Write Love Poems or Love Poems About Write

Write love poems and/or love poems about Write. Read, share, and enjoy these Write love poems! Also, try our sister website's powerful search engine for poems.

"Mine all Mine!"

A thief I long to be
Your eyes original like the moon and sea

A lover in the world............
An Anthology, you walk and talk like the word "AMOR."

The words you send, I nicely tuck under my pillow
Every note every line you left behind 
I memorized till they became all mine
Word-for-word, 
Unauthorized I scrape the concrete calluses off the tongue
Pirating the perfect dramatic monolog look,
Basking through the passage around your Bio, 
Lost in the musky scent -around the sonnet of your aura light 
Epic enough, I reach inside to feel every idyllic rhyme
A strong iambic meter curse, conjuring up the perfect verse
In you I lift a copy paste from your lips, 
No need to credit the sources in your bliss
The sweetest undamaged sensual memorandum book
A moment I stole and sealed without copyright proof

My dearest Poet, 
When you move across the room
I see a thousand arrows that follow from behind, 
Indulged when you speak and point out a verse per verse
I am a victim pampered by your words,
Sponging every line, adding them to my crib notes 
Improved wordplay that infringed my everyday diary
A haiku so tangible, it sets the perfect images in my dream,
Hypnotize after I read your first love poem
A printed feeling--
Borrowed from the sun

pd

Tiptoeing towards the edge of the towering cliff

I flap my wounded wings and fly

over tall two hundred year old oak trees

up to the top of the highest of mountains

scanning a never ending sovereign sky

I glide effortlessly in the strong southern trade winds

watching the fawn and her doe in the wilderness 

My heart starts to beat, and I write

I write of the fragrant fancy free daisies growing unrestrained

of the sun smiling down 

reflecting in the fast flowing babbling brook

of the doe munching on the savory green and yellow grasses

oblivious to her surroundings , the fawn firmly within her sight

I hear the songs coming from the red breasted baby Robin

calling to her mother wondering when she'll return with dinner

 my heart beats lovingly and I write

I soar higher and higher heading for the heavens

past the mammoth yellowish orange coloured moon

through the mysteries of the milky way

all along thinking of the mysteries lying inside you

I open my eyes, imagine I'm with you and I write

06/01/2015

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
I couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
A song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created and cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Memory of a mother
Shared my dreams and really cared

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Mama…
I know I wasn’t there……

For you

Would have placed 
A magic carpet 
‘neath your weak and shaky legs

Would have raised
A strong west wind
Let you breathe with ease again

Would have bribed 
God’s venal angels
Come and soothe your endless pain

Would have vanquished
All the demons
And bring peace to you again

Be the child
I never knew
In a land
We won’t grow old

Be the light
I always loved
Warmed my dark 
And lonely soul

Be the girl
Playing games
In a world 
The sun won’t set

Be the laughter
Calms my heart
I never will forget
I won’t forget, won’t forget

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
Couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
Song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created….cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

I broke my promises, oh mama
Now you’ve gone away 
I’m broken
Drowning in the pain each day

I’m  drowning…drowning...drowning…drowning

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me…….

If I was to write of love, then from my
nib your heart would flowDreams
would be the parchment on which I
scribe, and your fragrance the sentence
formedA desire and passion would 
flood my page, with intermittent kisses
instead of punctuationChapters of 
grace would fill your eyes, the contents
feelings spill your soulThe ink from
deep and pulsing veins, would secrete
the validity of my emotionsI see and 
do not see, for with your absence my
page is blank, yet in your thought reams
I writeLet this page be a blanket on 
which those eyes could sleep, and
realize my love is not a dream, but
reality in reaching words.

