Love Poems for all you Romantics (79)
petalbabe: The Beloved Anam Cara: Communion Soul to Soul
Anam cara is Gaelic for “soul friend”. The anam cara is a Celtic concept of friendship.
"Relationships with an anam cara are not made
but rather seemingly unfold or are discovered.
The anam cara relationship is the awakening of a friendship
in which the anam cara
sees you as your highest, most beautiful self and with whom you may share the
intimacies of your spiritual journey through life.
An anam cara may or may not be
physically present in your life to serve in that role."
Anam cara is Gaelic for “soul friend”. The anam cara is a Celtic concept of friendship.
"Relationships with an anam cara are not made
but rather seemingly unfold or are discovered.
The anam cara relationship is the awakening of a friendship
in which the anam cara
sees you as your highest, most beautiful self and with whom you may share the
intimacies of your spiritual journey through life.
An anam cara may or may not be
physically present in your life to serve in that role."
Hello Petalbabe,
Interesting! I've never heard about Anam Cara before.
Thanks for sharing us that Celtic concept of friendship.
I wish I'll find my anam cara. I'd rather have him physically present in my life, though.
Lagoona22: It's a little bit funny this feeling inside
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
I don't have much money but boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live
If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you
And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world
I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss
Well a few of the verses well they've got me quite cross
But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song
It's for people like you that keep it turned on
So excuse me forgetting but these things I do
You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue
Anyway the thing is what I really mean
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
I don't have much money but boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live
If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you
And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world
I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss
Well a few of the verses well they've got me quite cross
But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song
It's for people like you that keep it turned on
So excuse me forgetting but these things I do
You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue
Anyway the thing is what I really mean
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen
Love it, Lago.
I was searching every word for 36C, but couldn't find one. How strange!
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Love
feel the gentleness of my spirit as you gaze within my self
through all the charred darkened corners– remnants, of fires past that
raged in the alleyways of this journey
and do you see/feel the capacity of tenderness that still serenely ebbs ,
the energy of love to share with another, sing love songs, meld stanzas
embrace the verse
and dance, dance the naked dance of acceptance
through visible scars unashamedly, together, as one
who! would dare judge, many often do,
or attempt to flippantly dispense
careless offerings of their own feared misgivings
building barriers to love they reinforce with darkness sourced/concealed within shackled misty caverns of their deluded minds-
still attached to yesterdays regretful guilt
come to me love
allow your spirit to burst through shadows of lives past
stroke my mind with velvet kisses
entwine my soul in down wrapped of silken threads ,
-
whisper softly, silently inner thoughts, let your tones reverberate-
gently -streaming through channels of truth
feel the gentleness of my spirit as you gaze within my self
through all the charred darkened corners– remnants, of fires past that
raged in the alleyways of this journey
and do you see/feel the capacity of tenderness that still serenely ebbs ,
the energy of love to share with another, sing love songs, meld stanzas
embrace the verse
and dance, dance the naked dance of acceptance
through visible scars unashamedly, together, as one
who! would dare judge, many often do,
or attempt to flippantly dispense
careless offerings of their own feared misgivings
building barriers to love they reinforce with darkness sourced/concealed within shackled misty caverns of their deluded minds-
still attached to yesterdays regretful guilt
come to me love
allow your spirit to burst through shadows of lives past
stroke my mind with velvet kisses
entwine my soul in down wrapped of silken threads ,
-
whisper softly, silently inner thoughts, let your tones reverberate-
gently -streaming through channels of truth
My Mistress' eyes
William Shakespeare
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
Coral is far more red than her lips' red,
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun,
If hairs be wires, black wires grow upon her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight,
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak: yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound,
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground,
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.
William Shakespeare
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
Coral is far more red than her lips' red,
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun,
If hairs be wires, black wires grow upon her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes is there more delight,
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak: yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound,
I grant I never saw a goddess go,
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground,
And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,
As any she belied with false compare.
IF YOU FORGET ME
by Pablo Neruda
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
by Pablo Neruda
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
Amaryllis: IF YOU FORGET ME
by Pablo Neruda
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
by Pablo Neruda
I want you to know
one thing.
