Who writes love letters grows thin; who carries them, fat.
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I Confessed To You
As I read the old love letters,
you sent back to me.
The ones in which I confessed to you
how I wanted our love to be.
I told you in them
how I was sensitive to your touch,
and how I loved you so much.
It was obvious that you
did not feel for me the same way.
You never answered the letters,
but sent them unopened back to me.
Years have now passed
and I kept each and every one.
I dig them out occasionally
and have a good read through,
and then I sit down
and read them to you.
When I wrote them,
there was one thing I did not know.
You could not have read
the letters even if you wanted to.
You were blind and I did not know,
but that never stopped our love.
Now as we grow older together
with each passing day.
Our love grows a little stronger
in lots of different ways.
Those faded old love letters
we keep, as our reminder
love has no bounds.
4 June 2008
poem by David Harris
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Weight of the Wind
The wind carries much more than we see
It carries a lot of what makes you and me
The wind blows and carries lies
Around the world it carries cries
We don't hear nor see any of these things
We don't know or feel what the wind brings
The wind carries the wishes and dreams
The wind carries promises down streams
On it lays our secrets we hold inside
Also the love for others we try to hide
It carries so much oh how I wish to know
With all that weight how can the wind blow?
poem by Mathew Welch
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Must
She writes as if there’s not much time.
She writes to pain, to happiness,
She writes to every remote detailed thought.
She writes to the departed,
to the extant,
to poverty,
to wealth.
She writes to mourn, and grief.
She writes to the wind, the rain,
forest, the desert, and mountains.
She writes to her pouring tears,
to her grateful moments,
She writes because really what she has is time.
She has no little ones to feed, or bathe,
nor a husband to make happy. To write is
to escape- to her. Time is not a problem, time
is just a killing system, she needs to kill in many words.
She writes as if there’s not much time.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Clothed After The Bombs
He goes hungry nd grows thin,
She goes hungry and grows thin,
But naked out of the womb the cam to the world;
And, they are now clothed after the bombs killed them! !
For they will be laid in the tombs to respect the law;
But i am just a passer by in this land of war!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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He who writes love letters must have clammy hands.
Reflections 101
he writes not because
he wants to be read and
be understood
got him wrong really
he writes because he likes
to live
life writes upon himself
and so he writes upon life too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Their Kind Of Books
You are somebody's wife and now,
Somebody's husband is using you;
But, is this what you call love? !
You are somebody's husband and now,
Somebody's wife is sleeping with you;
But, is this what you call love? !
What kind of world is this?
Is this the kind of love or lust that you want?
What kind of garden of Eden is this?
Is this what you call lust or love?
Oh, what a shame! ! !
A lady sleeps with a president and writes a book about it,
A man kills a woman ans writes a book about it,
A thief robs a bank and writes a book about it,
A man sleeps with somebody's wife and writes a book about it,
A flirt sleeps with different people and writes a book about it,
A kidnapper is very successful with his or her acts and writes a book about it,
A woman kills a man and writes a book about it,
And so on and so forth as we seen in this world;
But, sin is like enjoyment to these people in this Garden of Eden!
And now, thier kind of books are all over the stores in this world for sale.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Fate of Love
you can save love as secret
though you avoid and hide
love only has two fate
it grows or it dies
you will fail loving someone
to be same day by day
it grows or it dies
you say broken heart
shattered love into thousand pieces
but it still grows or it dies
old memories bring love from the past
but only the illusion
somewhere in time
it grows or it dies
you can keep love in beautiful box
protect it from storm and darkness
but love only has two fate
it grows or it dies
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Love Letters
She held a pack of love letters tied with ribbons and bows.
these were the love letters that she would never show.
Every one of them was dated first to last
These were the letters that held a life past.
Times may pass and things may change
But memories stay the same.
The writing of love letters had slowly disappeared
But she held on to them from year to year.
She sat with the letters in her lap.
As the tears rolled down her eyes
He had said he would be with her
Till the day he died
And fifty years later
He met his maker
And was carried to the cemetery
by the undertaker.
The letters had been written
with tenderness and love
Proclaiming every thing
Even the stars above.
