Poetry Blogs (Jan 2012, Love)
Brian Maryon on Record Number of Migrants Cross The Channel - Aug 6 (1 hour ago)
Andy N on Disappearing in the midnight air across the meadows (3 hours ago)
Let the chips fall,
We're cutting down a tree.
But only to build a bridge
made of electricity.
It's connecting you and me,
to a future we can't see.
Que sera, sera,
What will be will be.
The light that shines inside us
is directing you to me.
Fate is in auto-pilot and it flies in stealth
the beauty of surrender
is a new abundant wealth.
To hell with always asking why
Tuesday 31st January 2012 8:00 pm
a smear on my screen
secretly opening up a door
to the unknown universe
that you now inhabit.
I feel astray and distant
from a future,
My remembrances of us are
so unlike the motionless
image flickering on my screen:
from perfection to a man
living in the delicate body of
Monday 30th January 2012 10:42 pm
Passing by, you held my eye,
Now hours later I still sigh.
Instead of making sure we met
I'm made to live with this regret.
How many times on this old Earth
Is love condemned to this still-birth?
Love's own strangers passing by,
Left to wonder - left to sigh.
Wednesday 25th January 2012 10:54 am
DEEPER THAN ASHES
You say you love me, but how can you when you hurt me so?
Now that you’re gone I don’t think I miss you, I’ll find another to
be my kindred spirit.
Together we will be invincible, nothing will separate us.
If you’re jealous and make me a war, I’ll kill you, I swear.
Me and my love will be soul deep. If you were to kill us and
burn our co...
Tuesday 24th January 2012 5:33 pm
Daffodils on my table
stand in a coffee pot.
The pot is cream and gold and green,
so pretty, I use it as a vase.
The daffodils on my table
But they are dying.
Maybe it’s too warm.
I bought them from a roadside pail.
They stood proud, gold and green;
full of promises suppressed.
Now, fat buds are soft,
Thursday 19th January 2012 9:25 am
I don’t just want to fall in love,
I want to skydive from 3000ft into a huge lake of love,
I want to walk off a cliff and into a canyon of love,
I want to trip into the Volcano and the lava, of love.
Because falling in love shouldn’t be as easy,
As me kissing you, and you kissing me.
Friday 13th January 2012 9:41 pm
Stubborn as he was,
And was he stubborn? Yes.
He didn’t want to pull his
Though he knew it for the best.
He picked a poppy,
Stole a rose,
And ran laughing all the way home,
Friday 13th January 2012 9:34 pm
Just get over it,
Casual, callous, colloquial.
But love is like an amnesiac's boomerang
just when you thing you've forgotten
the love, and the pain
it swoops like a dragon
whose scales scar sentiments.
It usually hits you,
and even if caught,
it caught you by surprise.
Those who once captured your heart
now hold your heart captive.
Tuesday 10th January 2012 6:13 pm
Monday 9th January 2012 1:10 am
Of all the chances, of all the places,
of all the people, it has happened.
Lori came along and into my life,
from the darklands of Scotland.
A Scottish Goth into planes,
a real soulmate I’ve found.
Distance will be overcome for in a week
I’ll be with her, at journeys end.
What are the chances? Well, it happened
and for that I’m grateful...
Saturday 7th January 2012 1:56 pm
Snowfalls bring me to madness,
I catch the snowflakes with my lips.
Snow! The fluffy and sparkling snow!
Its falls make beautiful all my trips.
I love the snowfalls very much
Though I am not eighteen!
Even at my age as such
Catching the snowflakes I am a teen.
What ever that I am not eighteen?
What ever that I am not so young?
Thursday 5th January 2012 10:24 pm
This poem is a collaboration between myself and another poet, J.R.Morgan. You can find her work here. www.J-r-morgan.tumblr.com
Bold is myself, Italics is Morgan.
Bland winds hold her hand
as they lead her through the scent of lilac promises
exhaled from decomposed breath.
They carry her down to the riverbank
where Zephyrus winds churn the
tides to the ri...
Thursday 5th January 2012 11:11 am
Find more posts here: http://haydenwritesthings.wordpress.com/
The Falling Down
The knives and forks
are crossed on the plates
in the kitchen,
two used cups sit
quietly on the coffee table
by the sofa,
the pots and pans
we used last night swim
in a pool of cold water.
the rain lashes
at the windows,
and outside the birch
tree swings w...
Wednesday 4th January 2012 4:18 am
Love is a mistress of herself,
She comes without asking.
She can be so cruel or like a kind elf,
She can be true or just masking.
Your fate – my sorrowful pilgrim,
With the key on the neck to walk,
To look for a fairy kingdom,
With different people to talk.
You want to know whose you are,
Where your love lives.
Do you have to walk so far...
Monday 2nd January 2012 6:49 pm