dark! My Worthiness is all my Doubt. Myself can read the Telegrams. Myself was formed — a Carpenter.
Nature — sometimes sears a Sapling. Nature — the Gentlest Mother is. Nature affects to be sedate. Nature and God — I neither knew. Nature assigns the Sun. Nature can do no more.