Quintella love poems and/or love poems about Quintella. Read, share, and enjoy these Quintella love poems! Also, try our sister website's powerful search engine for poems.
I fell in love with a tree stump.
A quite curious stump was he.
No branches to thump.
No fall leaves to see.
But a very special stump was he.
There in the woods, other trees grew tall.
Swaying their limbs and leaves in the breeze.
But one special tree stump won my awe.
Once, tall and stately was he, before the freeze.
Now, short and sad hearted because of the saw.
I was weary, downhearted, and lonely.
When, I spotted that stump beside a pile of wood.
A perfect place to rest, it seemed to me.
I rushed right over as quickly as I could
Then, sat right there, relaxed, and feeling so good.
While trees all around made their showy stance,
I sat and enjoyed from my comfortable stump.
He had no limbs nor leaves to wind-dance.
He had no branches to thump.
He was there for me to rest myself…by chance.
Pining alone, I fell in love with that tree stump.
A quiet refuge was he.
No longer sad, life became plump.
And my soul soared higher than one can see.
For he was there when I needed him…and he needed me.
© October 28, 2010
a tender touch ignites romance
fluttering flames create love dance
gentle caresses, tasting bliss,
intoxicates juice of sweet kiss
as hearts entwine, hypnotic trance.
*For Andrea's Catch Phrase, Dazzle Me Contest.
She stood there on the balcony
watching him riding off to war
her heart was full of mutiny
crushed she held onto the bar
there would be no matrimony
Juliet was full of acrimony
hating the powerful Tsar
far away the cacophony
the sound of the battle of war
drifting up to the balcony
Juliet waited for his pony
hearing distantly his sitar
his voice singing songs so corny
she ran to him down the sandbar
now there could be matrimony
my first Quintella I hope I got the form right
You did move Cupid's
By what vile means or flip of
To strike my heart a
And bid this painful ulcer
Like bird from tree to tree I
To skip the toil within your
And maybe find a potent cure
To life of fish before a lure.
If only you would hear my
And drain this magic out of
I'd grab a trident and a
And be to you a vengeful
They say you smuggled
By food or drink to slave
And force me play this
Of dog to its own mother
You said your, heart and love, was mine.
I know now, that was just a line.
Since you stole my adorations,
Along with all my possessions,
From now on, you are known as swine.
Dreaming of Him.....
Lulled into peaceful dreams
Lightly wafting loves sweet schemes
As a feather flits upon silken breeze
Passion's flight, he owns the keys
Lips melded in desire
lighting hearts and souls on fire
fully ripe, and velvet to touch
receives the love she wants so much
He wants to take her there
with passions strong and love so fair
Abandoned now to his embraces
Satiated secret places
Before the dawn of first sunlight
Fearing so, her lover's flight
Upon her pillow.one special red rose
To remind her of the love she knows
By Cheryl Koomoa
© 2009 Cheryl Koomoa (All rights reserved)
The temporary altar, Translation of Etiemble’s quintet: Le reposoir by TWignesan
As for me, I have renounced the noxious vault
where the other life child concealed a father
whom he had sometimes betrayed his mother
who took him for someone else
the baby she sensed to be a clone.
For you, I have renounced the death mask
which earlier on I yearned leaving on this earth,
baked dustPride? But tomorrow you wander about
looking for me in this me, void of feeling,
i‘d rather leave nothing: all: my image in you.
For you, I have renounced the common grave
where, in me, eponymous heroes mortify themselves.
Pride of another kind – hero and zero, these rhyme! –
which provoked me to disown my verse thanks to theirs
in swarms: for you, my passing is not news in brief.
For you, I have renounced the morgue’s formalin:
life lingers on in me as a Sorgues medic
glides me in a body-bag after the great organs
of the death massI’d hardly serve to
disgorge your viscera live, and dead, to undo you.
For us, I’ll burn in a crematory oven:
not love’s fires which burnt their poems:
not loves gone cold which had me in thrall
-the floodtide of sperm and blood, mixed with anathemas-,
but of wood and for youDeath, where’s your victory?
© TWignesan – Paris, 2014
The tear-drops fall off her nose,
when she finds herself alone,
She cries out where nobody goes,
her feelings remain unknown
But her wet eyes tell me a story,
of being in solitude and pain;
I can read her eyes, and memory,
glares inside again and again
Never shows the scars of her past,
hidden under the thin clothes;
The ?artificial smiles often overcast,
her pains that nobody knows.
But do not think that she's happy,
just look again into her eyes;
Broken to pieces, looks so snappy,
she's now a master of disguise
You are my joy, my Valentine,
my nightly star shining so bright,
you are the dream, forever shine,
oh, precious dream, my shining light,
my sweet divine throughout the night.
Angelic grace, I love you, dear,
my river flows into your core,
love grows stronger from year to year,
I am with the one I adore,
as together we walk love's shore.