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appreciation, love, poetry,
Love's tend'rest touch, your gentle words reveal
Caress my soul. sweet poet, with your verse
Write dulcet lullabies which make me feel
Secure, like infants held at breast to nurse
Turn tears of sadness into peaceful streams
Make whispered breezes whisk my strife away
Put passion in my fantasized daydreams
Paint troubles in to flowery bouquets
And even though I know they're not for me
I steal your soothing love just like a thief
This load I carry lightens suddenly
Because my broken heart has found relief
Your words are like a song, please sing to me
Sweet poet, how I love your poetry
an original poem by Daniel Turner
I asked you what I have done wrong
But there is no response - just a stony silence
No words can convey my guilt, my inner sadness
This will be my last goodbye
My final letter to you my love
Tears flow down my ashen face
Tears of sadness, tears of regret
Tears fall on the paper as I write
They mingle with the damp blue ink
The inky water leaches into the paper
Its colour starts to bleed and spread
Until it fades into nothingness
I am empty, devoid of emotion
I can say no more
Forgive me for being me
Forgive me for caring
Forgive me for loving you
My love is like a worker's gloves grown old.
His hands are leather, roughened now with age
and years of work in weather hot and cold,
yet through the many years, he has grown sage. . .
My love is like a builder's pair of boots.
He's dusty and fatigued and still he walks
while trailing mud, but now his attributes
shine through despite life's many stumbling blocks.
My love is like a pair of jeans much worn,
a pair of socks with holes that have stayed warm.
Though time and all the trials he has borne
have left him frayed, he wishes no one harm.
To write a beaming sonnet would not do,
but threadbare love (in some ways) bests the new.
funny, funny love,
I thought it was kind of romantic
I wasn't being a fanatic
I pulled it out in the cold
You thought that was a bit bold
I wrote it in the snow about you and me
How much I love you I wrote it with my pee
I almost froze it off - it and my left ball
Then you hurt me when you said it was too small
It's like out of the pool
It follows the same rule
Not that I expected you to drool
But you didn't need to be cruel
Now I pull it out again and what I write
Your not going to like - it might cause a fight
Not just what it says about you that is quite biting
But the fact it was your sister who did the writing
See it there
in virgin perfection.
Open its pages.
They are so white
that they radiate light.
See the magic pen
sitting by the book
meant just for two.
Each of you - together -
Reflect the pages’ light!
Then with the pen,
you may write
your beautiful life,
for this is
the Book of Love.
March 31, 2017 for the Book of Love Contest of Rick Parise
devotion, write, write,
I don’t write poems,
I drink them like wine,
I become tipsy
with each coming line.
I don’t write poems,
I breathe them like air,
I become so happy
when each one I share.
I don’t write poems,
I live with them;
they prolong my years,
they are as true as I am.
I don’t write poems,
I weave into verses
sadness, joy, tears,
prayers, love, curses…
My poems talk and sing,
Sense of living they bring.
©Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
If I was to write of love, then from my
nib your heart would flow. Dreams
would be the parchment on which I
scribe, and your fragrance the sentence
formed. A desire and passion would
flood my page, with intermittent kisses
instead of punctuation. Chapters of
grace would fill your eyes, the contents
feelings spill your soul. The ink from
deep and pulsing veins, would secrete
the validity of my emotions. I see and
do not see, for with your absence my
page is blank, yet in your thought reams
I write. Let this page be a blanket on
which those eyes could sleep, and
realize my love is not a dream, but
reality in reaching words.
I wrote verse on the wings of a lark
romantic phrases in perfect rhyme
but the lark flew away in the dark
I wrote no further for the longest time
A lone blue jay landed upon my lawn
I wrote sweet prose on his sapphire wings
He spent the night with me, but at dawn
the jay flew away and no longer sings
I answered the call of a beautiful raven
I wrote love sonnets on his ebony wings
He stayed for years in my safe haven
I was one of the raven's castoff things
I no longer trust those who take flight
I lost them all and my torn heart bled
On restless wings I'll never again write
of love that leaves me alone in my bed
The absence of love plays on my mind,
I search within, but love, I cannot find.
Another wasted day, just frittered away.
Can't bring myself to see, it's all because of me!
Dark clouds are moving in, my soul's screaming out.