He said life was meaningless if with her
His life he could not share.
And losing her was something
he could not bear.
Now that he was gone and she
Was left all alone.
The house didn’t seem
like much of a home.
She knew her children would not understand
Why she held the love letters in her hand.
These were the memories that kept her alive
And on that she couldn’t deny.
But her mind and body was fading fast
And she knew she could not last.
So to her children she bequeathed
The letters that she cherished all her life
For that was her husband, and she was his wife.
These are the love letters that your father
Wrote to me when we were young and carefree.
He told me of all that life had to offer.
And of all the love he had for me
And that he wanted to raise a family.
When you read his letters you will know
Why I loved this man so.
And now it’s time for me to go.
Because your father awaits me on the other side
And we’ll be together for all of time
poem by Louis Rams
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Book Of Suleika - The Loving One Again
WRITES he in Neski,
Faithfully speaks he;
Writes he in Tali,
Joy to give, seeks he:
Writes he in either,
Good!--for he loves!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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thanks' - You Are 'welcome
"Thanks" the six letter word to play
It's just as sweet as you say
It means a lot to many of us
It carries love in an omnibus
But I will offer these seven letters to you
And "Thanks" will bear a lovely hue
Time to open the gates of my kingdom
In my world of poetry you are welcome
poem by Jyo Jottypoet Love
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I Love You
How many times I said I love you
I can’t remember, you forgot too
What we remember is the fragrance of love
How much we get never seems enough
Every time we get closer, embrace each other
Benevolence of love grows further ‘n’ further
Every touch of kiss writes a whole new story
Love poignantly glorifies, puts aside the worry
No matter how much time we’ve spent together
Never mind how many words said to each other
One moment of love is like an entire eternity
Love is the gospel; love is our sacred divinity
So worship the love, keep building love’s temple
As it can conquer everything and ample
Love me beyond the life and death’s hue
And once again, I’m saying I love you
poem by Sourav RCY
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I Grieve
It was only one hour ago
It was all so different then
Theres nothing yet has really sunk in
Looks like it always did
This flesh and bone
Its just the way that you would tied in
Now theres no-one home
I grieve for you
You leave me
so hard to move on
Still loving whats gone
They say life carries on
Carries on and on and on and on
The news that truly shocks is the empty empty page
While the final rattle rocks its empty empty cage
And I cant handle this
I grieve for you
You leave me
Let it out and move on
Missing whats gone
They say life carries on
They say life carries on and on and on
Life carries on
In the people I meet
In everyone thats out on the street
In all the dogs and cats
In the flies and rats
In the rot and the rust
In the ashes and the dust
Life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on
Its just the car that we ride in
A home we reside in
The face that we hide in
The way we are tied in
And life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on
Did I dream this belief?
Or did I believe this dream?
Now I can find relief
I grieve
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letters Never Sent
(carly simon/jacob brackman)
In a suitcase tied with string
On the highest shelf
In the closet down the hall
Hidden from myself
Fits of madness, pools of grief
Fevers of desire
How peculiar these remain
Slavaged from the fire
For some I crumpled some I burned
Some I tore to shreds
Lifetimes later, here they are
Ones I saved instead
Letters never sent to you
Letters never sent
Never reached their destination
Mostly born of pain
Resurfaced with the purpose of
A trip down memory lane
Broken hearted, breaking hearts
All the way it went
Evidence of what I saw
My experiments
Lifes a riddle, lifes a dream
Lifes an accident
Now Im gonna set them free
Letters never sent
Letters never sent to you
Letters never sent
Once upon a time taboo
Letters never sent
Letters never sent to you
Letters never sent
Incongruous, and overdue
Letters never sent
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How much we inflate?
A child is born, carrying over gene
Love surrounds him with its arms
Child wants to reach every corner
Up in the air, flies a Balloon
Child cries to get one for its own
Carries it with delight, runs around.
Grows to be a mesmerized Teen
Love grips him at his belly
Lover just wants to meet a partner
Spends money, buys a Balloon
Puffs a lot, Fills it, just to be blown
Balloon has to fly; lover has to be on the ground.
