In Love With You
Walk this shore of love with me
This shoreline of elegant dreams
Unconventional like jagged rocks
Underground like a winter spring
Some are hurt and must survive
We are the moral ground
Caught between need and honor
Half moon out my window
It is late and you haunt me
Keats knew he was dying
I visited his grave in Rome
Buried by noble Shelley
Poets are troubled waters
Poets are roses in love
Perhaps we shall never meet
Our words like satin sheets
I am in love with you
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Lady Of Gold
Dreams from Vienna, vernal troubadours
Violins play soft, cafes in romantic light
French poets with symbols of rebellious mirth
Walk the ancient streets, parades of ghosts
Cobble stone, centuries, clocks, silver myth
Surrealistic images from the sea of Kings
Royal crimson halls where queens smile
Crystal glasses of gentry, castles, carriages
Narrow roads roll through the Alps
Aegean verse from a sea of Keats
Spanish romance with eye's of fire
Crimson goddesses in castles of Italy
Paris and Rome under a full moon
Dance the night in satin dresses
Mediterranean art in moonlit soul
My elegant love is a lady of gold
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mind The Roses
It's not like me to feel like this
Those empty arms and now the lover's kiss
And every day seems worthwhile.
It's not like life to dress so fair
As sunlight shatters on golden hair.
Diamond beauty lying everywhere
Mind the roses everyone.
Everything beautiful is fleeting
Temptress candle burns away the night
While rain on rooftop, beating, inspires
As drunken poets write.
So mind the roses everyone
And leave the spider and the fly
They have their purpose and the sun
And very little to get by.
And as we claw at the night air
Just stray cats that have no care
The flower of love blooms unseen
In a place our souls have never been
Now i just see faces on busy streets
But i see you in the moon
Understanding Shelley and Keats
And whistling love's tune.
So mind the roses everyone
And paint the lights upon the lake
Now this awareness has begun
Her love for you will now awake.
God bless the man and woman who never
Meet to love.
poem by Kevin East
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Good Poets and Bad Poets
Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.
Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind
Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.
Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.
Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.
Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.
All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.
Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.
Some poets take criticism and don't mind.
Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.
Some poets write poetry to get love.
Some poets love to write poetry.
Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind
Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind
Some poets live only after they die.
Some poets have much to say but can't articulate
Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand
So which one of these am I?
I guess I am all of these and none of these
and no matter what my description
I intend to keep doing what I do:
Write. Right
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0005 Totally Boring Poem
I’m totally bored by:
poems that sound like other poems
poems that try to sound unlike any other poems
poets who never take risks
poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets
poems with 'meaning'
poems with no meaning
poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something
poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time
poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring
poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'
poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'
poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex
poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out
poets that tell you they’ve been dumped
poets who've never known love and being dumped
poets who are ambitious
poets who are unambitious
poets who tell you all about higher things
poets who reject higher things
poets who think life’s just a joke
poets who think life’s no joke
poets who sit on the fence
poets who have no sense of balance
poets who despise 'the middle ground'
poets who talk about technique
poets with no technique
poets who just throw down their thoughts
poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish
poets who list what they like (who cares?)
poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)
poets who write about extreme states
poets who think they’re immune to extreme states
poets who tell you why they’re bored
poets who have opinions
poets who seem to have no opinions at all
poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?
poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word
poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems
poets who don't love poetry passionately
poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'
poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,
how about you?
I suppose you have boring opinions too?
another time perhaps
and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored
well I feel better for that.
how about you?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
An Exhortation
Chameleons feed on light and air:
Poets' food is love and fame:
If in this wide world of care
Poets could but find the same
With as little toil as they,
Would they ever change their hue
As the light chameleons do,
Suiting it to every ray
Twenty times a day?
Poets are on this cold earth,
As chameleons might be,
Hidden from their early birth
In a cave beneath the sea;
Where light is, chameleons change:
Where love is not, poets do:
Fame is love disguised: if few
Find either, never think it strange
That poets range.
Yet dare not stain with wealth or power
A poet's free and heavenly mind:
If bright chameleons should devour
Any food but beams and wind,
They would grow as earthly soon
As their brother lizards are.
