Love – Page 8 – POETRY FESTIVAL. Submit to site for FREE. Submit for actor performance. Submit poem to be made into film.

Astral Moments, Poetry by Kirstin Maguire

The bridges of Amsterdam shine in Spring,
Down river, wild current churning wide.
Twitching free, a young man slips in,
Along crooked warehouse and factory line.
Trips between buildings, viaduct drift,
Swift dip of huge river’s golden dreams.
Steam engine rolling, thunderous roaring,
Steelworks of old working-life’s gleam.

Genres:Love, Fear, Relationships, Promises, Hope, Loss, Astral

Astral Moments
Inspired by ‘Astral Weeks’ by Van Morrison
by Kirstin Maguire

Backstreet ditches,
Many we stumbled,
Many a night and many a sight.
Disappear from view,
Hide and then stop,
Many a night and many a sight.

Daylight cracks paving,
Deep river shining.
Many a light and many a sight.
Sunlight ripples,
Twinkling shimmer,
Many a light and many a sight.

She eyes him from dank riverbank,
She stirs, she heaves, she hurls.
Drags him under arms to reeds’ banks,
She strokes, he wakes, she soothes.

Zealous fingers comb wet hair,
Promise it will all be alright.
To lay him down in silence easy,
Dreaming all that wandering night.

He gulps new breath of refreshed world,
Silent kissed eyes open wide.
Translucent outline, rise and unfurls,
And views himself, he’s his own guide.

A gleam on the breeze, a trick, a flicker,
A glow in the air, a spark, a heartbeat.
With renewed view and refreshed spirit.
Reborn eyes with new insight.

Sun setting radiant wonder,
Leaping waves; wild ocean roar,
Crests are choppy,
Gathering wildly,
Lapping softly,
On quiet breeze.

Each tide finds its shore.
As far as eye sees,
As far as mind winds,
To horizon.

Blends, fades and folds,
Transient ascending,
As translucent-self pictures self.
Many depths plundered,
Rich skies greet pale seas.
Textures singing and sweeping free,
Grit in feet, sand creeping toes,
Questioning look on forlorn face.

Braving red skies sunset’s blaze,
Lines each texture and every crease.
Colour fade and in-betweens,
Hands wrapping tightly behind back.
Translucent vision pushes the raft
Of old oak door mounting vast waves.
Wheels way and venture revolution,
Meet sea, eclipse, find ultimate source.

In twitching dark corridor
Of bitter cold night,
Dim lights flicker along their hallway.
Pots and pans rattling,
Behind closed doors.
Raised voices spatting,
Behind closed doors.

Forcing door he tumbles in,
Tattered suit dusted
From door’s crashing.
Arm stands to attention
Behind sunken back.
Stray flowers he clutches;
Fine bastions.
The hopeful picking and
Desperate plucking,
Wilting and fragile,
Stalks sweaty palm.

There she stands;
Startled, bemused.
His breath smells of liquor
As he awkwardly shuffles
From one foot to other,
From moment to moment.
Pledges and promises
Of fine intentions.

Scratchy ‘Black Betty’ emanates vinyl,
She examines his picture hanging above.
Tracing Leadbelly,
Enshrined in gold frame,
His face so alive
He could come back to life.
She stands and watches,
In quiet confiding,
Seeks wisdom in pain
Of those old blues tales.

Winter sun streaming,
Old sash window.
Lights floor under foot,
Etches warmth on her face.
Some rare femininity
Striking her rags,
Embellishing them with
Raw beauty of
Pure golden seams,
Tinted moonstruck beams.

Long linear living room of deliberations,
Is stage to some kind of play boasting
Aristotlean Values of time and space,
As he’s struck with fear of her dalliances.
He envisions her showing out a guest,
Whispers in hallway,
Smiling strutting.
Landscapes of art all down the corridor.
Lonely image he’s imagining.

As she stands before translucent him,
Stream of sunlight strikingly free.
Not subject to window’s passage but free,
Free; its life all-consuming,
Tinting her hair, and cheek and eyes,
Shining as her glistening speech,
And they smile, and standing closer,
In mind’s fair painting of imaginings.