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance 
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make 
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong  

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found

What, Where, Who

If I where asked the what, where, who
That drives me to write poetry
I’d say that if I only knew
I’d leave right now this misery

But I’m afraid I’m not the sort
To answer in straight fashion
I have to offer my retort
With words of heartfelt passion

For just the other day I found
Encounter gave me food for thought
Soon the words they were outbound
Jumbled as they rushed and fought

Though ne’er the less inspired me
To battle on my way
Look toward the end and see
Which words I could display

Confess do I quite openly
That I am ignorant
Of  poetry’s technology
Coz grasp it I just can’t

I wouldn’t know a what’s it called
From a what’s its name
In my mind won’t stay installed
Confusion is its game

But I somehow, find I can
Muddle through at best
Organise a crafty plan 
And set my brain the test

For out there I see loneliness
Suffering and pain
A world in turmoil and distress
That cannot stake its claim

I look for every trait in man
Into the soul I stare
At his betrayal and flim-flam
Also the ladies fair

Dear love will always be there
And so will Demon war
And my thoughts on these I’ll share
Of that you can be sure

Laughter I would hope to bring
Sadness sometimes to the fore
Of natures forces I will sing
The list goes on galore

Yes I will write throughout the night
With hope to de-confuse
I’ll try to offer some insight
By giving up my muse

So now you know the what and where
But what about the who
Inspiring people are out there
Who knows - it could - be you 

And what about that misery
I spoke of up above
Well, I gave that up for music
Of the poetrysoupers love x

I was inspired once a long time ago
By something that I read
I never knew such amazing things
Could fill the inside of my head

I always thought that poetry
Was about love or romance,
I never knew it could be dark
Suddenly I was entranced.

A whole new world had opened up
And I could write about it all;
Anything that crossed my mind,
Anything I could recall.

And it was all because of a poem
I read one day at school;
The poem was entitled “The Raven”
And it was just so incredibly cruel,

I fell in love with the poem
And craved others that were the same;
But there was only one author that captured me 
Edgar Allan Poe was his name.

Every poem or story  that he wrote
Was like a beacon showing the way;
I never knew I could write about death
Without worrying what others would say

And so I took leaf out of his book,
And wrote about what I feel;
I was always afraid to express myself
But now it holds only appeal

I fell in love with you the second you were born
With light brown hair and sapphire blue eyes
I thought you were perfect!
Over time it became evident that there was a problem 
Test after test showed that you had profound autism
You didn’t reach your milestones like other babies
There was no babbling; no social smiles
only a vacant look in those huge sapphire blue eyes
You were locked in your own little world
just content lying in your cot playing with your fingers
As you grew older you found comfort sitting rocking on the floor 

You hated physical contact; if anyone tried to hug you you’d go rigid
Arms remained straight by your side like a soldier on parade
It’s been so difficult to come to terms with the fact
You will never say “I love you momma” or let me into your heart

Fictional write for Let me into your heart contest
Sponsored by Julie Rodeheaver

08-20-17

It was on a Christmas Eve
early in the morn
into a world so often cold
a little girl was born.
Her parents, they did love her,
the way that it should be
but her father, who's a good man,
had been raised with cruelty.

When he doled out punishment
for all her childish ways
the lessons that he taught her
would stay with her all her days.
Growing up was never easy
and she grew up so confused.
Other kids did more than tease her
and at home she was abused.

But she grew up all the same
then came to that time of life
when she thought she was ready
became a mother and a wife.
They faced a lot of hardships
but tried to love anyway
and her husband, who does love her,
has been so mean along the way.

Yes, life is hard for everyone
this woman surely knows.
Hate and misunderstanding
seems to follow where she goes
with so many quick to tell her
that she is always wrong
so many times she has been shown
that she just don't belong.

She tries so hard to understand
the reasons for her tears
and is punished for her feelings
as she has been all her years.
She knows that there is more to life
than what always seems to be.
All she wants is to be loved
without the cruelty.



Note:  My dear friends, this is not an easy write for me but a necessary one I was at a very 
low point in my life and I prayed for God for direction or to let it end I wrote the poem I Am 
then joined PoetrySoup I know God led me to this wonderful site for a reason I may still 
have a long way to go but I am starting to move forward I want to thank you all for your 
encouragement and kindness Being able to write again is helping me and as fellow writers, 
I know you understand Thank you for sharing with me and teaching to become a better 
writer God bless you all and Happy Holidays!  Love, Robin.

