Is love found in holding hands?
In quiet whispers?
In looks shared across a crowded room?
Is love shared in notes?
Is love felt with a quickening pulse?
A feeling of loss in her absence?
A longing to see but a glimpse of her?
Is love heard through...
"I'm passionate about poetry because I'm an oceanic person, meaning, I love what's underlying. I love the conversation that isn't just verbal. I love the shadowed mystery and waves and underground. If I had to choose one thing to read for the rest of my days, give me poetry as to...
uniforms of red
I saw them waiting on the hill
And I felt a fearful thrill
I saw their venom start to rise
I saw the madness in their eyes
I saw the angst of many years
And the hatred in their tears
I saw them charging with a scream
I saw their spears and sabres gleam
and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have held me
till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered voices that not again
Will turn to me...
To see my heart and soul.
No lips but yours,
Pressed firmly to mine,
Soft, warm, intoxicating...
No hands but yours,
To hold tenderly in my own,
To feel them moving over my body,
Thrilling and arousing me to my core.
No arms but yours,
Holding me and pulling me
So close to you...
Don't be immobile
On the edge of the road,
Don't freeze the joy,
Don't love with reluctance,
Don't save yourself now
Don't save yourself,
Don't fill with calm,
Don't reserve of the world
Just a calm place,
Don't let fall your lids
Heavy as trials,
Don't speak without...
to quotes, to writing, to art because we desperately do not want to be alone. We want to know we aren't going crazy and someone else out there knows exactly how you're feeling. We want someone to explain the things we cant... m.h.
you; To learn how you are; Love you as you are.
My tactic is to talk to you; And listen to you; And construct with words an indestructible bridge
My tactic is to stay in your memory, I don't know how
Nor with what pretext But stay within you
My tactic is to be honest And...
After a while you learn the subtle difference
between holding a hand and chaining a soul
and you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
and company doesn't always mean security.
And you begin to learn that kisses aren't contracts
and presents aren't promises
and you begin...
are like sugar on my tongue or the way velvet feels to the tips of fingers
I can’t stop wanting or touching, lusting for your blood where rumors in the night feed me such a sweet desire
crying out for my soul to step closer, closer I hear the...
that you find in good mornings text and smiles the kind that comes with butterflies and stolen glances the kind where you laugh for no reason and a smile is forever glued on your face sweet simple, honest, pure...then there's the kind that finds you at a 2am phone calls and the...
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge --
'Tis midnight, but small thoughts have I of sleep:
Full seldom may my friend such vigils keep!
Visit her, gentle Sleep! with wings of healing,
And may this storm be but a mountain-birth,
May all the stars hang bright above her...
that I made.
It's called 'A Rose On Concrete.' Tell me what you think!
"Dreams are nothing but absurd
That's what they choose to believe,
Oho! They must have never heard
About the rose that grew on the concrete,
Why do they choose to be blind
When the truth is there to see...
dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be ; she loves the bare, the withered trees; she walks the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay. She talks and I am fain to list; she's glad the birds are gone away, she's glad her simple worst grey is silver...
after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half acre, square mile, island, country
knowing at last how you got there,
and say I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
there soft arms from around you,
the birds take...
diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth
Then took the other, and just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted...
I seemed to have loved you numberless times, in numberless forms...
In life afer life, age after age, forvever.
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear around your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age...
Give her intellectual ******* in multiples and allow temptations to drip from her ears. Go down on her thoughts and taste her perception. Learn her soul and she will fill the void of your filthiest imagination. Never start with the hands. A.D. Woods
and every women you've ever loved, every lie you've ever told and whatever it is that keeps you up at night. Every mouth you've punched in, all the blood you have tasted, come with every enemy you've ever made , all the family you've ever buried and every dirty thing you've ever...
if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers, thanks to...
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day.
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands, the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your...
in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless...
and black and beautiful. She drew it about her
like a shawl and so divided herself from the world
that not even Age could find her. Now and then she
steals into the men's societies and fits her voice
into their holiest songs. And always, just there,
is a shadow...
It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing.
It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of...
I do not grudge
My two strong sons that I have seen go out
To break their strength and die, they and a few,
In bloody protest for a glorious thing,
They shall be spoken of among their people,
The generations shall remember them,
And call them blessed;
But I will speak...
A shearsman of sorts. The day was green.
They said, "You have a blue guitar,
You do not play things as they are."
The man replied, "Things as they are
Are changed upon the blue guitar."
And they said then, "But play, you must,
A tune beyond us, yet ourselves,
A tune upon...
“I want to see you.Know your voice.Recognize you when youfirst come 'round the corner.Sense your scent when I come into a room you've just left.Know the lift of your heel,the glide of your foot.Become familiar with the way you purse your lipsthen let them part, just the...
that send letters
back to England three centuries ago,
no postage stamps that make letters
travel back until the grave hasn’t been dug yet,
and John Donne stands looking out the window,
it is just beginning to rain this April morning,
and the birds are falling into the trees...
He creates powerfully romantic, sensual images that speak to being human, and our desire for romantic love. Beautiful!
Place your hands upon me
like a big tent preacher
and with a whisper
heal all that aches
Put your lips upon my forehead
and glance your eyes
to the sky...
Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling to your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it's better to be killed by a lover....Charles Bulsowski
a tangled orchard where dark damsons drop in the heavy grass, an overgrown little wood, a pool that nobody's fathomed the depth of and paths threaded with flowers planted by the mind...Katerine Mansfield