Children of a sunnier star,
Spirits from beyond the moon,
O, refuse the boon!
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If I Knew What Poets Know
If I knew what poets know,
Would I write a rhyme
Of the buds that never blow
In the summer-time?
Would I sing of golden seeds
Springing up in ironweeds?
And of rain-drops turned to snow,
If I knew what poets know?
Did I know what poets do,
Would I sing a song
Sadder than the pigeon's coo
When the days are long?
Where I found a heart in pain,
I would make it glad again;
And the false should be the true,
Did I know what poets do.
If I knew what poets know,
I would find a theme
Sweeter than the placid flow
Of the fairest dream:
I would sing of love that lives
On the errors it forgives;
And the world would better grow
If I knew what poets know.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Dead Poets
I envy the dead poets
Those idols I aspire to
Someday become compared
How beautiful their words
Still speak in the years after
They are revered and admired
Held aloft in such acclaim
And all they know is peace
The silent rest of the grave
Where flowers are laid
They spoke of such love
And passion I felt in me
It was as though they saw me
And decided to paint my dreams
With flowing verse I slept
How maidens so fair danced
And birdsong soared upon high
Ode to the beauty
That they gave to me
They are remembered for love
Romanticism bore their pen
And while they sleep
The words are speaking aloud
Into the world and every soul
How I envy the dead poets
How I wish for me their role
To rest and my poetry read
Be known for beautiful love
And hurt no more
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Faded Love And Winter Roses
Key: e
(if you dont know e very well throw a capo on the 2nd fret and play it in d)
(e) faded love and winter roses (b7) always bloom in memo(e)ry
Faded love and winter roses (b7) yearning hearts that used to (e)be
(a)will they meet again tomorrow (e)where we parted yester(b7)day
(e)give me back the winter roses (b7)and the love you took a(e)way
(e)faded love and winter roses (b7)sprinkled with a lonely (e)tear
Faded love and winter roses (b7)still recall each yester(e)year
(a)will I always be a dreamer (e)dreaming of the used to (b7)be
(e)faded love and winter roses (b7)live and die in memo(e)ry
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Fall, Magnificient Fall
Oh to simply read you-Garrison-
Conjures up masterpieces in my minds eye-
Divine 'tis the Maple Tree (more so even now)
Unbridled passion, flows throughout the Autumns sky;
Oh, the colours that you write of, Garrison-
Golden Yellows to the Blazing Reds...
And of course, Falls Dance of Romance-
And the truth of the masterpieces-oft' ignored, once you're dead;
You touch upon the reality of it all-Garrison-
Not listening, as we ignore bad advise-given from the Maple tree...
And when the rain comes pouring and the wind blows gales-
In the end, what we really have is a heap of rotting leaves! ;
So say you of what it is like in St. Paul, Garrison?
Our own mortality, it cannot be put on pause...
For we are as fragile and forgettable as the maple tree-
Fighting our petty battles but for what noble cause? ? ?
You state basicically that we are born and then we die-
Can you imagine the obituarys of the great poets of the past?
Dying so young- -as Shelley and Keats-
We might feel a twinge reading it- but it would not last! ? !
Fall, oh your magnificient Fall- - Garrison...
Remembering the young romantic poets of their time-
Writing at their very best at 25, 28, 29, and 31...
Dying soon after completing their very best rhymes;
Oh how i love to read you, Garrison...
So brave-not allowing a little stroke-get you down-
A Prairie Home Companion and 77 Love Sonnets-are a must...
Were you aware that you're creating a Legacy that will indeed live on?
***************************************** ***********************************
It is with great admiration and esteem that i dedicate this poem
To Garrison Keilor...Of St Paul, Minnisota-Columnist-
Author of 77 Sonnets-Stroke Survivor Since The first Week In September Of 2009.
Here's to Spring Garrison
****Spring Magnificient Spring-Read it in the paper! ! !
Da do run run da do run run...
Met him on a Monday and my heart stood still
Somebody told me that his name was Bill.
Da Do run run Da do run run...