Your love flows through my veins
like the Nile River flows through
the sands of Eygpt.
Love flows through my veins
like rivers that break off into endless streams
and water the gardens of the green stems
of torn covered rose bushes.

In my veins, you flow, as a sparrow
flies through the blue skies in beauty.
You are the blood that flows through my veins
and later settles deep in my heart
and embraces me with a hug of intimace.

Love flows through my veins
like endless notes played by the sweetest composer
along with his private orchestra playing a lovely melody.
Rivers, streams break off and flow into lakes and oceans,
Like my veins that lead to my heart,
you are always there flowing through my veins.
Your love flows through my veins.

A solitary piece the diamond
precious rare gem most treasured
by those lucky enough to hold
Once in possession it is rarely out of grasp
Like the gemstone the mother 
requires very specific conditions
in holding fast her (family/) childrens love
Treasured forever in her heart
she will go out of her way
to preen and protect them
holding them dear to her
deep within her maternal safe – the heart
closely guarded by the mind
Her infatuation of all treasures to her 
are totally understandable
especially when you think to the complexity
of structure and process taken in creation
Just as from the ‘unbreakable’ in ancient greek
this allotrope of carbon
with strength of bonding between atoms
is representative of that strong love
between mum and child
The maternal being could be compared
to the superlative physical qualities of the stone
Even the characteristic luster
of this gem so prevalent from its ability
to disperse light and colour
compared to the many strengths 
roles and qualities of the mother
seen by the many she deals with daily
A most high pressured job 
versus the high pressured temperature
within the Earths mantle
that forms the delightful rock it gives birth to
Infants delight and ignite the forbearer
just as the jewel would dazzle the room
a mother’s love encaptures the magical luster
of those she’s birthed and nothing
stands inbetween this richest of cargo’s

Oh my darling the news is so bleak
I saw the consultant only last week
Perhaps we better start making plans
See the vicar; hear the wedding banns

All I’ve ever wanted was to be your wife
For better for worse, through trouble and strife
The consultant confirmed I’ll not last the year
Oh kiss me my darling; just hold me so near

Wedding plans float around in my head
My dying wish is that we should wed
Time's running out so we mustn’t linger
I need your wedding ring on my finger

A simple service, just as quiet as can be
All I ask my darling is that you stand by me


01~14~ 2015

I don’t write about beauty very often
Maybe that’s because with one eye
I see a blurred pillow
And one corner of your mouth
Your hair resting on the side of your face
Your left eye closed 
In sleep

I don’t write about beauty very often
Maybe that’s because with one hand
I can reach beneath the sheets
And touch your smooth skin
Run my hand along your side
Over your shoulder
Up to your face

I don’t write about beauty very often
Maybe that’s because with a word
I can call on you
And rouse you from slumber
To receive your sincerest regards
As I bid you farewell
Before an unwelcome day

I don’t write about beauty very often
Maybe that’s because it’s become so familiar
I live with you every day
And have grown to expect it
Maybe even treat it too casually
Should learn to appreciate it
And be thankful for it
As it’s you
------

I'm away now for 5 weeksUpon my return regular transmission will resumeEnjoy, enjoy.

Love poems are not written by poets in love;
They are written by poets infatuated with the concept of love.

Poets write of their dreams;
Poets write with their imaginations;
Poets write of hope and fantasy.

Only poets who dream of love, write love poems;
Only poets who imagine ecstasy and passion, compose love sonnets;
Only poets who hope to love and fantasize about love’s allure, pen lyrics of love.

Poets who are in love write poems of butterflies, bubbling streams and blooming blossoms;
For, when you are in love, butterflies fluttering by fulfill your dreams;
Bubbling brooks of cool, effervescent water engage your imagination;
Fields of flowers in bloom with rainbow hues and fragrant bouquets are what you hope for and fantasize about.

Poets in love, live love and write about other wonders;
Poets dreaming of love; imagining love’s splendor; hoping and fantasizing about being paid a visit by Cupid’s arrow,
And, only those poets,
Write love poems.

