Tag Archives: Love poem



Love is not contractual. It is not trite or buyable.
It’s not dependent on reason to render it as viable.
It depends on qualities more visceral than seeable—
makes one’s considerations more  youable than meeable.

In its beginning stages, love may seem aleatory
as though the price of love is to squirm in purgatory.
Waiting by the telephone, in an abject state,
love wonders, “Will or won’t he ask me for a date?”

But this abject terror sometimes gives way to calm
as our object of affection furnishes the balm
that soothes our rash and fearful hopes and turns them to reality,
refining hopeful crushes into mutual love’s  finality.

True love is always waiting to drop the other shoe
as “Will he? Will she? Dare we?” finally gives way to “I do.”

Word prompts for the day are visceral, trite, aleatory and abject.

A Culinary Manifesto

A Culinary Manifesto

I cannot overlook your incredible zeal
in polishing off the remains of your meal.
I surmise as you gobble up every comestible
that you are finding it very digestible.

The suspense that I felt as I chopped and sautéd it—
all of that angst that I felt as I made it—
seems unwarranted now, for it is amazing
how contented you seem to have been in your grazing.

You devoured the potatoes and chicken and peas.
You sopped up the gravy and licked all the cheese
from your plate before sucking the grease from your fingers.
And I see that your look of contentment still lingers.

Could that expectant gleam that I see in your eye
be because you have noticed the hot apple pie
that cools on the counter? I hereby assert
I’ll complete your seduction over dessert!

Word prompts today are suspense, surmise, zeal and amazing.



I simply cannot reconcile that glimmer in your eyes
with any look that I’ve received from any other guys.
My friends say you’re perfidious, yet I don’t get that message.
“Danger” is an ending that your gazes do not presage.
If the frustration that I’m feeling is transmitted in my gaze,
perhaps you will decipher it while wandering its maze.
For every time you’re present, I’m a prisoner of pondering
that question in your eyes that always sets my mind to wandering
down pathways we meander, walking hand-in-hand.
So long as you are in my thoughts, my heart is in remand.
We need a kind interpreter to set our looks aright.
Perhaps there’s a happy ending for him to expedite.


Prompt words today are frustration, reconcile, agastopia, perfidious and message.

Agastopia: Admiration of  or a fixation on a particular part of someone’s body.


Click on photos to enlarge.


This gentle little zephyr does not make a din.
We hardly know that it’s a breezy day that we are in!
We step so lightly over the smooth and green terrain
that we barely notice that it’s begun to rain.

Our bedroom’s warm and cozy. I suppose we should go home,
but nature’s made a softer bed in grass spread over loam.
You once called me nature’s child, and today it’s true.
The whole world is a comfy nest when I am with you.

The grass provides a mattress, the trees spread overhead
form a perfect canopy for our alfresco bed.
It is a perfect ending to our day of roaming
to wait here for the evening star, together in the gloaming.

Word prompts for today are din, zephyr, terrain, suppose, and bedroom.

Time and Space

I hear it from afar—

across the street
or down the mountain—
unoccupied laughter
that carries with it
of long-ago encounters.

Lessons learned,
idiosyncrasies shared
with a place and a love
on a mountain
thousands of miles distant
from any previous experience.

These encounters,
long dead,
by anonymous merriment
that, unknowing,
carries messages
linked to memory
by some truth
of quantum physics.

Two beings, once connected,
maintain that connection
over time and space.

 Your laugh.

Prompt words today are lesson, IdiosyncrasyEncounterLaughter and Unoccupied

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder


Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

If you want my love, dear, you’ve got to give me space.
Love’s so much more likely when not always face-to-face.
Even the paranormal works better when the fright
occurs when not expected instead of every night.

That familiarity breeds contempt is not, dear, mere codswallop!
Love is more exciting when taken as a dollop.
How many great love stories were romantic interlude—
those long-remembered periods when we were briefly wooed?