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Her Poetry
Harmony on the Highlands
Mountains dressed in Celtic silk
She covers me like wild roses
Songs of the sea going mariners
These dreams of moss and bogs
Of streams and stalwart pines
I long for the kiss of Edinburgh
Dylan Thomas cannot come home
Welsh wit of uncanny sun
Your rain fills rivers with tears
The dew shall not comfort the sky
Nightingale mourns
Fear not for elegant words live on
Poetess wakes me with her knock
Can words unlock the distant heart?
Awake too rhymes of timeless joy
Love has wings that cross the sea
Love has dreams beyond the islands
Let no druids rob the rainbow
Hear the larks hail sweet cupid
Radiant smile torches the stars
My cryptic shelter is broken
Windermere discovers me
I cannot hide in London’s fog
She is the lips of Juliet
Bards and poets kneel
Her voice of gold has spoken
Noble gestures spun in sonnets
Smitten with beauty I falter
Erudite love has made me bow
Her poetry is a fire of love
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Our Survival
We shall survive distance.
We shall survive space.
But can we survive the loneliness
that we have to face?
We shall survive winter.
We shall survive spring.
But can we survive the guilt
of the wedding ring?
We shall survive long nights.
We shall survive days.
But can we survive the longings
that always and forever stays?
We shall survive suspicion.
We shall survive fear.
But can we survive living
without each other, dear?
We shall survive all of this
if we put our love first.
We shall survive hunger.
We shall survive thirst
only if this love is true.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On The Shoreline
Released as b-side of I cant dance single, 1991.
Well theres a place where two worlds collide
The pile of stone against the pull of the tide
You can stay with your feet on the ground
Or step into the water, leave the dry behind
On the shoreline
Meet me on the shoreline
Where you can only swim if you try
Well, if theres somewhere on the other side
It might be better, it might be as bad
Someday soon youll have to make a move
Cos you cant stay forever, ah just waiting
On the shoreline (on the shoreline)
Meet me on the shoreline (on the shoreline)
Take me over, lead me through
Well can you take me there, to the other side
Where everything is new, uncertain and strange
Dont ever let me go till were there
I dont know what it is Im looking for
And until its found I wont be sure...
Well, there are squares in the game of life
When you can keep on moving or turn aside
Yes, there are times when you have to decide
To put your feet in the water, or stay
On the shoreline (on the shoreline)
Meet me on the shoreline (on the shoreline)
Where you can only swim if you try
Ill be there - oh
On the shoreline (on the shoreline)
Ill be there on the shoreline (on the shoreline)
Where you can only swim if you try
Ill be there
Ill be there - oh
Yes, Ill be there
Ill be there...
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Secrets
In secret do you love me?
Here and there a tear
Summer leaves can haunt
In secret I use to love you
Now it is no secret
The winter has forced my hand
You must know before I go
Some secrets we keep
Others must be told
Some secrets should be kept
They would hurt others
Flowers are growing again
I feel generous
Resolution is needed
You need to know
I always loved you
I pretended not too
I tried to lie to myself
I wanted to hurt you
I only hurt myself
Reading Pablo Neruda
I have become convicted
I can feel moonlight again
Summer roses grow
I know it is late
We can’t go back
I need to tell this
I still love you
I will die loving you
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ballade Of Blind Love
Who have loved and ceased to love, forget
That ever they loved in their lives, they say;
Only remember the fever and fret,
And the pain of Love, that was all his pay;
All the delight of him passes away
From hearts that hoped, and from lips that met -
Too late did I love you, my love, and yet
I shall never forget till my dying day.
Too late were we 'ware of the secret net
That meshes the feet in the flowers that stray;
There were we taken and snared, Lisette,
In the dungeon of La Fausse Amistie;
Help was there none in the wide world's fray,
Joy was there none in the gift and the debt;
Too late we knew it, too long regret -
I shall never forget till my dying day!
We must live our lives, though the sun be set,
Must meet in the masque where parts we play,
Must cross in the maze of Life's minuet;
Our yea is yea, and our nay is nay:
But while snows of winter or flowers of May
Are the sad year's shroud or coronet,
In the season of rose or of violet,
I shall never forget till my dying day!
ENVOY.