Hounds from Hell take their toll on your soul
as you walk the mainstreet of mainstream
and watch Saturn and Neptune dance to a simple tone
of silence in the outer space.
As you sit in the middle of the world
alone;
free yourself from the sense of hopelessness,
only see yourself in the mirror of deception
as your reflection laughs at you and looks right through you,
and doesn't have remorse for what it says or does to you.

Hounds from Hell take your soul,
chock you, cut of your air,
the smog and fog blind you in the city of ash.
Hear the hounds from hell howl for your soul,
go now, barracade your soul behind sins and temptation,
Alone, listening to your soul die away,
watch love go away from you, with suitcase in hand,
picture frames broken and collect dust through the sands of time.
Till the cleaning lady comes on Monday, to clean the mess
that you left behind.
You are gone, without a trace of ever returning.
Looks of the Hounds of Hell came for you and stole you from
comfort and warmth,
till the sorrowed heart cracks and pain spills out
and you look at it all spill out over the floor.
The Hounds from Hell have paid a consumable harmage to you,
and your rich soul of sorrowness burns away..slowly.

Fear darkens souls,
innocent souls burn with a new day,
a slumber that has no end
with nightmares haunting every light of hope
there is left in this desolate Wasteland.
Fear and darkness tears a hole in the darkened universe
and we all go to hell to see the Hounds,
who come for us all.
The graveyards fill,
and death guards the tombstones of the dead,
and the flowers burn away on the feet of the dead.

-10/14/2013-

I've Scribbled This Song For You...


I'm wasting my days,
my empty nights too,

I should have held on,
but I simply lost you,

now I stagger along,

wearing broken smiles,
in between hell and you,
there's a million miles,

yes, I should have kept,
you close to my skin,

soaking your warmth,
but you were laughing,

at my foolish grin...


now I'm all broken,
and torn apart,

but what the hell,
I was always late,
for the tolling of the bell,

and now...

now I stagger along,

wearing broken smiles,
in between hell and you,
there's a million miles,

so kiss me now like you once did,
I'm tired of being so carefully hid,


la laa laa la laa laa laa...


(repeat to fade)


:-)

With my words I love to play
rhyming everything I say
inside my head words squawk and rage
'til they're released upon the page.
It fills my heart with pure delight
to watch them growing as I write.

Oh how I love to make words rhyme
arranging them in metered time
until I have a perfect line
it sends chills up and down my spine
and I am blessed with endless joy
to use this gift that I employ.

Some of the things I write about
I know must leave some minds in doubt.
"Not good enough" some must claim
but that's ok I feel no shame.
I'll still write the way I do
and to my heart I will be true.

My knowledge of great works is small
in fact I don't know much at all
and I would never dare profess
to be a gifted poetess
'cause when it comes to poetry
I write just what comes naturally.

Born to rhyme, that is my game
and that is all you'll hear me claim.
To me this game is so much fun
it is my picnic in the sun.
It may sound lame or even sappy
but that's all right it makes me happy!

Into your Hideout


The ruins of my mind
The bombed out places so so unkind
Lost you in the haze of hells fire
Bombs making humanity expire

I have dreams they call out as nightmares
You are running away from your fears
Amongst such destruction and horrors
A borrowed bicycle your only escape

Yet here I am, and you know not the truth
I am alive, and running, just as you
Through the ruins of this city so destroyed
I am chasing you, and screaming, stop my love

Stop, arête no more need to run
The enemies and nightmares ran out of guns
That day when the sky rained barrels and bombs
Wounded, I survived, our love kept me alive

In the deepest of dreams, I hear your screams
Love please know soon, we will be in the sun eating ice-cream
I will never stop my endless pursuit
Of finding you my love, my wife, my meaning of this strife

I shall find your hideout in the depths of hells fears
We two shall resuscitate our hearts, humanities fools
For all the terror, the war and hate
One day me and you shall smile at lovers garden gates

My blood is yours, my veins joined to your soul
No soldier shall stop us, from our hopes and loves ultimate goal
When I sit caressing your hair in the shelter of hidden despair
The hideout no longer needed

Us lovers, together, finally in gods sun and the fresh air


Dedicated to all the innocent victims of the horrors in Syria

I would like to thank a fellow poet, for her support, encouragement and exchanging of ideas, Casarah NanceI was discussing how often music inspires my writing, and was sharing some favorite songs with her, when this idea came up.

