Tag Archives: Love poem

Give Me Blue for dVerse Poets

Give Me Blue

If it is a blue with no sadness in it:
the blue of the sky above Colima Volcano
with no other clouds in it except one puff
of earth’s hot breath becoming visible
in the cool morning air.

If it is a blue
with no middle ground of safety,
nothing that makes it ordinary.
No hue of boredom
or gray cast of age.
No tint of ever ending––
just pure blue
holding its mood in,
letting you feel however you want to feel.

The blue of glass that reflects the sky.
Iris blue and periwinkle.
Cerulean and cobalt.

If it is a blue with not a smudge of green in it,
or yellow or white or black.
Blue-blue like my tue love’s eyes
and like the color that a blueberry Popsicle
should be––its blue dusted by nature
as though frosted, even in the heat of summer.
Like blue caught in icicles.

The color of a jellyfish
or Noxzema jar.
Bluebottle fly, tenacious,
only its color not annoying.
Blue as a shiver. Blue as blood. Blue as Hawaii.

Not the blue of a heart before forgetting.
Not that blue with a lot of
dullness soaked into it.
But if you have Blue as in Australia.
Blue as in a first place ribbon.
Sky blue,
true blue,
never blue.

Blue that if it’s ever had one gram of sadness in it,
doesn’t show it.`
If you have that blue,
and you want to give it to me,
then, sure.

 Give me blue.

for dVerse Poets, the prompt is to write an ekphrastic poem about one of the given Chagall paintings.

“You” for The Sunday Whirl

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You

We could share a lifetime in some connected place
and I would never lose my awe of your familiar face.
Years relaxing into it will seem a weekend trip:
mere hours to memorize your mouth––that classic upper lip.
Then when at last we’re in our home, I’ll have the whole of you
emblazoned in my memory with nothing left to do
but to enjoy the “all” of you, not  just your face and form––
that heart and soul and seed of you that creates your corm.

For The Sunday Whirl the prompt words are: lifetime share relax connect place last class awe home will years trip. (A corm is a short, thickened underground plant stem that stores starches and nutrients to fuel the plant’s growth.)

 

Wish List, For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 754

Wish List

Of course I have my limits, still I wish for something more,
and so I post a list on my refrigerator door.
But those key things I still want in life spill out upon the floor
from the future’s bill of lading where they don’t fit anymore.
Smoke rings from the fires of my dreams gone up in flame
fade into the distance of that future I won’t name.
Still silky thoughts caress my dreams of love and passion past,
and I give thanks for bygone lovers and memories that last.

For the Sunday Whirl Wordle 754  the prompt words are:
limits list still bill smoke ring distant wish silky spill fit key
Image created aided by AI.

“African Love Story” for dVerse Poets

African Love Story

In this day and age
Almost everyone has a tropical love story.

Show of hands–
How many here?

There was a war.  Danger.
And there were disapproving fathers
And careers.
And yes, I know that some
Love stories survive them all.
But ours didn’t.
And he didn’t.

So just for a year and a few months
We were in love in a warm climate.
A torn love story with a sad ending
With me as its only living remnant.

Imagine yourself
In that story
Full of hormones and atmosphere

It is a meditation remembering
Sand and moonlight under the Southern Cross.
Or cocks crowing before you fell asleep
Long rolling nights in a village
Where almost no one spoke your language.

Perhaps you were a prisoner of love
As I was years ago.
Non-protesting, dizzy and dumb for passion.

Would I have stayed for love if I’d known
It was the whole business of love I’d leave behind,
And not just my beloved?

Would you?

 

 

The dVerse prompt is ‘Where Does Love Go?”

At a Distance for Word of the Day, Jan 6, 2026

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At a Distance

Although you may be absent, thoughts of you still linger.
I think you have my memory wound around your finger,
for though I find the lack of you totally endurable,
my memory suffers from a need that’s totally incurable.
Friends may think the distance between us is a pity,
and yet with one so erudite, so pithy, loyal and witty,
it seems you linger on even after you are bound
off to other regions—your presence a mere sound
heard over the telephone, imagined o’er the keys,
so I may have your company any time I please.
Relationships are more, my dear, than a simple presence.
Sometimes merely words suffice to conjure up your essence.