Small boy strolling,
By her side.
Side-parted softness,
His red shoes tap.
‘Make sure he has clean clothes to wear.
Will you see to it that he has clean clothes.’

Brave crossing room,
He’s seeking comfort.
Along fragile wall,
Designated as kitchen.
His fingers explore
Wood’s grain and knots.
Staggers at side,
As she stands centre stage,
Centre stage and further away.

Sweet memory recalls
Bridges and viaducts
Of quiet kissed eyes and life’s renewal.
He imagines them, somehow younger.
No lines of worry on bitter faces,
No signs of tiredness’ deep traces
No sign of etches of hidden regret.
Playing and laughing, holding hands,
In meadow of sun’s play
All the long day.

In living room, the sun is setting,
Shadows her face, at centre stage.
Centre Stage and further away,
As he lurches worktop, shoulder dips.
Soon twilight will arrive and night will drift in,
Leaving only distance and sweet memory.

* * * * *

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MY LOVE JONES, Poetry by Poet U.B.

I fell for a boy from Queens

His voice took over my heart

His face occupied my dreams

But me on the west, so far apart

To tell him how much he means

Writing my feelings down I’ll start

Genre: Love

My Love Jones

I fell for a boy from Queens

His voice took over my heart

His face occupied my dreams

But me on the west, so far apart

To tell him how much he means

Writing my feelings down I’ll start

Although he’ll never read it

He’ll never truly know

He’ll never understand how it

Will help me grow

To listen to his lyrics, sit

Contemplate and feel his flow

I nicknamed him My Love Jones

But as I grew life came along

And situations left me all alone

Then this Hood Jones came with a song

I thought how could he have known

I didn’t know then but choosing Hood Jones was so wrong

8 years of my life invested in the wrong man

Thought Our love was enough

For him I always took a stand

I stood down, stood tall when it got rough

A lifetime together was the plan

But I’ll say, My love wasn’t enough

I was the realest he’d ever find

Love unconditionally AND cook and clean

Get my own money, I grind

Yet he didn’t see me as a Queen

From the position I resigned

Now with tears in his eyes he begs to reconvene

If I could go back in time, rewind

If I knew then what I now see

That path of destruction I’d leave behind

But I couldn’t because my seeds wouldn’t be

If only love wasn’t so blind…

Starting all over from scratch, mother of three

Strong woman I’ve become

Back to me and fighting to believe

In love again without being dumb

Next time I don’t wanna have to leave

So I’ll stay real, stay fly and not look for my future him

Stay motivated so greatness I’ll achieve

Just when I thought life might be too hard

My Love Jones said, “She blew a good thing”

I knew that all too well, I too, was scarred

But I didn’t want the money, the house, or the ring

Next time for love I’ll hold a higher regard

Because our lives and hearts we’ll BOTH be dedicating

I appreciate time and destiny

Although My Love Jones may never find his way to me

The married life, fam and kids, I foresee

I left behind all of my debris

And God already gave his Son to me, Guaranteed

Focus on The Good Life, foundation of an oak tree.

Written by: Poet U.B.

Www.poetub.com
Www.instagram.com/poetub
Www.theleftsideofright.com

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Valentine’s Day Poem, Poetry by Elizabeth Miller

I used to make valentines for everyone I knew,

clumsily cutting construction paper hearts

I don’t remember exactly when I stopped making them.

Genres: love, nostalgia, relationships, romantic

“Valentine’s Day Poem”

by Elizabeth Miller

Pale pinks and lavenders

Glitter pens and stumpy Crayola markers

I used to make valentines for everyone I knew,

clumsily cutting construction paper hearts

I don’t remember exactly when I stopped making them.

You get a clumsily-cut poem instead,

a side effect of growing up

I could never cut you a heart from paper

and fill it with gaudy glitter glue

or scallop the edges with specialty scissors

I could never because

I can’t bear the thought of anything resembling scissors

nearing anything resembling your heart

I could never

So I cut you poems instead,

embellished with words instead of sparkles

I could write them with Crayola markers

if you’d like

* * * * *

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BEST MUSE, Poetry by Lilian C Misoy

So many notes written,
About a muse unforgotten ,
Both beautiful and dark,
Most so deep, enough to leave a mark,

Genre: Love

Best Muse

So many notes written,
About a muse unforgotten ,
Both beautiful and dark,
Most so deep, enough to leave a mark,

Yet,
He still writes about her,
His angel ,so close yet so far,
He might at times change his flow,
Finding another beau to adore,

But still she remains,
His favourite tale even in chains,
For she may be locked away,
In his vault all year every day,

But,
In his mind alive she will remain,
A love he might have loved in vain,
And always she’s his main,
Breathing , living ,keeping him sane.

By Lilian C Misoy
254 (Kenya)

* * * * *

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My First Love Letter, Poetry by Madathil Rajendran Nair

I don’t know, I can’t tell

But there was she

My classmate

With jasmine teeth

A dance perched on her feet

Bothering my budding masculinity

Genre: Love

My First Love Letter
by Madathil Rajendran Nair

It was when I was just in class three

Hovering around the tenth year of age

Something bothered me in the hours wee

A sweetness, an aroma, sweat

Or was it the morning dew on grass

That kept me awake

Rolling on my smelly bed

With a sweetness that blazed my glands

I don’t know, I can’t tell

But there was she

My classmate

With jasmine teeth

A dance perched on her feet

Bothering my budding masculinity

I knew I wanted her

I couldn’t make out what for

In a frenzy that engulfed me

Like a forest fire then I wrote

On the inside of a discarded cigarette pack

Slit open like a bleeding heart

What I felt, the first love letter

In words that moved like ants

All over me and my heart

I handed it to her brother

Two years younger

In secret, behind the school toilet yonder

Hoping it would reach and vanquish her

But, there was the maths teacher

Fondling his scorpion tail moustache

Watching the goings-on

Who intercepted the missive

From the hands of the shivering brother

I thought I was in for hell

Punishment, beatings, no one can tell

But nothing happened to my surprise

Till at last I noticed

The school headmistress at my fence

In a rare bosom chat with my mom, her friend

I was playing behind my house

Rolling stones in the setting sun

Like a forlorn Ulysses adorned in sweat

Yet I knew I was their subject

Days passed and Diwali came

The Indian festival of lights

It was time for the early morning bath

Under the glistening stars

My mom poured warm water over me from a tub

And I misbehaved in a gleeful jump

She cautioned and slapped me on my thigh

With a fire unknown in her eyes

“Idiot, have you begun

Writing love letters at this age? ”

That was the first and last time

She ever beat me

A lovely mother was she

And, often I wonder what happened

To that passionate missive of mine

Perhaps, it was blown over by the winds

Over fences and thorns and profusely bled

And withered in the sun and rain

Decayed down the channels of time

And I met her of late one of these days

At a temple festival when I braved

To tell her about my missive missed

That perhaps could have changed our fate

She laughed out in a guffaw

An aging grandma of three

And I could see at sixty-eight

Her jasmines were still intact

What more could a lover want

When he has only a toothless smile

In exchange, Oh, why do we age?

* * * * *

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The scent and sound of your beautiful soul, Poetry by Gordana Frgačić

Today
I was woken up
By the scent
Of your soul

Genre: Romance, Relationship, Love

The scent and sound of your beautiful soul
by Gordana Frgačić

Today
I was woken up
By the scent
Of your soul
You weren’t even near me
But I inhaled you
Through every pore
Of my skin
I floated
For a while
On the soft layers
Of your beautiful soul
Suddenly
I smiled
And I knew
Your soul just started to sing

* * * * *

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FACTORY OF DREAMS, Poetry by Katarina Jovcevska

You are my motivation

Simply,crazy inspiration

When I am in love

I hear the music in my heart

Every time.

Genre: Romance, Relationship, Love

FACTORY OF DREAMS
by Katarina Jovcevska

You are my motivation

Simply,crazy inspiration

When I am in love

I hear the music in my heart

Every time.

You are the reason to write

When I think of you day and night

I can do a miracle

If just one word

To adore and explore

I feel that I soar

So highly above this horizon

You are so magical

And Love is so beautiful.

I imagine your face

I am touching your grace

Let your kiss comes to my lips immediately

Be my wonderful peace

Through the whole galaxy

Let catch you my poetry

When your name I am whispering

Let me be the happiest being

Which you have never seen

In my factory of dreams.

* * * * *

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Eleree, Poetry by Bill Bobber

Genre: Love

Eleree
by Billy Bobber

She walks through my inner sanctum like a weightless angel, glowing with the greenest of wonder, her gothic branches of mystical innocence are white clouds under my feet, further down the dirt road of lost dreams, I see a lighted flower bloom, the dark clouds lift me into your arms of true freedom, A clouded city with flowing sapphire that sparkle the lunar skyscrapers, A sea where I should be, Two ships waving free in the abyss, it can only mean it’s Eleree, My ever changing home of dark clarity, I’m helplessly alive as she breaks my walls with graceful surprise, The only thing that could bring me back to being a grown boy inside, two feathers reunited in melodic connection, this tragedy was the only way, The pinnacle of experience flourishes in going away, here is where we grow love, I see you on a leaf like mine, I jump off without any doubt towards yours, Now we fall together with millions of your peaceful tears of compassion, I never want to leave here, where the sun, earth and moon burn relatable oblivion like embers, I can’t believe I can release someone like you.

* * * * *

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What My Parent’s Gave Me, Poetry by Ada Castle

My mother was born a cherry blossom.
full of little budding flowers with the scent of heaven swirling around her space.
The same way a tea light flickers in a power starved bedroom.
Her glow enchanting, inviting, promising warmth but watch out or she will burn you,
striking you with her heat so quickly you will not be able to get away before she consumes you body and soul.

Genre: Family, Love, Relationship

What My Parent’s Gave Me

by Ada Castle

My mother charmed the branches of many plants not just trees,
her magic crossed borders,
she loved and loves freely,
not in a closet or a box with a lid.
she taught me to love the same way.

No tree caught my mother’s eye more than my father’s rough bark and smooth cracks upon the strength of his oakness.
The glow of her seduction made his thick sprigs sway towards her and he drank her heavenly scent in,
the same way you may enjoy a drink of wine,
a fruity intoxication of natural liquid made by the hands of those created to press out golden juices of something already,
miraculous, grandiose, tart but slightly addictive the more you brush your lips against it.

When you see me in my large frame that my father passed on to me,
know that underneath my mother’s little budding flowers are planted inside the place most people are hollow.
I enjoy the surprise in your eyes when you thought you had destroyed me by peeling away my tough layers,
while I just swirled the scent of heaven all around you.

* * * * *

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To my future significant other, Poem by Morgan Fasanelli

if we ever actually end up finding each other

i hope that, whoever you are – you love me as much as i hope i love you

and i hope that you hate snow, but you’ll appreciate that i love it

you’ll let me shovel alone because you know i don’t mind being alone

you’ll just have coffee ready for me when i come inside

Genre: sad, romantic, hopeful, love

To my future significant other by Morgan Fasanelli

if we ever actually end up finding each other

i hope that, whoever you are – you love me as much as i hope i love you

and i hope that you hate snow, but you’ll appreciate that i love it

you’ll let me shovel alone because you know i don’t mind being alone

you’ll just have coffee ready for me when i come inside

and i hope you know that when i get sad, which i will, it probably won’t be you

and i hope you’ll let me spew out my dramatic thoughts and feelings and i hope you’ll be okay with the fact that i don’t need you to tell me it’s okay, i just need you to let me tell you what’s on my mind

I hope that you have these idiosyncrasies about yourself because let me tell you, i notice everything

and i will notice if you pull the cuffs of your sleeves when you’re uncomfortable because it’s a natural reflex from grade school when someone would say something about what used to be a touchy subject for you, even though the scars are almost fully faded

And i hope that you’ll understand that i’m sorry for everything all the time, and that i’m really trying not to be

And i hope that you have lots of little stories that you remember from your past that you’re comfortable sharing with me

but most of all i hope you don’t fit every detail i just said

because that is to say that i saw you coming, and i saw us coming

and i don’t want to see this coming

i want to be so completely blindsided by your love that it knocks the air right out of my lungs

and i hope that, whoever you are – you love me as much as i hope i love you

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