At the same time, tonight we had a workshop on www.baffn.biz  #Poetry room, and I would like to also thank Tim, Casarah, Jan, Maverick, Halil, Samantha, Armand, Keith and Joe for the wonderful comments and suggestionsGreat to see poets encouraging other poetsThat’s how it should be!

 I could chisel my love into a mountain
But mountains errode away 
If I carved my love in solid ice
It would only last a day

I could write my love up in the sky
But the wind would soon displace
I could write my love into a book
But letters can be erased

I could shout my love into the air
Sound waves expand and fade
I could sing my love in melody
A fleeting serenade

I could express my love with a simple glance
Even though my eyes can't see
For if they could, I'd have realized
That you do not love me.

if he were to write me a love poem, would it breathe 
like the quintessence of begin? would it live 
as the moon to the sea – as precise as the art
of expanse along kismets journey, and all horizons linear? 
would it wind-wash and rush my untouched
expanse, as a field soft and wild, exhaling through hair?
would you hear all of my hurt as it crashes to floors; crashing
through my glass floors, formed by years of perfected neglect; 
(reverberating through centuries of cause and effect)

or would it die in my hands;
turn to dust
at your
feet?

no

to read his undying words, such as my deepest imaginings 
can conjure, would be as if the very sun had come to rest beneath 
my bosom, shining exponentially forth every wish and dream i have 
ever harbored within the safe haven of my yearnings, since long 
before the birth of time itself!

o’, words given from the depths of my hearts deliberate daydreams, 
from the vastness of your perpetual being,
would surely render my mind useless, striking my fluttering 
body numb, and alive all at once!
if my love ever wrote me a love poem, i would answer 
by way of warm lips on eyelids, (weary from longing 
and unrequited need) gliding them 
down his fair face, kissing years of spent tears into the oblivion that is       
no more (the culmination of death and the sweet realization 
of answered prayers), and yet

i would no sooner ask him to write me a love poem, then I would 
expose my longing to receive one.

How shall I write for you tonight

when the words don't seem to flow?

I could write about the moon and the stars

and how, to you, they don't compare 

 to those starry caramel eyes

 that look deep inside of me 

 wrap around my sated heart

and fill my life with glee

I could write about your killer smile

that brightens my every thought

that gives me strength to carry on

when sad or when distraught 

I could write about your compassion 

your powerful soul or your caring heart 

I could tell you how much I love you

and how we'll never be apart 

I could verse a poem about

how I admire who you are

 your virtues, values, giving of your time

what you stand for or

 how I'm proud to call you mine

 I could write a song that would praise

your love of God

 the less fortunate,

His children

and all of those in need.

How can I possibly write 

a worthy poem that sings

praises high enough of you

when all you do 

 seems right and just

and your intentions are so true.

Tonight I'll try to write my sweet

of one who strives to rid the world of hurt

So I'll close my eyes and picture you

and hope I find the words

I am the Blue Poet.
The uneasy man.
Who longs to be loved,
or just to have a friend.

My heart whisphers a low melody
on a faint, cool evening
thinking of her.
Once in my arms,
laying on my bed of roses.
Now she is gone.
I cannot think anymore!
It is hard, to love again,
When all your love has been taken away.
..I am the Blue Poet.

I am the Blue Poet,
That walks the bluish, dawn and dew covered streets
in the the October evenings and nights.
But I tell you, I wasn't always so blue.
No! I was once alive..happy..romantic,
..till Love went away!

Now I sit in the wayward poetry clubs,
drinking club soda and snapping my fingures
to a finished performance on a poem about love.
Written by a soft, spoken seventeen year old girl.

Soon, it is my turn to give my poem a read.
I stand on a lone stage, with a spotlight drownding me in blindness.
I face the faces, who look at me and smile.
A clap, and a cough, bring my head up.
I look out upon the sitting crowd.
To see that one face
that speaks to me,
without the movement of the mouth.
The face never showed though, and my head fell back down.

I start to read.
A vase of emotions kill me and swallow me up.
I try to hold back tears, but no more could I halter.
I finished, with a salty tear, rolling down my rough and oiled cheek.
I leave the crowd at ovation
and leave the women, all with tears in their eyes.

I come down from the stage, leaving the bright spotlight.
I shake hands, give hugs,
and collect my pay, and have another round of club soda.
Then, I go down the midnight alleyways of sprinkled city streets
finding myself a cozy room.

I think of her for a moment,
then off to sleep.
I dream of one time laughs, and hugs and kisses.
I cry in my sleep,
...For I am the Blue Poet.

I thank you always sun and moon, but is his warmth that makes me move
My hands stay lingered in his palm, and trace the lines to write a song
His eyes they whisper: you still do know, of how my love will always grow
And with four lips they form hello, for goodbye they'll never know
My hands stay lingered in his palm, and trace the lines to write a song;
For each line has read, " hold on " that's why fingers clench so strong
And with four lips they form hello, for goodbye they'll never know
I love you more than can be known, and hopefully we'll find that's shown
For each line has read," hold on " that's why fingers clench so strong
His eyes they whisper: you still do know, of how my love will always grow
I love you more than can be known, and hopefully we'll find that's shown
I thank you always sun and moon, but it's his warmth that makes me move...

My darling
Time is no longer on our side
Since your car crash we have no money
For you are no longer able to work
If I can’t find a job I may have to go on the run
The debts are piling up so high they almost reach the sky
Brain damage has taken its toll on you
I wish you were able to speak to me
But all as long as you can still breathe …
That is the most important thing
I still visit you every day 
Talking to you about our once happy life
Trying to jog your memory
Do you remember the time we saw the total eclipse
Together we saw the dark side of the moon 
Oh what memories it conjures up
Don’t give up the fight
It’s not your time to go to the great gig in the sky
Babe, its you and me not us and them
If you should leave me my darling
I will remember your request …
No black at your funeral
You said wear any colour you like
No matter what happens I will love your forever

Contest:- Album Tracks Tell Stories
Sponsor:- James Fraser
18th August 2015
Album 1 chosen  ~ Dark Side of the Moon – Pink Floyd
TRACKS used: Speak to Me/ Breathe, On the Run, Time, The Great Gig in the Sky, Money, Us and Them, Any Color You Like, Brain Damage, Eclipse

You stare at me with vacant eyes
It’s like living with a stranger
Tears and tantrums we both despise
Where is the man I once loved?

Locked inside your own little world
Sometimes a piece of music makes you smile
But every day I know I’m losing you
I’m losing you bit by bit

I no longer get greeted with a loving kiss
These days you lash out uncontrollably
I get battered and bruised by your flying fist
But I’ll never give up loving you

NOT written from personal experience of living with someone with dementia

08~07~16

Once again I'm alone with the moon
in her light I gracefully swoon
with thoughts of a passionate night
to my love, I endear this sweet write

soft tender wind blow 
caress the tip of her wings
drift free sleepless night 

Drift cautiously out into the wind
and take with you my heart
for not alone  you shall be
when inside, is held, a part of me

Hear my heated breath in every breeze
and feel my racing heart when you are still
For when life turns and we fall into our waning days
To you I will find my way and together we will forever stay

I will not be late to work today

I will get there on time
I will brush my teeth
Without singing songs
Without thinking about birthdays
About gymnasiums
About TAKS 
About sound
About war
Republicans
Democrats
Independents

I will get there on time
I will eat my oatmeal
Without thinking of 
Broken valentines
Strewn against a wooden
Fence 
Like dropped goblets
From a robbers pillowcase