Another gap of years passes on
Love becomes a quest in mind
Restless Lover looks for a mentor
Collects the pieces of burst Balloon
Sarcastic laugh emerges from frown
Mockery, Mystery and History surround
Middle age, inner vibration cools down
Bow set Love penetrates the heart
Pain, when balanced, kills the predator
Emancipated soul looks at the Balloon
Smirk with acumen, not to mourn
To love from within becomes the bond
Silver lines twinkle thereafter
Love heals the whole self
Insight resonates unto the creator
Tied at one end, flies the Balloon
Hilarity reaches the top to crown
Learn to Inflate, in its scope, not beyond.
-vidi-
15-01-2009
poem by Vidi Writes
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The Heart of the Swag
Oh, the track through the scrub groweth ever more dreary,
And lower and lower his grey head doth bow;
For the swagman is old and the swagman is weary—
He’s been tramping for over a century now.
He tramps in a worn-out old “side spring” and “blucher,”
His hat is a ruin, his coat is a rag,
And he carries forever, far into the future,
The key of his life in the core of his swag.
There are old-fashioned portraits of girls who are grannies,
There are tresses of dark hair whose owner’s are grey;
There are faded old letters from Marys and Annies,
And Toms, Dicks, and Harrys, dead many a day.
There are broken-heart secrets and bitter-heart reasons—
They are sewn in a canvas or calico bag,
And wrapped up in oilskin through dark rainy seasons,
And he carries them safe in the core of his swag.
There are letters that should have been burnt in the past time,
For he reads them alone, and a devil it brings;
There were farewells that should have been said for the last time,
For, forever and ever the love for her springs.
But he keeps them all precious, and keeps them in order,
And no matter to man how his footsteps may drag,
There’s a friend who will find, when he crosses the Border,
That the Heart of the Man’s in the Heart of his swag.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Every author really wants to have letters printed in the papers. Unable to make the grade, he drops down a rung of the ladder and writes novels.
quote by P.G. Wodehouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Message Here For All You Poets
The love poet writes of lovely things like true love and flowers in bloom
And the roses in the poet's garden scent of a sweet perfume
And the gentle hearted applaud him saying what a marvellous poet
He surely is a child of God and one worthy of note.
The love poet writes of love of God and the God fearing say
He's a fine poet one of the best love and respect to God he pay
He hear no evil speak no evil only write of God and love
And there's a place reserved for him in God's Kingdom up above.
The social issues poet writes of the poor and few his verses read
They say he writes such morbid stuff sob stories we do not need
He keeps highlighting the downtrodden and those in poverty
He ought to put more trust in God and in Humanity.
A message here for all you poets don't write of the downtrod
But write of affairs of your heart and write of your love of God
And some will say how great you are and your praises they will sing
And they will pay respect to you and call you their Poetic Queen or King.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Letter To Heather
I am writing you these letters
to let you know that I miss you
I think of you all of the time
And I wonder how you're doing
Have you been thinking about me
As much as I have been of you
Or have you found a lover
In the time I've been away
If so I can understand
Why you have forgotten me
I have not forgotten you
Nor do I think that I could
I've written you love letters
And one day I'll mail them too
I hope that day arrives soon
Because I really miss you
I'll try to write more later
But for now I have to go
Just remember I love you
As much today as ever
If not as much even more
Did you get the letters that I
sent to you my love
Love Always
Just Alpha
poem by Edwin Tanguma
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Among The Ashes
In among the ashes
of your old love letters
the fragments of your
contemptuous love lay.
The hopes that were dashed
when the chips were down.
The dreams that you abandoned
in the games you played.
In among the ashes
of your old love letters
the fragments of your
flirtatious heart lay.
The constant cheating
that brought our stronghold down.
The flames now licking wounds
of your constant forays.
In among the ashes
of your old love letters
the fragments of what
could have been lay.
Instead, I’m burning bridges
putting the past and you behind.
Burning your old love letters
that you left behind
to taunt and remind me
of the love I thought was mine.
Now the ashes I scatter to the four winds
and the place to where you might have gone
abandoning home and family
for just another fling.
26 August 2009
poem by David Harris
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