Not the final breaker, heavy with brine,
that thunders onshore, and creates
the silence of sand, that encircles the world,
but the inner spaces of force,
the naked power of the waters,
the immoveable solitude, brimming with lives.
It is Time perhaps, or the vessel filled
with all motion, pure Oneness,
that death cannot touch, the visceral green
of consuming totality.

Only a salt kiss remains of the drowned arm,
that lifts a spray: a humid scent,
of the damp flower, is left,
from the bodies of men. Your energies
form, in a trickle that is not spent,
form, in retreat into silence.

The falling wave,
arch of identity, shattering feathers,
is only spume when it clears,
and returns to its source, unconsumed.

Your whole force heads for its origin.
The husks that your load threshes,
are only the crushed, plundered, deliveries,
that your act of abundance expelled,
all those that take life from your branches.

Your form extends beyond breakers,
vibrant, and rhythmic, like the chest, cloaking
a single being, and its breathings,
that lift into the content of light,
plains raised above waves,
forming the naked surface of earth.
You fill your true self with your substance.
You overflow curve with silence.

The vessel trembles with your salt and sweetness,
the universal cavern of waters,
and nothing is lost from you, as it is
from the desolate crater, or the bay of a hill,
those empty heights, signs, scars,
guarding the wounded air.

Your petals throbbing against the Earth,
trembling your submarine harvests,
your menace thickening the smooth swell,
with pulsations and swarming of schools,
and only the thread of the net raises
the dead lightning of fish-scale,
one wounded millimetre, in the space
of your crystal completeness.

Pablo Neruda

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From the wildness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer song,
Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled with some Hydra-headed wrong.

Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses that but made them bleed,
You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enamelled meed.

I had trod the road which Dante treading saw the suns of seven circles shine,
Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine.

And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who am crownless now and without
name,
And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of
Fame.

I had sat within that marble circle where the oldest bard is as the young,
And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre’s strings are ever strung.

Keats had lifted up his hymeneal curls from out the poppy-seeded wine,
With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in
mine.

And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the
dove,
Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love;

Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart,
Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part.

For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth,
And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth.

Yet I am not sorry that I loved you -ah! what else had I a boy to do? –
For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue.

Rudderless, we drift athwart a tempest, and when once the storm of youth is
past,
Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death the silent pilot comes at last.

And within the grave there is no pleasure, for the blindworm battens on the
root,
And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit.

Ah! what else had I to do but love you? God’s own mother was less dear to me,
And less dear the Cytheraean rising like an argent lily from the sea.

I have made my choice, have lived my poems, and, though youth is gone in
wasted days,
I have found the lover’s crown of myrtle better than the poet’s crown of bays.

Oscar Wilde

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Poetry about Flowers for flowers and poetry are beautiful expressions of art. Flower poems about nature. Click here; Flower Poems

Obed Akuma

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A collection of Nature Poems. All our nature poems are carefully selected. Enjoy from nature poetry. Click here; Earth Poems

Jennifer Rondeau

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A collection of Fall or Autumn poems, rhymes, recitals, and plays from Children’s Literature. Fall poems for kids. Fall poetry collection. Click here; Fall Poems

To my owner I am useful from head to tail,
benefiting him in many ways.
As a manure, even my excretion would play.
Sometimes unfair and vulgar things he would say.

When his worker did something……so dumb,
he shouted ‘ pig head ‘ and my heart sunk.
When his worker was lazy, he shouted ‘You, like a pig…so lazy.’
causing my heart feel…so heavy.
When his worker ate too much, he yelled ‘ You, like a pig, slurp.’
making my feeling……so hurt.
When other pig farmer did something marvellous,
he felt uneasy and jealous,
saying he would believe only when a pig flies,
making my heart cries.

My owner is abusing the pig’s right,
torturing us verbally and mentally day and night,
but I care not in the least,
as I was born eat and eat,
sleep and sleep,
happily indeed,
in a total ‘ignore ‘,
and a loud, loud snore.

U Win Kyi

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A collection of Animal Poems. All our animal poems are carefully selected. Enjoy from animal poetry. Click here; Animal Poems

John Clare

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A collection of Nature Poems. All our nature poems are carefully selected. Enjoy from nature poetry. Click here; NATURE POEMS

It’s true love because
If he said quit drinking martinis but I kept drinking them and the next morning I couldn’t get out of bed,
He wouldn’t tell me he told me,
And because
He is willing to wear unironed undershorts
Out of respect for the fact that I am philosophically opposed to ironing,
And because
If his mother was drowning and I was drowning and he had to choose one of us to save,
He says he’d save me.

It’s true love because
When he went to San Francisco on business while I had to stay home with the painters and the exterminator and the baby who was getting the chicken pox,
He understood why I hated him,
And because
When I said that playing the stock market was juvenile and irresponsible and then the stock I wouldn’t let him buy went up twenty-six points,
I understood why he hated me,
And because
Despite cigarette cough, tooth decay, acid indigestion, dandruff, and other features of married life that tend to dampen the fires of passion,
We still feel something
We can call
True love.

Judith Viorst

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A collection of True Love Poems. Enjoy from true love poetry. Click here; True Love Poems

What is so hot , and has an invisible fire ?
What can cut , even a tire ?
What subject , in poems, had so many lines ?
What is the feeling , that satisfy our minds ?

‘ I LOVE YOU ‘, these few words ,
Told by someone , who loves and adores !
LOVE , is a sweet heart fire ‘,
Said Louisa May Alcott , a feeling you can’t hire !

Yoseph Lupu

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Poems Collection. A huge database of best poems. Biggest collection of poems based on categories like love poems, anniversary poems, death poems, friendship poems, birthday poems, funny, cute, family poems. Click here; Sweet Love Poems

(2006)

Bri Edwards

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Archive of the most beautiful short love poems. Click here; Short Love Poems

Vanessa Kingsley

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Sad love poems are always one of the best elements of sadness. Nothing describes a broken heart better than sad love poems. Click here; Sad Love Poems