Love Poems

. You Are Too Far from Me Send me your love for I’ve nothing to write,And my words are vacant or ugly---I slept through the morning, I raved out the night,And you are too far from me. I feel the entropy taking the world,Send me your love while loving can...

. Obsession an Alfred Dorn sonnet As candles gently glow in amber light The picture centered high upon the wall appears to take a life form of its own. Yet, thoughts of her are stronger on this night. He views her fleeting image in the hall, as he sits drunk,...

. Sadness Has Silent Feet Sorrow comes on softened steps, __But joy leaps madly in. Where is she with the golden hair __I would yet see again? Is she now like wind on braes __That sing the brae-wind song? Or does she, silent, by the sea, __Whisper, and walk along?...

. Reviewed Book: A Thing With Feathers, by J. John Nordstrom, independently published, 2021 by Andrew Benson Brown A Thing With Feathers is the debut novel of J. John Nordstrom (the pen name of Joseph J. Jablonski, Jr.). A mixture of prose and poetry—something one does not see very often...

. Anyone But You The phone may ring; The call will bring __Anyone but you. The mail will come; It will be from __Anyone but you. A text may buzz; I’m sure it was __Anyone but you. Oh, this is dire; I don’t desire __Anyone but you. . . Crunch...

. My Sonnet as Texted Her face, uplit as she scrolls through her phone, no feelings shown, she wears light like a mask. Have we two lives we share? Is each one’s own? Afraid that I know, I’m too scared to ask. I stay in shadows, silent, statue still, and...

. Panic What is this feeling that sometimes afflicts Us with awful intensity and fear? A feeling close to panic, very near To dread, to terror; something that constricts The breathing, chokes the throat and lungs, inflicts Its toll in sleepless nights and days of sheer And utter misery, when...

. Lightning Could Strike Just when hope Is out the door, Has flown the coop, Has said “No more.” Just when "up" You have now "given," Just when life Seems so now riven. In she walks Her smile so easy, Her skin so soft, Her sway so breezy… In she...

. Daphne and Apollo “O foolish Cupid,” fair Apollo mocked. “To think that you, a wanton boy, should dare To think yourself the equal to a man Of arms, or even to a god like me, In putting arrows full into the mark Of warring foes or targets made of...

. He was the stream and she the underbrush; The rain that fell upon his upturned face. She was the shadowed glade in evening's hush That memorized the sun, received its grace. She was the sea, and he the wavering shore; Sometimes she was a fragile bit of lace, He...

. We Sum total of all life is death, And breath sustains us for a time. We’ll live until we’ve spent God's dime. The meter's running faster still. No matter what we want or will, We’re always in His debt. Some say that life's a losing bet, But we embrace...

. Ballade for His Lady Deceased by Charles d’Orléans (1394–1465) Alas, Death, who made you so bold? My noble princess you possess; My life and comfort you enfold, My pleasure, wealth, and cheerfulness. Since you my mistress now oppress, Take me, her servant since we met, For I would soon die willingly...

. https://youtu.be/eRp7_tqfxTs On Rumble here: https://rumble.com/vnvehl-a-poem-for-aging-beauties-endless-bloom-society-of-classical-poets.html?mref=iosaf&mc=6b8az Poet: Angel L. Villanueva of Massachusetts Audio/Visual Work: Society of Classical Poets Voice-Over: Evan Mantyk Photo: Pedro Ribeiro Simões, “A very beautiful old lady II” (used under creative Commons License 2.0) Music: (1) Victoria, from Chopin's Ballad No. 4; and (2) Victoria, from Mozart's...

. In Love's Counting House by Charles d’Orléans (1394–1465) One day I asked my heart to heed A claim for pay that I commended, And we in secret soon agreed That he would tell, for pains expended In risky service, what descended To me as earnings from Love’s sweets. Most...

. Regret Hangs on Where Opportunity Once Existed There are lots of sad words we lament with such ease,But there’s none any sadder and mournful than these:I regret my decisions, and wish to go backTo that Y in the road where my life went off track. I was foolhardy, reckless,...

. The Untrue Artist “The true artist will let his wife starve, his children go barefoot, his mother drudge for his living at seventy, sooner than work at anything but his art” ---George Bernard Shaw I’ve put untapped potential on a shelf much like a book one someday wants to...

. My Lips Have Kissed Her My lips have kissed her lips. Now I know why the timid sun arises with each day. I understand what moves the birds to fly and why the trees within the breezes sway. My lips have kissed her lips. I can't deny that it...

. The relentless rain sought to admonish those creatures who dared venture out. The wind carried a sorrowful message, determined to generate doubt. A less desperate man would have faltered on reaching that clifftop rim, But the resolute prisoner kept standing— Against Nature and instinct, still standing— He remained there,...

. from Eternal Spring Once upon a time in space God contrived the human race, Gave two things to help us cope: One was love, the other hope. Man was destined for a fall, But love sustained him after all. When all hope was lost in fear, Love would make...

. I stand upon the Bridge of Sighs as teardrops fill my weary eyes and think of life that used to be when she was still in love with me. I watch the river down below. My woes don't interrupt the flow. It catches all my tears that fall yet...

