Of human bondage
Alone, he is a castle keep,
still with fear:
will love find him
in a lie, saying
that it was the same outside
as with a lock and a state…
Poems on the topic: love
Poems on the topic “love” on Poets.by.
Proverbial (12)
Where we keep time,
we are not ready.
Where we love, we exceed,
we eat…
Breakup
I hear the first words die
with a strange turn
into thin ear.
The common years we were merry in
go cold—prayers
to be mulled.
V-Day haiku
Valentine’s Day—
formerly held hands count money
by a hard bed
Stranger
“Tell me, stranger,
what love should be called.”
The stranger preached the whole book
then went into court.
A drum came by, beating
a strange manner of beat—
now and then a single stroke.
I wondered at what I saw
but did not speak.
Stargaze
Never having believed in happiness, it occurs to me, might have had something to do with why i never actively pursued it. If it showed up regardless, well and good, but in general, day-to-day contentment seemed enough. And you know, maybe it is. For far too many around the world, it’s an unattainable dream.
But what about love, Dave?
And you call yourself a poet!
Pleiades
syncopating
crickets
Charm
fire fire
burn my brick
live like some cut
in the body
a good drinker-up
of every love
Multifaceted
in matters of passion
I should have been a fly
I have grown many
hands and eyes
to meet the sweet weather
of her selves
Modes
in a letter
I go with the discourse
and stay to discourse
in love
I varnish a crucifix
and call it love
in the garden
I am of the garden
and come home
Net Work
It is still light where I sit
reading the lines you are touch-
typing in the dark.
The planet’s curves
are always coming between us
her ceaseless spinning
her magnetic field
her core of molten rock.
But it’s the state that says stop
behind arbitrary lines
the border force that says stand still
for security screening
and if you’re poor, stay out.
The earth is always knitting
us together. Her forces
are centripetal and convergent.
Quick lay for John Donne
a mouth can die
for want of mirth
and the skin for want
of a mouth to read it
coming together in
a merry lay
Bad analogy
A ripe sweet pepper
may look like a heart
but is really more like
a lung—full of naught.
Often enough, its seedy knob
has already begun to rot.
It isn’t any sort of pump,
nor does its plumpness come
from love’s leaven.
Most damning of all:
despite being red, and a pepper,
it is not hot.
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
Or try: