Love Poems

What makes a dad

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Tue, 14 Jun 2011 05:52:00 +0000

Happy Father's Day

God took the strength of a mountain,
The majesty of a tree,
The warmth of a summer sun,
The calm of a quiet sea,
The generous soul of nature,
The comforting arm of night,
The wisdom of the ages,
The power of the eagle's flight,
The joy of a morning in spring,
The faith of a mustard seed,
The patience of eternity,
The depth of a family need,
Then God combined these qualities,
When there was nothing more to add,
He knew His masterpiece was complete,
And so,

He called it ... Dad

Sudden Light

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Wed, 08 Jun 2011 02:52:00 +0000

...I have been here before,
......But when or how I cannot tell:
...I know the grass beyond the door,
......The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.

......How long ago I may not know:
...But just when at that swallow's soar
......Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall,--I knew it all of yore.

...Then, now,--perchance again! . . .
......O round mine eyes your tresses shake!
...Shall we not lie as we have lain
......Thus for Love's sake,
And sleep, and wake, yet never break the chain?

Let other beauties

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Fri, 03 Jun 2011 06:27:00 +0000

Let other beauties have the power
To make one lovesick for an hour,
Perhaps for a whole day or two,
But so to captivate a heart
That it shall never, never part:
Only that power remains in you.
Let other beauties have the skill
By tempering smiles some fears to kill
And by degrees a heart undo.
But with a sweet yet tyrant eye
At once to bid one look and die:
None has that art but only you.
Fair wonder, to those flaming eyes
A heart I fain would sacrifice
If I had e'er a one in store,
But having lost mine long before,
Well may I sigh, wish and adore,
But for my life can die no more.

A Servingman on his Mistress

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Thu, 02 Jun 2011 00:57:00 +0000

My mistress loves no woodcocks
...Yet loves to pick the bones.
My mistress loves no jewels
...Yet loves the precious stones.
My mistress loves no hunting
...Yet she loves the horn.
My mistress loves no babies
...Yet loves to see men borne.
My mistress loves no wrestling
...Yet loves to take a fall.
My mistress loves not some things
...And yet she loveth all.
My mistress loves a spender
...Yet loves she not a waster.
My mistress loves no cuckolds
. . . No cuckolds
...And yet she loves my master,
...And yet, and yet, and yet, and yet, and yet she loves my master.

There is another sky

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Mon, 30 May 2011 03:18:00 +0000

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields

Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

by Emily Dickinson

My Heart Aches

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Wed, 25 May 2011 01:45:00 +0000

My heart aches when I talk to you
My heart aches when I don’t hear from you
My heart aches when I long for you

I don’t know why
You’ve taken over my thoughts
I can’t explain

You’re still a stranger
Far away
I want you close by

I miss your embrace
Holding you close
My heart aches

I miss you!

by Arielle

Beautiful

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Mon, 23 May 2011 23:04:00 +0000

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful...

Systematic touching, loving,
Caressing my inner desire.
Hidden women echo my delight,
Triumphing in your glory.
Breathing hot against your skin,
Scents permeate my presence.
An untamed rhythm,
Capping the salty waves
With deep and desperate kisses.
The vibrant warmth of your voice,
The music of your fragile hands.
How profound, your husky laugh
Moving through my deep quiet,
Still and silent,
Pulling me into you.
Lost within your darling eyes,
My fingers trace your back,
Define your cheeks,
Exalt in your brows and ears.
I am content in your smile
And the way your gaze holds me.
Whispers only for my ear,
My face pressed against your neck,
Your hair teasing my hands.
Finally, finally, finally,
Your lashes drop as you hold me,
Stable and precious in like,
And you make me feel so
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful...

by Sunnycrescent

My Teacher

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Thu, 19 May 2011 00:47:00 +0000

Thank you, my teacher, for being there
At times when skies were gray

Thank you, my teacher, for lending an ear
When I had things to say
You showered love on me lavishly
When no one seemed to care
You brought me joys untold
To fill my heart with moments of gold
I would have felt isolated and lonely
If you had not been there
I lack the words to let you know
How much you mean to me,
But I will profusely thank God for you
Until the Eternity.

A Heart Just like Mom

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Mon, 09 May 2011 04:10:00 +0000

Mothers Day Poems

I May not pray often, and I may not pray enough
but when I do, this is all I ask of you..

God please give me a heart just like hers
She loves unconditionally, no matter what, no matter who..

God give me courage to be like her
She's very brave, she makes me unafraid..

God give me wisdom just like hers
She knows everything, big and small, she's there to help through it all..

God give me strength just like hers
She's been knocked down, yet she stands strong for another round..

God give me beauty just like hers
When she smiles it gives me that feeling that everything will be okay,
and all my problems disappear for awhile....

God give me generosity just like hers
She helps the helpless, she never thinks of herself and she's so
un-selfish....

God- someday, if I'm at least half the mom she was to me, I'll know that you were listening On the day that I prayed.

Imagine a Woman

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Thu, 05 May 2011 01:36:00 +0000

International Women’s Day

Imagine a woman
who believes it is right and good she is woman.
A woman who honors her experience and tells her stories.
Who refuses to carry the sins of others within her body and life.

Imagine a woman
who believes she is good.
A woman who trusts and respects herself.
Who listens to her needs and desires and meets them with tenderness and grace.

Imagine a woman
who has acknowledged the past’s influence on the present.
A woman who has walked through her past.
Who has healed into the present.