You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.
If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.
If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.
But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine
Beautiful.
Jan1305: Beautiful.
Thanks, Jan. I know you like Pablo Neruda's poems.
Here's one for Sommer and the Captain:
DON'T GO FAR OFF, NOT EVEN FOR A DAY
by Pablo Neruda
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.
Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.
Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,
because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?
Amaryllis: Thanks, Jan. I know you like Pablo Neruda's poems.
Here's one for Sommer and the Captain:
DON'T GO FAR OFF, NOT EVEN FOR A DAY
by Pablo Neruda
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.
Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.
Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,
because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?
Here's one for Sommer and the Captain:
DON'T GO FAR OFF, NOT EVEN FOR A DAY
by Pablo Neruda
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.
Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.
Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,
because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?
Ama,
I loved this one. I am a poetry-peasant. I do not know much about it, but I must look up more work from Neruda. Nice to see the crazy thoughts that I have in my head translated into beautiful words.
Thanks.immanuelle: Ama,
I loved this one. I am a poetry-peasant. I do not know much about it, but I must look up more work from Neruda. Nice to see the crazy thoughts that I have in my head translated into beautiful words. Thanks.
I loved this one. I am a poetry-peasant. I do not know much about it, but I must look up more work from Neruda. Nice to see the crazy thoughts that I have in my head translated into beautiful words. Thanks.
Imma!
Lovely to see you.
I too am just dropping in for fleeting moments, work permitting.
Isn´t this a great thread.
immanuelle: Ama,
I loved this one. I am a poetry-peasant. I do not know much about it, but I must look up more work from Neruda. Nice to see the crazy thoughts that I have in my head translated into beautiful words. Thanks.
I loved this one. I am a poetry-peasant. I do not know much about it, but I must look up more work from Neruda. Nice to see the crazy thoughts that I have in my head translated into beautiful words. Thanks.
Hello Imma,
Glad you like it. It's a pleasure.
Look forward to reading some lovely poems from you..
Jan1305: Imma!
Lovely to see you.
I too am just dropping in for fleeting moments, work permitting.
Isn´t this a great thread.
Lovely to see you.
I too am just dropping in for fleeting moments, work permitting.
Isn´t this a great thread.
Very cool thread Jan. Hoping all is well for you.
Wonderful thread you started Ama.
I DO NOT LOVE YOU Except Because I Love You
by Pablo Neruda
I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.
I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.
Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.
In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.
by Pablo Neruda
I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.
I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.
Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.
In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.
I dedicate this poem to our friends who are feeling a bit down.
I hope it will cheer you up a bit.
BE GLAD YOUR NOSE IS ON YOUR FACE
by Jack Prelutsky
Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.
Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.
Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.
Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.
Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!
I hope it will cheer you up a bit.
BE GLAD YOUR NOSE IS ON YOUR FACE
by Jack Prelutsky
Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.
Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.
Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.
Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.
Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!
Amaryllis: I DO NOT LOVE YOU Except Because I Love You
by Pablo Neruda
I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.
.
.
.
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.
by Pablo Neruda
I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.
.
.
.
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.
Oh Ama, I do believe this thread has given me a new favourite poet. Wonderful.
Amaryllis: I dedicate this poem to our friends who are feeling a bit down.
I hope it will cheer you up a bit.
BE GLAD YOUR NOSE IS ON YOUR FACE
by Jack Prelutsky
Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.
I hope it will cheer you up a bit.
BE GLAD YOUR NOSE IS ON YOUR FACE
by Jack Prelutsky
Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.
My students at school will love this. I shall take it in on Monday. It sounds very Dr. Seuss like. There is a fantastic one by him that I shall try and find to post. Have a great day.
immanuelle: My students at school will love this. I shall take it in on Monday. It sounds very Dr. Seuss like. There is a fantastic one by him that I shall try and find to post. Have a great day.
Hey, have fun, Imma
I'd like to read Dr. Seuss', too.
Then again, from below, in the great heavy stack,
Came a groan from that plain little turtle named Mack.
“Your Majesty, please… I don’t like to complain,
But down here below, we are feeling great pain.
I know, up on top you are seeing great sights,
But down here at the bottom we, too, should have rights.