There's no place I wish to be, my mind consumed with doubt.
My body's numb, this pain has won,
As I lift my pen to write again,
these words flood out before my eyes.
It's not until then that I realise!
That all my struggles are not my demise,
and all my woes as far as a poet goes,
For now, a smile creeps on my face.
Finally, I have found that loving place.
Besma Riabi Dziri
beauty, destiny, faith, love, school,
I hold my papers and pen
not a poetry to write
it is the school year again
one other journey in time.
My ever burning concern
would my words find their way
as all my candles I burn
to meet yearning faces each day.
A thirst for light in young hearts
I lend my soul, the blanks I fill
and then a whole story starts
quenching feels would be a thrill.
When my pupils take my notes
would they read devotion in many a line
my fear, a quote or a word floats
my quill unveiled in heart shrine.
I hold my pen with great zeal
two paths I walk, a heart is torn
my love how can I conceal
at a crossroads, a poet is born.
Let eyes meet, let them spark a fire
Let rhythms sing to music of lyre
Let heartbeats of joy write our song
In moods of kisses yearned for long
Let blushing cheeks welcome romance
Enchanting heart's seductive dance
Let winds of love ignite our flame
As night, ecstatic, croons your name
December 29, 2019
Placed 3rd: Lay it on me—8x8 poetry contest
Eight syllables per line (howmanysyllables.com)
Sponsor: Charles Messina
Placed 2nd: Strand select 6 by Brian Strand
Sunflowers and dandelions.
Sometimes in life it's a fine line.
We go outside to breathe the air.
Look around, try not to stare.
The little children play and run.
The girls are screaming, having fun.
Little boys follow along.
Learning the words to write the song.
A bouquet of summer's sweet refrain.
A timeless imprint on your brain.
To carry us into the night.
Beyond what sunshine brings to light.
After all the dreams come true.
But get lost in the dawning dew.
Only glimpses of love survive.
As you awake having to strive.
Finally finding out the truth.
About our fantasy's in youth.
All we wanted was a friend.
And a little love before the end.
color, love, rainbow,
There is a rainbow in my world today,
With every word your write my way.
Colors of emotions flow in harmony,
as they spread across the sky in unity.
Wrap me in your red, orange and blue,
fill me with the violet passion of you.
You make the sky shine after that rain,
softly your soul pushes away the pain.
In every luxurious line that you say,
you are the rainbow in my world today.
How do I write my love in poetry?
Spin it around a needle’s company
I succumb to the wishes that’s displayed
Straight into my heart, a bed that is made
Words that focus not on the worldly things
Making love formed by surely everything
Almost all my chimed poetry is filled
Tinging of the bells on my window sill
My poems flow from my pen to your head
Allowing even the strange come to bed
Obstinate people combined with some change
Must read of my love, they will rearrange
My lovely other, sits upon the throne
Love ties us as one, prepares what is known
destiny, devotion, i love you, soulmate,
When you laid your hands upon my naked heart
feeling the flex of it's fire, accessing the innocent desire,
holding the form of a new need, I swear, that's when love did start,
your touch became my tradition, the wine of your wisdom my lovely teacher,
From the fine feathers of your soft steel wings
I write poetry of storms in paradise and of love in your eyes,
sympathizing with my sage solitude, yet subduing the sadness it brings
you offer me everything an angel owns, halo and bloodroots, and together we rise -
cute love, funny,
CUPID NAMED LYLE
There once was a young Cupid named Lyle
who always aimed his arrow with style
with one shot straight as a dart
he hit me and pierced my heart
Aimed for a girl: he missed by a mile.
6th April, 2016
Inspired by poets who write in many different forms, I've had a go at writing my first ever limerick, which is totally out of my comfort zone.
imagery, poetry, writing,
I wrestle with my words in aimlessness when I write.
Poetry is a relationship to me, it's a troubled courtship.
I can't come to reasonable reform in words on the spot..
but rather seek intimacy with my thoughts in attempt.
The two of us, man and his romantic notions,
carelessly Laid into tousled affections on a page.
I love her, and the page, she spurns me willfully.
I love her, and grasp in hopelessness to understand her.
I give my undivided attention, my eyes wander her form.
I've sought shamelessly to appease her whispered desires.