 

I am answering this challenge with a poem written in 2016–ten years ago. If you are still curious about this untypical relationship described in the poem above, read more about it HERE
and then HERE.

For Word of the Day Challenge, the word is Distance.

If I Were Water and You Were Air for dVerse Poets

If I Were Water & You Were Air

I used to be restless water―
only the froth and currents
of a moving life.

Now I am still water,
sinking down to where
I can be found
by anyone willing to stand quietly
and look.

Is it true that moving water never freezes?
Is it true that still waters run deep?

Is it true that we are wed in steam?

“What if, caught by air,
it never lets me go?” I ask.
“But even water
turned to air
must fall at last,” you say.

“And what if I fall farther from you?” I say.
“Or what if I never again find banks

that open to contain me?”

I used to be swift flowing water.
Now I am a pool that sinks me deeper every year.
So deep, so deep I sink
that on its way to find me,
even air may lose its way.

Our dVerse Poets prompt today is to consider the opening line from a poem from one of my favorite poets, Edna St Vincent Millay. The Poem is “Love Is Not All,” and the line is:
“Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink nor slumber nor a roof against the rain.” As a response, I’m sharing the title poem from my newly published book of poems.

 

The Blade of Grief for dVerse Poets Chaucerian Roundel

     

 The Blade of Grief

The loss of one with whom our life was built
will come to be the loss of our life, too,
We view the rest of life without a clue.

The blade of grief thus buried to its hilt,
we hope that it will do what such blades do,
The loss of one with whom our life was built,
will come to be the loss of our life, too.

We view our hopes for death with little guilt,
for death is that new love we hope to woo.
We seek no other lover that is new.
The loss of one with whom our life was built
will come to be the loss of our life, too.
We view the rest of life without a clue.

For dVerse Poets Chaucerian Roundel

To read other roundels created for this prompt, go HERE.

Hidden Treasure for dVerse Poets

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Hidden Treasure

We are the ones that dwell within,
and what we keep hidden from each other
forms the mystery that keeps us coming back for more.
Like the relish that enhances the main course.
Like the dessert at the end of the meal,
not the real nourishment, but rather
a reward for putting up with the day-to-day
ragtag repetitions, irritations, boredoms
of knowing each other so well.
The loyalties, down to the heart honesties,
those passions held in common, those trials shared
are the meals we feed each other day-by-day.
But what person does not need, as well,
the thrill of the unopened package,
the darkness hidden under the stairs?

“Where we’re going, we don’t need eyes to see” – Sam Neill, Event Horizon (1997)
“We are the ones that dwell within” – The Exorcism of Emily Rose (2005)
“Thrill me” – Night of the Creeps (1986) These are the three lines I chose for dVerse Poets

  Above are the three sentences I chose for the dVerse Poets promt. Let’ see which won out.

Open Hand for SOCS, Sept 12, 2025

Open Hand

Wings held lightly without crushing
survive to join the world’s wild rushing,
while love held by a tight-clenched fist
quells half our reason to exist.

Some laud passions most rapacious—
grasping, volatile, tenacious;
but this is not the love I feel.
I do not seek to swoon or reel.

The tenacity of a skin tight glove
might stay my soaring to heights above.
I need your love like an open hand.
Not for me the wedding band.

The bond I seek from you, my dear,
is not the gauntlet that I fear
but rather, fingers whose sensations
are left free to life’s elations.

Butterflies kept in a jar
lose that beauty seen from afar.
That grace of movement caught on air
is what makes their beauty rare.

I love it when your arms enfold,
but if you love me, loose your hold.
The measure of my tenacity
is that I’ll come back to thee.

jdbphoto

The SOCS prompt is “Hand.”

The SOCS prompt is “Hand.”

Forest Shadows, for dVerse Poets, Aug 5, 2025

Forest Shadows

A man is bending his wife—
melding their shadows with the green forest.
They do not listen
to the nearby cannon’s roar––
will not imagine
that their life together,
so new,
might
not
stretch
into
the
future.

When he looks at his pocket watch,
someday children
ringing a well-stocked table
vanish in
her imagination.

He lifts his musket to his shoulder,
trying to believe
in a future
and in it,
this memory:
two shadows
joined as one,
invisible against
the forest wall.

For dVerse Poets, the prompt is “Forest”. If you’d like to participate, go HERE.