We turtles can’t stand it. Our shells will all crack!
Besides, we need food. We are starving!” groaned Mack.
“You hush up your mouth!” howled the mighty King Yertle.
“You’ve no right to talk to the world’s highest turtle.
I rule from the clouds! Over land! Over sea!
There’s nothing, no, NOTHING, that’s higher than me!”
But, while he was shouting, he saw with surprise
That the moon of the evening was starting to rise
Up over his head in the darkening skies.
“What’s THAT?” snorted Yertle. “Say, what IS that thing
That dares to be higher than Yertle the King?
I shall not allow it! I’ll go higher still!
I’ll build my throne higher! I can and I will!
I’ll call some more turtles. I’ll stack ‘em to heaven!
I need ’bout five thousand, six hundred and seven!”
But, as Yertle, the Turtle King, lifted his hand
And started to order and give the command,
That plain little turtle below in the stack,
That plain little turtle whose name was just Mack,
Decided he’d taken enough. And he had.
And that plain little lad got a bit mad.
And that plain little Mack did a plain little thing.
He burped!
And his burp shook the throne of the king!
And Yertle the Turtle, the king of the trees,
The king of the air and the birds and the bees,
The king of a house and a cow and a mule…
Well, that was the end of the Turtle King’s rule!
For Yertle, the King of all Sala-ma-Sond,
Fell off his high throne and fell Plunk! in the pond!
And today the great Yertle, that Marvelous he,
Is King of the Mud. That is all he can see.
And the turtles, of course… all the turtles are free
As turtles and, maybe, all creatures should be.
Came a groan from that plain little turtle named Mack.
“Your Majesty, please… I don’t like to complain,
But down here below, we are feeling great pain.
I know, up on top you are seeing great sights,
But down here at the bottom we, too, should have rights.
We turtles can’t stand it. Our shells will all crack!
Besides, we need food. We are starving!” groaned Mack.
“You hush up your mouth!” howled the mighty King Yertle.
“You’ve no right to talk to the world’s highest turtle.
I rule from the clouds! Over land! Over sea!
There’s nothing, no, NOTHING, that’s higher than me!”
But, while he was shouting, he saw with surprise
That the moon of the evening was starting to rise
Up over his head in the darkening skies.
“What’s THAT?” snorted Yertle. “Say, what IS that thing
That dares to be higher than Yertle the King?
I shall not allow it! I’ll go higher still!
I’ll build my throne higher! I can and I will!
I’ll call some more turtles. I’ll stack ‘em to heaven!
I need ’bout five thousand, six hundred and seven!”
But, as Yertle, the Turtle King, lifted his hand
And started to order and give the command,
That plain little turtle below in the stack,
That plain little turtle whose name was just Mack,
Decided he’d taken enough. And he had.
And that plain little lad got a bit mad.
And that plain little Mack did a plain little thing.
He burped!
And his burp shook the throne of the king!
And Yertle the Turtle, the king of the trees,
The king of the air and the birds and the bees,
The king of a house and a cow and a mule…
Well, that was the end of the Turtle King’s rule!
For Yertle, the King of all Sala-ma-Sond,
Fell off his high throne and fell Plunk! in the pond!
And today the great Yertle, that Marvelous he,
Is King of the Mud. That is all he can see.
And the turtles, of course… all the turtles are free
As turtles and, maybe, all creatures should be.
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I am feeling a tad bit macabre tonight. So romantic in a strange way. These words from a song 'The Final Cut' are not pretty. They are not sweet. But they are the words I would ask of my lover. I wouldn't want to know what he thought of me at my prettiest, but what he thought of me when I was not feeling so pretty.
If I show you my dark side
Will you still hold me tonight?
And if I open my heart to you
And show you my weak side
What would you do?
Would you sell your story to Rolling Stone?
Would you take the children away
And leave me alone?
And smile in reassurance
As you whisper down the phone?
Would you send me packing?
Or would you take me home?
Very touching, Imma
Your are right. True love is unconditional. True love is something that grows out of respect, of nurturing each other with kindness and compassion, of acceptance of each another, no matter what the flaws of the other may be.
When those are gone, true love has flown away.
And sadly, sometimes it does..