But she is a selfish lover, asking for more than can be given.
She, the playful counterpart in a field of rationality, often eludes me.
A wish is hope, all dressed up
A heart that needs to sing...
And I have 3 songs today,
Hopes and wishes, that I bring...
I wish yesterday was today
So I could change some things...
I seem so much wiser now,
A different song I'd sing...
I wish I had the power
To make my fellows see...
That hate wont set the table,
But love is always free
I wish that I could write a poem
That everyone would read...
Something with a message,
To plant a fruitful seed
We all would like to think
That magic might come our way...
And that some Genie just might grant,
Our hopes and wishes for today
longing, love, poems,
The turtles roam where the butterflies go
How can I say what your love means to me
A poem I write to hopefully show
To convey with tender words sincerely
My love for you continually grows
For in my heart I hold your loving smile
Inspiring me to write you endless prose
Our time too brief though your love does beguile
All I can offer is my heart to you
In return for yours that will never stray
I promise you I shall always be true
Hear my words of love and let them convey
Of my undying love until the end
For now this love poem to you I send
For Trust Me Baby This Is Love contest
Sponsored by: Mystic Rose
Diamond of my youth, bright like a star,
I imagine sometimes where you are . . .
You may well be, as always I assume,
far - so very far - away from me,
but for all I know, you could also be
like those mountains nearby me that loom.
In my mind, you loom. But what if it's the tomb
where I might find you ultimately?
I can't bear to think
of you, Darling, in the tomb
or beneath the hard dark ground
better it will be
to think of you as my star
burning ever brightly on
May 3, 2017 for 'Best romantic write May-July 2017' Poetry Contest
of John Hamilton (sorry not free verse; it's all I had
for romantic category in that time period)
Dale Gregory Cozart
imagery, love, morning, nature, poetry,
I find sanctuary in this sonnet
when as verdant hills rhymes do fall and rise
with aspens quaking in the windless skies.
One such will have blue birds flocking on it.
The trees shall be my muse and bid me write
while I in white gazebo am ensconced
with flowers vased, each color a nuance
in my lyrics, a-blush at first then white.
As I meander through a cloudless dream
the shades ever change in the wake of love.
Each line will fit my lyrics like a glove
while blue birds harmonize in morning's gleam.
Eyes of love are each an estuary
in the sonnet of this sanctuary.
IF I COULD
If I could move a mountain
By shrinking it to a stone
Then I could make you love me
And not be here alone.
If I could walk on water
Or make the sky my home
Then I would make you love me
And not be here alone.
If I could paint a masterpiece
Or write the perfect poem
Then you couldn’t help but love me.
I don’t want to be alone.
If I could reveal the darkest secrets
And banish all the unknowns
I’d find the reason you don’t love me
And never again be alone.
Denouement, I beseech you, take your time.
I see you lurking closely by my gate.
I want to live and love and write my rhyme.
Go finish someone else’s tale. I’ll wait!
I need no resolutions in my life.
One moment to the next I’m glad to live.
I’ll take - along with good times- all the strife
along my path. Denouement, do not give
an early summing up to this nice plot
which is my life. Oh, let my climax be
a long way off! My final page is not
a page that I await too eagerly.
If my end is soon, don’t be forthcoming.
Let them say I never saw you coming!
Written Aug. 21, 2016
love hurts, sad love,
I've dreamed of things and might have beens
with hopes and love in back lot shadows.
Replaying these cold-heart wrenching scenes
that will bring no dawn to my tomarrows.
And as this play plays out each act,
my role fades from lead to second best.
Mere words no longer cause effect
to cure the faults of love's ill rest.
I pray to God, re-write these lines
that I might toss aside regrets
and bring the peace for which I pine
to a closing scene no one forgets.
I'll take no bows, of that I'm certain
as stage lights dim on this final curtain.
I can't forget those days when you were mine.
How young we were - not even at our prime!
Had we held on, could love have grown divine?
If only we could turn back the hands of time.
What could have been? I guess we'll never know.
Although I've never been caught in a crime,
a crime it was that day I let you go!
If only we could turn back the hands of time.
While drowning in my memories of you,
I sit in silence while I write this rhyme
and wonder if you think the same thing too -
if only we could turn back the hands of time!
Oct. 9, 2019