Love poems
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Everything Is Free
© Clarke George Elliott
Wipe away tears,Set free your fears:Everything is free.Only the lonelyNeed much money:Everything is free.
Blues for X
© Clarke George Elliott
Pretty boy, towel your tears,And robe yourself in black.Pretty boy, dry your tears,You know I'm comin' back.I'm your lavish loverAnd I'm slavish in the sack.
Relative
© Christakos Margaret
The mysterious boy withoutparents has a gash in his purpleface & out of it unfolds an escalatorof primitive idiom at which we grimacewith involutant ribcages.
An Open Erotics of Gzowski
© Christakos Margaret
The voice of the bodiless lover is a tropefor the world's brooding power to scintillate our aliveness
The Lovely Figure
© Christakos Margaret
Kiss you on the cheeks, that double-round coital zone, the lovely figureI have loved over and over
/harsher sentences
© Christakos Margaret
Why parts of her seem missing (body, memory)but alsocolour shape fragance accent
Birch
© Christakos Margaret
Bitter the word. Bitter, meadow I am walking in.Bitter breeze filters through birch foliage.Each leaf flinches. Cherish me todayFor I am a vetch crisp & uncorrected.
Lily Adair
© Chivers Thomas Holley
On the beryl-rimmed rebecs of Ruby, Brought fresh from the hyaline streams,She played, on the banks of the Yuba, Such songs as she heard in her dreams
The Triumph of Love
© Govinda Krishna Chettur
Dearest, and yet more dear than I can tell In these poor halting rhymes, when, word by word, You spell the passion that your beauty stirredSwiftly to flame, and holds me as a spell,You will not think he writeth "ill" or "well", Nor question make of the fond truths averred, But Love, of that, by Love's self charactered, A perfect understanding shall impel
Elegy over a Tomb
© Edward Herbert
Must I then see, alas, eternal night Sitting upon those fairest eyes,And closing all those beams, which once did rise So radiant and brightThat light and heat in them to us did prove Knowledge and love?
Oh, if you did delight no more to stay Upon this low and earthly stage,But rather chose an endless heritage, Tell us at least, we pray,Where all the beauties that those ashes ow'd Are now bestow'd
Poem
© Caudwell Christopher
High on a bough beneath the moonlight paleThat over-rated bird the nightingaleSang and sang on