I will be there before the bell rings
My papers will be checked
My hair will be combed
My mind will be alert 
Ready to begin my lesson

I will not wonder why
My oldest son doesn’t have a job
I will not pray too long
For my daughter who is taking the bar today
At 10:30 AM in New Orleans
I will not scar my knees wishing
For some alternate world
Where children are never neglected
Or hurt
Where there is no abandonment

What nonsense to try and order the world
Just get to work on time
Put your things in the car, your projector and 
The white binders that you didn’t look at
All weekend although you were supposed to check the papers and put the 
grades on the computer
I will leave now
Before it is impossible to
Be on time
I will cream my ashy ankles

I will not focus on the white
Cat on the black pillow
With the green eyes
I will not water the plant
I will not watch TV
I will not write poetry
Before work

I will not write poetry
Before work
I will get to work on time
I will be ready
I will not be daydreaming about fog
Wondering if I’ll get Alzheimer’s like my mother
Or colon cancer like my dad
I won’t be thinking about that stuff
I will be locking the front door and 
Closing the gate and clicking the clicker
And starting the car and leaving

I will not be in my living room
Wondering if there is any reason to love
Because I do not love for reason
I love because He first loved me
It is not incantations or intoxication
Or imagination it is my life and 
The structure will come with the
Clearness of Bajan water
So clear you can see the fish
Fly float across the Atlantic

It is time
This poem must end
I will not be late for work
This morning
Not for nothing
Not for nobody
Not for anything
Not for everything

This poem is over 
the work day begins

[beforehand i just want to let you know that i wrote this in honor of November 17thwhich is 
To Write Love On Her Arms Dayim hoping to come up with a better one before thanbut i 
still hope you enjoy this quickly-wrote one(: ]

this is about me.
this is my story.
it is about my struggle,
my fall downs, 
&& all the breakdowns.
this is about every wound i placed upon my body.
over 60 self inflicted wounds,
that as my story went on they began to heal.
i stoped writing "give up" 
i began to write love on my arms
this is about me.
this is my story.
it is about my past.
how it haunted me for years,
&& how im still running from some of it.
this is how i went from a hood rat,
to me actually caring about myself.
i began to write love on my arms
this is about me.
this is my story.
it is about how i learned to keep the bottle off of my nightstand.
i dont need liquor running through my veins 24/7.
i started to look at life through sober eyes.
i began to write love on my arms
&& as i wrote this day after day, i saw that i was loved
i found comfort in better things then pills, liquor, && razorblades.
&& even though i am still in healing,
my story is not over.
&& it will never be.
i still write love on my arms

I can imagine : staring in the eyes of : Elizabeth Barret Browning
Seeing the " Glory of LOVE '; bring on the " Sorrow of LOVE "
The sweet outstanding " Black LOVE " of Edgar Allen POE
" Edna StVincent Millay " and I Believe in GOD'S Creation

To  sit beside Carrie Richards; Watching POETRY Created
To Live , In the mind of  the Teacher “ Carolyn  Devonshire”
To Understand the Language , as the  Great Master “ DrRam Mehta “
To know ,FOREVER LOVE as the “ SweetHeart” ~ Linda-Marie ~

I have Forever Dreamed: of someday being a POET Laureate
How silly is my mind, when Emotions, have Died Long Ago
Words are Earthly : I can not understand their meaning, “PURPOSE”
If Only the HEART deep with-in the Soul  : could write POETRY
                                 “ I Could “

Wrestling Verses


Spilling ink onto paper,
reading tea-leaves,

fragments of mirth,
shards of anguish,

remain,
trapped in rolled-up sleeves.


Turning up my collar,
as blue as these days that slip by,

scattered verses plunge into,
the fathoms of unknown waters.


My ink runs, slips, treading lightly,
penning odes to love on bare skin,

your skin,
your bare back my canvas,

my fingers tracing, caressing, scribbling,
homages to our laughter, our tears.


Wrestling verses,

lie spent, exhausted,
famished and parched from saying too much,

still,

my fingers tickle your soft skin,

my ink would run dry,

were it not for your gentle touch