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Posts Tagged ‘love poetry’

There can be no I here,
And I can see
There is to be no you,
But soft, that we go together
As friends
To where the dogwood will flower
And the scent of lilac fills the breath of
The disappointed and
The forever tired
With calm. And
We shall bathe in the universe,
Bask in the glories of the sun.
Sweeping aside
Who we were, what we are,
As the day laps on our skin
Gently like a kitten
On a path.
We can’t look behind us.
It is but a sad illusion for those such as us.
We can bring no oil, no wine, no myrrh.
No more of the streets of our youth
No more of the wine vats
In our once luscious gardens.
There is but small growth among them.
Olive trees, dark, like skeletons,
Scorched and barren.
All growth for them is finished but for
The light we afforded their charred roots.
Nothing is there but exile for us.
Let us go.
Let us hasten our renewals.
Now is the time to be kind.
Let us not have this darkness now.
Their suns and moons are no longer ours,
Let us go, as friends should.
Our clouds will flow immaculate over the hills
And leave their traces gently on their souls
With the softness of the freshest cotton,
Lambs wool in the pink morning sun.
Let us go on our way
With nary a backwards glance,
But there, towards our own new present.
Me, the poet
You the eternal traveler.
No longer reticent, but brave in our pace.
Let us go to that place
As friends to the day.

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My love sleeps with unicorns

In a bed of softest feathers and hay, 

On a cloud of warmth and love

A cloud so high we mere ones can only wish. 

Her gown of finest linen, moving but

Soft as her breath gently lifts its folds

Around her form. 

Her hair falls on her shoulders in a gentle

Storm, blown but by the softest breeze, 

Brown and golden in a light that sparkles

Like a wandering stream in Springs’ morning sun. 

This maid of constant joy sleeps silently, 

I see her there, always as if the first time, 

Wearing a maidens crown

Of daises and wild strawberries. 

Her tomorrows ensured

With gladness and beauty, 

Gold and silver, memories of laughter

A constant joy where ne’er a tear falls from her eye, 

Her memories and dreams are but 

Fields of gold and skies of azure blue

As she called you by your name and ran 

Into a tomorrow of wonder, 

A tomorrow she can hint at, but only the few

Untarnished warriors and knights can find. 

You know she has the answers, 

Cast in a web of knowing, 

But you never ask.

I can but watch and marvel at her beauty

As I, I who are so unworthy

Scorn my crown of thorns. 

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My love whispers to me of doorknobs
Doors to rooms we’ve never seen
Photographs on bedside tables
Faded by ancient suns
Photos showing faces we’ve yet to meet
Places and memories we’ve yet to remember.
Flowers dried in vases from lands far away
Gauze curtains waving gently
In the morning breeze blended with
The quiet plaintive call of lambs as they graze on grass
Yet to grow at farms long since burned down
Or yet to be built.
These I hear in her voice.
In my loves eyes swims time it’s self
Against a raging current coming from nowhere
Grey clouds turn to whisps in a moment
And disappear
Time is a memorial and my love masters it
I hear the world in her voice
And feel safe.

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Pablo Neruda seems to have an understanding of love that very few men seem capable of capturing. Tis a pity, but if you read his work, perhaps some of his wisdom will brush off.

 

One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII by Pablo Neruda : The Poetry Foundation.

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