Imagine a woman
who authors her own life.
A woman who exerts, initiates, and moves on her own behalf.
Who refuses to surrender except to her truest self and to her wisest voice.

Imagine a woman
who names her own gods.
A woman who imagines the divine in her image and likeness.
Who designs her own spirituality and allows it to inform her daily life.

Imagine a woman
in love with her own body.
A woman who believes her body is enough, just as it is.
Who celebrates her body and its rhythms and cycles as an exquisite resource.

Imagine a woman
who honors the face of the Goddess in her changing face.
A woman who celebrates the accumulation of her years and her wisdom.
Who refuses to use her precious life energy disguising the changes in her body and life.

Imagine a woman
who values the women in her life.
A woman who sits in circles of women.
Who is reminded of the truth about herself when she forgets.

Imagine yourself as this woman.

by Patricia Lynn Reilly

To Maggie

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 00:14:00 +0000

The first time I laid eyes on you
A seed was sown within me.
Since then it has grown,
Its creeping tendrils ensnaring my heart,
Filling my head with thoughts of you.
Now a fiery blossom is blooming,
Radiating passion, stirring up longing.
Each day with you,
These feelings grow stronger.
Standing near you I am enchanted
For I am in the presence of an angel.
No longer can these feelings be held in.
From my chest they burst outward
In this confusion only one thing is certain.
Maggie,
I love you.

- Petyr Botti-Anderson -

To Celia

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Tue, 26 Apr 2011 04:53:00 +0000

When, Celia, must my old day set,
...And my young morning rise
In beams of joy so bright as yet
...Ne'er bless'd a lover's eyes?
My state is more advanced than when
...I first attempted thee:
I sued to be a servant then,
...But now to be made free.

I've served my time faithful and true,
...Expecting to be placed
In happy freedom, as my due,
...To all the joys thou hast;
Ill husbandry in love is such
...A scandal to love's power,
We ought not to misspend so much
...As one poor short-lived hour.

Yet think not, sweet, I'm weary grown,
...That I pretend such haste;
Since none to surfeit e'er was known
...Before he had a taste:
My infant love could humbly wait
...When, young, it scarce knew how
To plead; but grown to man's estate,
...He is impatient now.

.....To Celia by Charles Cotton (1630-1687)

Chloe

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Mon, 25 Apr 2011 02:59:00 +0000

Chloe's a Nymph in flowery groves,
...A Nereid in the streams;
Saint-like she in the temple moves,
...A woman in my dreams.

Love steals artillery from her eyes,
...The Graces point her charms;
Orpheus is rivall'd in her voice,
...And Venus in her arms.

Never so happily in one
...Did heaven and earth combine:
And yet 'tis flesh and blood alone
...That makes her so divine.

.....Chloe Divine by Thomas D'urfey (1633-1723)

Desideria

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Tue, 19 Apr 2011 02:57:00 +0000

Surprised by joy--impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport--O! with whom
...But Thee, deep buried in the silent tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recall'd thee to my mind--
...But how could I forget thee? Through what power,
...Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss?--That thought's return
...Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
...Knowing my heart's best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
...Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.

.....Desideria by William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

I Will Not Give Thee All My Heart

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 20:55:00 +0000

When I of love demand the least,
Thou biddest him to fire and feast:
When I am hungry and would eat,
There is no bread, though crusts were sweet.
If I with manna may be fed,
Shall I go all uncomforted?
Nay! Howsoever dear thou art,
I will not give thee all my heart.

.....I Will Not Give Thee All My Heart by Grace Hazard Conkling

Daffodils

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Thu, 14 Apr 2011 00:42:00 +0000

For oft, when on my couch I lie
...In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
...Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

.....Daffodils by William Wordsworth (1770-1850)

Love is a bog

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 09:15:00 +0000

Love is a bog, a deep bog, a wide bog.
Love is a clog, a great clog, a close clog.
'Tis a wilderness to lose ourselves.
...Then draw Dun out o' the mire
...And throw the clog into the fire.
...Keep in the King's Highway,
...And sober, you cannot stray.
Then if you admire no female elf
The halter may go hang itself.
Drink wine and be merry, for love is a folly
And dwells in the house of melancholy.

.....Love is a bog by James Shirley

Between Your Sheets

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 19:30:00 +0000

Ah Lindamira, could you see my heart,
How fond, how true, how free from fraudful art,
The warmest glances poorly do explain
The eager wish, the melting throbbing pain
Which through my very blood and soul I feel,
Which you cannot believe nor I reveal,
Which every metaphor must render less
And yet (methinks) which I could well express
......between your sheets.

.....Between Your Sheets by Lady Mary Wortley Mantagu (1689-1762)

Ode in May

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Mon, 11 Apr 2011 14:30:00 +0000

What is so sweet and dear
...As a prosperous morn in May,
...The confident prime of the day,
And the dauntless youth of the year,
When nothing that asks for bliss,
...Asking aright, is denied,
And half of the world a bridegroom is,
And half of the world a bride?

.....from Ode in May by Sir William Watson (1858-1935)

What the bullet sang

noreply@blogger.com (Aswani) — Sun, 10 Apr 2011 11:53:00 +0000

O Joy of creation,
......To be!
O rapture, to fly
......And be free!
Be the battle lost or won,
Though its smoke shall hide the sun,
I shall find my love--the one
......Born for me!

I shall know him where he stands
......All alone,
With the power in his hands
......Not e'erthrown;
I shall know him by his face,
By his godlike front and grace;
I shall hold him for a space
......All my own!

.....from What the Bullet sang by Bret Hart (1836-1902)