Queen, when the clay is my coverlet,
When I am dead, and when you are grey,
Vow, where the grass of the grave is wet,
'I shall never forget till my dying day!'
poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Meet Me On The Mountain
I remember it well, that day last spring,
When the snow lay deep on the mountain trails.
It was winters last showin and our last fling
Before returning to our lives in the valley.
We pretended we were lost in the wilderness,
And I pretended to be your guide.
Our love was a play and you were the actress.
We were two lonely people living out a dream.
Oh, baby meet me on the mountain
When the winter is dying
And the snow lay deep on the mountain trails.
Maybe its the spring putting thoughts in our heads.
But baby meet me on the mountain
When the winter lays her head to rest.
As the morning came, the feelings faded.
They melted away with the dew.
And if it hurt, I never felt it,
cause I knew that youd be leavin me soon.
Come on, baby meet me on the mountain
When the winter is dying
And the snow lay deep on the mountain trails.
Maybe its the spring putting thoughts in our heads.
But baby meet me on the mountain
When the winter lays her head to rest.
song performed by by Reo Speedwagon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Depression in Early Spring
Meathooks, notebooks,
the whole city sky palely flaming
& spectral bombs
hitting that patch of river
I see from my eastern window.
The poets are dead, the city dying.
Anne, Sylvia, Keats
with his passionate lungs,
Berryman jumping from the bridge & waving,
all the dreamers dead
of their own dreams.
Why have I stayed on as Horatio?
Anne sends poems from the grave,
Sylvia, letters.
John Keats's ghostly cough
comes through the wall board.
What am I doing here?
Why contend?
I am a corpse who moves a pen that writes.
I am a vessel for a voice that echoes.
I write a novel & annihilate whole forests.
I rearrange the cosmos by an inch.
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Clash Between Truth And Love!
Love has a spell over everyone!
Who is there not swayed by love?
Truth I say friends take as advice;
But words of love they accept as
Decree of divine dispensation!
Love wins what truth struggles.
Same thing happens with poets too;
Poets are overtaken by poetesses
by being ladies of beauty and love!
Poets however sincere they are
Are left behind poetesses often!
Intellect can be used to say truth;
Imagination can be used to do so!
Dry intellectual truth falls on deaf ears
But sweet imaginary truth reaches all!
Wisdom lies in maintaining silence
Believing that truth will prevail finally!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Write Poems For Poets
I WRITE POEMS FOR POETS
I write poems for poets
Our situation as poets-
The longings the feelings
We so need to express-
The love of language-
The hunger for recognition-
The frequent rejection-
The kind word of a reader that moves-
Poems for poets
We as we each are
All so different-
And we as we share
Words and worlds
We hope to have read.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Hand Song
The boy only wanting to give mother something,
And all of her roses had bloomed.
Looking at him as he came rushing in,
without knowing her roses were doomed.
All she could see were some thorns buried deep,
And tears that he cried as she tended his wounds.
And she knew it was love, it was what she could understand.
He was showing his love and that's how he hurt his hands.
He still remembers that night as a child, on his mothers knee.
She held him close and she opened her Bible, and quietly started to read.
Then seeing a picture of Jesus, he cried out:
"Mama he's got some scars just like me!"
And he knew it was love, it was what he could understand.
He was showing his love, and that's how he hurt his hands.
[instrumental break]
Now the boy is grown and moved out on his own.
When Uncle Sam comes along.
A foreign affair, but our young men are there.
And luck had his number drawn.
It wasn't that long till our hero was gone, he gave to a friend what he learned from the cross.
But they knew it was love, it one they could understand.
He was showing his love, and that's how he hurt his hands.
It was one they could understand.
He was showing his love, and that's how he hurt his hands.
song performed by by Nickel Creek
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Pig's-Eye View Of Literature
The Lives and Times of John Keats,
Percy Bysshe Shelley, and
George Gordon Noel, Lord Byron
Byron and Shelley and Keats
Were a trio of Lyrical treats.
The forehead of Shelley was cluttered with curls,
And Keats never was a descendant of earls,
And Byron walked out with a number of girls,
But it didn't impair the poetical feats
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley,
Of Byron and Shelley and Keats.
poem by Dorothy Parker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!