Love can be a lifelong trip or one terrific bash
where two bodies crash together and then burn away to ash.
The bodies that are left to us may then be wooed and married,
the memory of past flaming passions sealed away and buried.

But in a vault within us, those past interludes are kept,
and now and then the present they are bound to intercept.
They do not rival constancy—that lasting love or marriage
that is the coach that carries us. They’re just the undercarriage.

But that daily diet that regularly nourishes
cannot but be improved upon with a few spicy flourishes.
Like an appetite that grows the stronger with the fasting,
love delayed may well make even married love more lasting.


Just for the fun of it this time, I decided to look up one prompt word at a time and write a couplet that contained it before looking up the next word, then do the same each time. So much fun. I always say I rarely know where a poem is going until I finish it, but this time is the proof of it! I didn’t know from couplet to couplet where it was going.

Sam found THIS POEM that bears a remarkable resemblance to the poem above. I guess when I start repeating myself, it is time to stop. I had no memory of writing this poem. Guess it is time to start worrying as well.

Words of the day are space, paranormal, codswallop, interlude and crash.

A Penny for Your Thoughts (Love in the Time of Coronavirus)

A Penny for Your Thoughts 

(Love in the Time of Coronavirus)

A penny for your thoughts, my dear, in this time of recession.
They’re only worth a pittance, since you’re in deep depression—
perhaps the worst since man evolved from the primordial slime.
If I cared less, I’d offer zilch, but now is not the time
to be looking for bargains, with your love so newly won.
If only we could ditch our masks and have a little fun—
a little kiss, a little hug, a cuddle and a snuggle—
it might be easier to woo without these rules to juggle.
But from day-to-day, I fear, we never can know whether
we’ll spend the day alone again or spend the day together. 
So here’s a penny for your thoughts. Oh hell, it’s worth a nickel
to know whether your heart is true or if it has turned fickle.
It’s been said before that absence makes the heart grown fonder.
I wonder if you feel the same sequestered over yonder.

Prompt words today are zilch, slime, newly, pittance and depression.


Holding Back the Moon


Holding Back the Moon

Standby. I think I love you, though I’m not completely certain.
But when I see the ship of moon  through my bedroom curtain,
then watch it disappear as the sky takes up its space,
as though its crew has moved it to another time and place,
I hope that you can moor yourself and stay your bullish pride
while you wait for my decision. Please stem restlessness. Abide.


Prompt words today are standby, moon, disappear, crew and pride.

Enamoured: dVerse Poets, Mar 31, 2020



Mere man, mere dame,
a mean red moon.
A dream remade,
mar, a dune.
Marooned and moored
and no end near.
Me enamoré. 
Me arrear.

This poem was written making use of only the letters in the word enamoured. To do so, I had to make use of two languages. In Spanish, a ”mar” is a sea or ocean, but “amar” can also mean to love. “Me enamoreé“ means “I fell in love.” “Me Arrear” can mean either “I got caught,” “Drive me” or “Grab me.”  It also carries the connotation for me that the object of her affection’s love might be in arrears. “En arrear” can have that meaning in Spanish as well. Since I used the British spelling of the title word to increase my choices, I guess you could say this poem is trilingual. Comes in handy when limited in the consonants and vowels one can use.

For dVerse Poets: Red.

Ocean Airs

                        Ocean Airs

The surf and sand we fell down on—
a bed provided by the sea
that smoothed the sheets we lay upon.

Those stories spun out by your tongue
slipped out of you through parted lips—
portals through which your life was sung.

Letter, syllable and word
was carried by the power of breath—
each a lovely soaring bird.

How did they know to find their way
to one who coveted their sound—
their whisper and their plaintive bay?

That night stretched out upon the beach,
finally, we fell to rest
and tell our stories without speech.

For the dVersePoets Pub, we were to write a poem of tercets, using three of these sets of words as ends to lines. I broke the rules and used all five.