. When softly my sustaining comfort stirs Herself to offer solace coveted, Advancing toward the left side of my bed With that sweet courtly reasoning of hers, In fearful homage all my being murmurs, “O happy soul, from what sphere do you come?” __A little frond of palm, and some...

. While Waiting Through the Night This morning, searching on the laptop, I Found notes I made upon the night she died. All through the darkest hours at her bedside That night I knew she knew her end was nigh. And in the morning light though she would lie There...

. Logic Class As class convenes I quickly indicate in clear logician's diction of my eagerness to share my disposition to determine if we're here or there, or if instead we're neither here nor there. A student with a lisp, who would have been dismissed by any academic dean or...

. Will this reclaim the long-lost Muse perched on the tree of I.O.U.’s? Can I now join Miss E. B. Browning as she proclaimed her love---its counting? Her art’s not mine; I know that much. The years sped by---as if by touch! And each day’s love was multiplied until its...

. Moon Song Selene to Endymion Night, for ever, ever night. __Sleep as the Gods would sleep, __Beautiful boy; sleep; sleep; Rest ever in the cool night. I shall smile on you moon-bright, __Lay beside you and weep, __Weep. Gently shall I keep You young, lovely in the night. Shine...

. A life alone is at its center bare, A quiet conversation with myself, A single, threadbare suit I always wear, A volume set aside upon life's shelf. A time or two fate's hands would find me paired, Awakening to partnership each day. A coupled time where thoughts and deeds...

. A portent for our loss, this bird, so nigh Its end. The slowly creeping dusk had dared It to emerge, its doughty spirit bared, Eyes bright as lightning in a sullen sky. The lesser creature never questions why It lives in constant fear nor why a bird Must needs...

. My Paola’s love is constant as the sun That daily sheds its beams on hill and dale; No sooner set, it hastes again to run With steady pace, the same unswerving trail. When cold winds blow, the warmth of her embrace, Like sunlight, penetrates me to the core; Her...

. The Tale of Governor Do-as-I-Say-Not-as-I-Do-som It’s funny how Democracy In many states now colored blue Produces rank hypocrisy, A birthright of the privileged few. And there we notice Gavin Newsom Imbibing wine for all to see, Complicit in a maskless twosome Inside a swanky eatery. But this is urban...

. Poet's Note: These poems are non-autobiographical. . When Love is Lost To see the summer sun and wish for rain; To smell the springtime flowers and wish for snow; To wake at dawn and wish for night again; To trade today for dreams of long ago. To grieve the...

    . Dusk Till Dawn  The ocean rainAnd sleep played me—A willing pawn.I dreamt of youFrom nautical duskTill nautical dawn. . . Love Is More We shall be soul mates tillThey etch our names on stonesOr let our ashes flyFor love is more than justThin skin and brittle bones. ....

. . Kismet If I'd been younger, or you not so old, Or we'd met at a different time and place, Would there have been within your heart a space For me, for love to reach and grab ahold? Might there have been such glories to behold As two might...

. The Magpie’s Chorus With sunlight at full power And silence in the air, I sought a shaded bower, A cool drink, and a chair. But then, I heard the trilling Of magpies in the trees Pour out like liquid filling The desiccated breeze. They put on airs and graces,...

. Too long, too long, my love, Have we lain out here. Too long, too long, my love, Have our ease, our cheer Fixed us fast, sprawled in cool shade, With our arms and breasts clasped near, Too pleased to note that youth and day would fade. The sun, the...

. . Till rolling seas cease heaving high, The starry nights stop passing by, The universe is wrapped in flame, And there is no one left to blame. __Until then? ... You’re my loved one. Till sun no longer makes a day, And earth will never get a ray, The...

. For my friend Rose R., with sincere condolences. Good Lord, imagine my bad luck: I’m married to a hockey puck. I don’t know how it came about— A lover morphed into a lout! You’re a widow, not a wife, When hockey is your husband’s life. In his world, only...

. L O V E... It’s not a dozen scentless hothouse roses. __It’s not a chocolate-box of sweet cliché. It’s not the scorching kiss that lust imposes __To lead the fired and fevered flesh astray. It’s not an aphrodisiacal dinner __Or sighs in dizzy highs of fine Champagne. It’s not...

. Among the many flowers in the vase, ‘Tis I—the flower with the pretty face, Full humor, sound stamen, and skill in fun— Who is to say to you, Michele, “Well done.” As so the master charged.  Yet we who fade, Who soon, like him, shall die, know we were made...

C.B. Anderson was the longtime gardener for the PBS television series, The Victory Garden.  Hundreds of his poems have appeared in scores of print and electronic journals out of North America, Great Britain, Ireland, Austria, Australia and India. 

. . The Tale of the Rose (Excerpt) by Christine de Pisan (1364-1431), translated by Margaret Coats . This Tale comes from the Paris home of the Duke of Orleans, brother of the King of France, where on Saint Valentine’s Day 1402, there assembled certain noble folk, rich in honor...