poems about love

The Image | Ananya S. Guha - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

The Image | Ananya S. Guha

I love that image
love it, not mine
not yours, I love that face
which in the hidden artifacts
of poetry is mine, yours.
What do rhythms say, speak, in that image
is there a visage shattered
contemplative, like a thinking sage?
In that image, what’s yours
mine, breaking distances
that image is a shattering piece of hope.
Time cannot travel,
nor the image, mine yours.
The image speaks poetry besotted with love, it writhes in pain at the smatter of the word, or the pain of blood.
The image is requiescent
and hidden, it stares me
in my face.
The image voices so many
rainbows. I am in love with it.
Not me, you.

Dark Poem and or Lecture; I'm Starting to Think Some of the World's People Lack Something; Don't Know We Hate Our Madness, Darkness, a Poem, or Lecture | L Lawliet - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Dark Poem and or Lecture; I'm Starting to Think Some of the World's People Lack Something; Don't Know We Hate Our Madness, Darkness, a Poem, or Lecture | L Lawliet

I often realize this throughout my 23 years alive, what seems like many other lifetimes, past live’s in the world of people, humankind as a whole seem not to reach out to others they don’t get to know the real person behind what they show others they could be angry at the world or at people or at family or the past.
For example we, human or not, fear our own madness monsters, darkness but some of us still, with people surrounding us, get lost from time to time, forget who those people are, sometimes feel like them or the world is against us all so we, in our own ways, hide, fight them, grow to love what we hate in our selves, see cold hatred stared in the eyes of the people like what is this freak, like you’re not human anymore.
It’s like we’re standing alone on the edge of long high 1000 or a 100,000,000 foot cliff slowly being pushed over while that stuff we hate, our hatred, our madness, that monster inside is not human anymore as it would seem as we age, grow older, either can’t run away from or get away from, either hide or escape it.
We seem to forget as humans or non-humans that we all have something, we need a helping hand to let us know there are people in the existing hell-hole of a world we either see as friend foe or both, we truly can’t decide due to the illogicial method of wanting to exam, observe people’s every nature, mannerism, action, behavior, body language, gesture, humans studied to the fullest.
We unusually remember the face they hide behind, assume it’s fine while deep inside they’re scared, looking for the help they seek, can’t find but often lack the means to save themselves but look strong on the outer but not the inner.
There, screaming SOMEONE, ANY ONE, PLEASE HELP IN BLOODY TEAR-FILLED EYES.
They don’t know who or what will save them; they try everything, just get more lost, can’t find a light close enough to see anymore so we either see a hand, know it’s a hand or madness, hatred grab, slowly gradually pull us over the cliff, edge grasping to take us into itself, make us become it, we think it’s that same madness, hate, smack it away, try to run.
Though if you truly wish to save, help people, reach out to them no matter how they look, think, act, talk, dress, conduct themselves, how wise or dumb they can or could be, how different they might be, the world peace breed fear, hatred that’s the madness that becomes our own darkness that pulls us over the edge; so which are you, are we, is the world, am I; you decide, help, or hinder; keep me in the light finally, save us all, myself, or leave me to wonder when I
‘ll be saved, me as a whole, the whole world.
So, next time ask which you are truly through meditation or self discovery; ask, are you the man or the monster.

More at http://lrueryuzaki.deviantart.com/journal/dark-and-or-lecture-433491254.

blood fellows behind me from my knees | L Lawliet - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

blood fellows behind me from my knees | L Lawliet

i one time ponder why i cant stand on my own two legs all the time i often contemplate why my knee’s are so weak that i speak these words for all to be heard.
i look down at my weak knee’s , i say why are you so weak when i have all this power , strength to keep from falling on you my knee’s.
i hear them say its cause you drag us , pull us thru your life walking on us unaware of the blood you trail , leave behind you we are blood soaked knee’s.
i ask them why do you not stand , drip less blood they reply because we cant stand if you don’t walk i reply but walking thru life is the hardest part.
they tell me we are blood soaked knee’s to stop the blood you must stand tall , carry yourself better , be strong for everyone not just you.
i then reply why must i stand if i cant even walk or even find the courage to speak , talk my words of my own mind .
they reply if you don’t stand you cant turn around , see everyone the blood trails of us blood soaked knee’s we cover them in our blood you must turn around , see the blood so you can stand tall , stop the blood.
i reply i don’t know how to stand they then proceed to tell me grab the hands of those we blood soaked knee’s have behind you soaked in our blood , they well help you stand .
i reply but what if my mind body , heart are weaker then me , wanna drop to tho blood soaked knee’s they reply those people behind , in front of you well strengthen those parts of yourself so you can see them , hear them , have the strength to grab there hands , stand tall.
they then reply that’s how you stand tall just don’t try to do it alone i smile some one what , slowly see my friends lovers , family behind me , reach out my long reaching arms to grasp there’s , pull me up , then i know i’m not walking on bloody knee’s but healing knee’s

More at http://lrueryuzaki.deviantart.com/journal/blood-fellows-behind-me-from-my-knees-L-459678072.

