POEMS ABOUT TRUE LOVE, WHAT LOVE IS
ON A MEADOW WE KISSED
On a meadow we kissed
on a meadow — our first dance
our journey began
our sweet romance.
On a meadow we talked
noble dreams, one for all…
lost in each other’s eyes
found in each other’s soul.
On a meadow we played
just like children play
and we build our world
hand in hand, every day.
On a meadow we loved
I still feel you here
I still feel your arms
Your heartbeat I hear.
On the meadow of life…
last kiss… my heart revolts
as eternity takes you
as we dance our last waltz.
Suddenly, the last breath …
Silence… first lonely tear drops
my heart still beats for others
but for me it stops.
And now someone still dances
on a meadow of Life
I see three distant silhouettes
Pain and Sorrow, and I.
LILIANA KOHANN
©Artpeace 2004
dust
When the white flame in us is gone,
And we that lost the world's delight
Stiffen in darkness, left alone
To crumble in our separate night;
When your swift hair is quiet in death,
And through the lips corruption thrust
Has stilled the labour of my breath---
When we are dust, when we are dust!---
Not dead, not undesirous yet,
Still sentient, still unsatisfied,
We'll ride the air, and shine, and flit,
Around the places where we died,
And dance as dust before the sun,
And light of foot, and unconfined,
Hurry from road to road, and run
About the errands of the wind.
And every mote, on earth or air,
Will speed and gleam, down later days,
And like a secret pilgrim fare
By eager and invisible ways,
Nor ever rest, nor ever lie,
Till, beyond thinking, out of view,
One mote of all the dust that's I
Shall meet one atom that was you.
Then in some garden hushed from wind,
Warm in a sunset's afterglow,
The lovers in the flowers will find
A sweet and strange unquiet grow
Upon the peace; and, past desiring,
So high a beauty in the air,
And such a light, and such a quiring,
And such a radiant ecstasy there,
They'll know not if it's fire, or dew,
Or out of earth, or in the height,
Singing, or flame, or scent, or hue,
Or two that pass, in light, to light,
Out of the garden, higher, higher. . . .
But in that instant they shall learn
The shattering ecstasy of our fire,
And the weak passionless hearts will burn
And faint in that amazing glow,
Until the darkness close above;
And they will know---poor fools, they'll know!---
One moment, what it is to love.
RUPERT BROOKE (English poet, 1887 – 1915)
And we that lost the world's delight
Stiffen in darkness, left alone
To crumble in our separate night;
When your swift hair is quiet in death,
And through the lips corruption thrust
Has stilled the labour of my breath---
When we are dust, when we are dust!---
Not dead, not undesirous yet,
Still sentient, still unsatisfied,
We'll ride the air, and shine, and flit,
Around the places where we died,
And dance as dust before the sun,
And light of foot, and unconfined,
Hurry from road to road, and run
About the errands of the wind.
And every mote, on earth or air,
Will speed and gleam, down later days,
And like a secret pilgrim fare
By eager and invisible ways,
Nor ever rest, nor ever lie,
Till, beyond thinking, out of view,
One mote of all the dust that's I
Shall meet one atom that was you.
Then in some garden hushed from wind,
Warm in a sunset's afterglow,
The lovers in the flowers will find
A sweet and strange unquiet grow
Upon the peace; and, past desiring,
So high a beauty in the air,
And such a light, and such a quiring,
And such a radiant ecstasy there,
They'll know not if it's fire, or dew,
Or out of earth, or in the height,
Singing, or flame, or scent, or hue,
Or two that pass, in light, to light,
Out of the garden, higher, higher. . . .
But in that instant they shall learn
The shattering ecstasy of our fire,
And the weak passionless hearts will burn
And faint in that amazing glow,
Until the darkness close above;
And they will know---poor fools, they'll know!---
One moment, what it is to love.
RUPERT BROOKE (English poet, 1887 – 1915)
LOVE
We meet again.
The moment,
Kind and generous,
The beauty,
Peaceful and serene.
The spirit alive in all that is
And not what could be.
And all of this
Born of love,
In a moment
That is timeless
And always
Enough
CHRIS ROE
www.silentflightpublications.co.uk
LINGER
The words tasted sweet,
like honeydew from innocent meadows,
or manna from an uncorrupt heaven.
Every touch,
every caress,
slowly fading
in the midst of time.
Scared?
I’m not scared?
Pick up the pieces broken,
rewrite promises unspoken,
while gazing in your eyes,
the memory embracing my mind.
A wonderful dream,
from a brief, nostalgic sigh.
Perhaps you’ll leave one day,
and forget everything,
with eternity bearing down on us.
But I’m still grateful, for those
bittersweet seconds, as we continue
to disappear through
Time’s pendulum.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW
http://naturewriting.com/author/robin-goodfellow
like honeydew from innocent meadows,
or manna from an uncorrupt heaven.
Every touch,
every caress,
slowly fading
in the midst of time.
Scared?
I’m not scared?
Pick up the pieces broken,
rewrite promises unspoken,
while gazing in your eyes,
the memory embracing my mind.
A wonderful dream,
from a brief, nostalgic sigh.
Perhaps you’ll leave one day,
and forget everything,
with eternity bearing down on us.
But I’m still grateful, for those
bittersweet seconds, as we continue
to disappear through
Time’s pendulum.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW
http://naturewriting.com/author/robin-goodfellow
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