Jilted | Vivian Belford - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Jilted | Vivian Belford

He rhapsodizes, besotted by lust
She beams, rapt by lyrics and rhymes
Of baby, sugar, sweetie and honey
Now cascading at your feet, eager to love
Then without a fuss, you’ve had your fill
Your hunger is quenched before hers stirred
If this was church, she only heard grace
And it was not even chanted in fellowship
If this was love, it’s premature
It’s like that phrase “stillborn babe”
For even the day, step ladders in fours
Morn to noon and even to night
And daily food permits to nourish
At breakfast, lunch and dinner at will
Yet you attacked the appetizer with so much ado
Ditched the main course like a sorry sight
Leaving no care for tidbits of delicious deserts
See now she reeks like “leftover”
Pinioning and pouting in the dark

Over and Over | Vera Ashton - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Over and Over | Vera Ashton

She sits at her desk, refreshing the page.
Over and over again.
Trying to gather information.
From the empty pages.
The black and empty void,
The terror in her heart,
The anxiety in her stomach,
The fog in her brain.
She knows she is torturing herself.
But she sits at her desk, looking at the flickering pixels.
Who is she.
Why her.
What’s so special.
Her heart skips a beat.
Her brain cringes.
Her stomach churns.
It is all there.
The evidence of the affair.
The evidence of her existence.

More at http://musingofadysfunctionalmind.blogspot.com/.

Breast Cancer Is Our Boardwalk | William Zink - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Breast Cancer Is Our Boardwalk | William Zink

Breast cancer is our boardwalk.
Why not a cold morgue or a field fallow with
bitter mustard? Why not an abandoned mansion
turned into a crack house, or some listing ship
taking on water, about to sink?
Because this breast cancer, of all things,
has lit the wheezing vapors of our marriage.
Cancer, with its cumbersome insistence,
woke us up, all right!
Woke us up to Death sitting astutely
snickering over in the chair,
in the back seat of the car,
his head sharing the pillow.
Death pokes that sickle in pertinent places!
The head.
The heart.
The sexual organs.
He doesn’t always, as we have seen—
oh, we have seen—
kill the body whole,
but often leaves the victim half-dead,
or half-alive, depending on your philosophy,
thrashing in bed.
Dancers are turned into crawling worms.
Gazelles rendered as three-legged hyenas.
Swans into vicious, carnivorous magpies.
And we are not immune!
Do they think we have been insulated because
we’ve worn the mask of the brave, the cape
draped over our shoulders without consent or
even query by the self-appointed champions
of the fight?
Breast cancer is demise and partial demise.
It is rust and woody decay. Yet, before,
where were we?
Alive? More or less.
Engaged? Between the pyramids of work and house.
Betrothed souls? Betrothed to the commitment,
if not the spirit. Breast cancer is our boardwalk,
I say, and will keep on saying as we
take our fourth walk together today along
frontier stallions of russet and reds,
as we did years ago beneath the artificial light
of our kaleidoscope world.

To Love Is to Endure | El Sane Ken Silencer - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

To Love Is to Endure | El Sane Ken Silencer

It is a drum I was born with
I have gone many occasions
Learning how to be in love with life
I’ve in ways sounded it with passion
Giving it my heart without its call
I have slept many a time with sighs
Trying to make every ear smile, I fall
I have seen grins of many sizes
Sounding it with just a just mind
I see sky red, and the cloud cloud
Birds mocking me with a Latin chorus
Air whizzing in waxing recurrences
All telling that all with procedure
If you love, you have t’love t’endure.

When the End Was without You | Jocelyn Shaw - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

When the End Was without You | Jocelyn Shaw

If the day would never come
Could you imagine the end
Of this love affair, wouldn’t wanna dream undone
The strings of yesterday, then close me in your love, your arms, bind our love
Forever, days that lay, weaving me in and across two desert stars, the day and nights
If the day would never come
Wouldn’t want to pass the hours longing for love of yesterday without you
When all that I could see depended on you
In all that could come
The most that would perish
Would be time without you
When the end was without you
Couldn’t turn the days pass and escape the hours
Meant for two
When the end of this affair was never meant to be without you

More at http://jocelynisaninternational.blogspot.com/.

Philosophy 101: Who Knew? | Donal Mahoney - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

Philosophy 101: Who Knew? | Donal Mahoney

The gap between potency and act,
the scholar says, is demonstrated
by this anecdote:
A boy of 12, visiting a farm,
is given a glass of buttermilk
by the farmer’s wife who tells him,
“Down the hatch, young man!”
The boy drinks the buttermilk
and almost vomits.
Decades later at a County Fair
a farmer’s wife selling buttermilk
tells the boy who’s now a man,
“You’ll love my buttermilk!”
and offers him a glass.
He drinks the buttermilk
and vomits on her counter.
This demonstrates, the scholar says,
the gap between potency and act.

More at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.

The Girl with Fear | Keith Russell - Appreciate Language and Form through the Best Contemporary Poetry

The Girl with Fear | Keith Russell

She was always living the life of horror and fear,
In this world she was living in, nothing about her seemed too clear.
Everything she came across in her life, she was petrified,
She believed in God but always thought in her heart the devil was
alive.
She was scared to kiss, hug, scared to touch,
Scared of sex because love is a lie and the pain is too much.
She was scared to open those beautiful eyes and see,
Scared she might see something gruesome, including me.
Scared to be happy so she would always be in an indecisive mood,
Scared about gaining weight so she wouldn’t eat any food.
Never had goals and dreams to spread her wings and fly,
Always hated her life and even tho she never understand it she still
was afraid to die.
She never liked being by herself so she was always afraid of being
alone,
But she never gave a dude a chance because she was scared they would
leave her on her own.
Scared of getting old because her beauty might fade away,
Scared of keeping friends because she can’t trust anybody and they might
just turn on her one day.
We all are human beings and we all are afraid of something here,
But this is a girl who has always lived a life of fear.

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