Poetry Blog by Adam Whitworth (2018, love)

love (Remove filter)

Tags from last 12 months

Recent Comments

Don Matthews on Wakey, Wakey (3 days ago)

afishamongmany on Power In The Eyes (9 days ago)

afishamongmany on Quiz On Greek Gods (13 days ago)

Andy N on Unrhymed Sonnet (Mon, 19 Aug 2019 12:37 pm)

afishamongmany on Unrhymed Sonnet (Mon, 19 Aug 2019 10:04 am)

keith jeffries on Crux (Fri, 9 Aug 2019 09:59 am)

John Marks on Crux (Fri, 9 Aug 2019 06:06 am)

Adam Rabinowitz on Crux (Fri, 9 Aug 2019 06:02 am)

Don Matthews on Crux (Thu, 8 Aug 2019 11:34 pm)

Belinda Sue Kiser on The Benefit Gig (Wed, 31 Jul 2019 06:09 pm)

Such Sweet Sorrow


    As loath to cease breathing

the briefest interruption -count in minutes-

of young lovers begins, as so much,

with an exchange: the parting kiss.

    Thoughtfully curry-combing horses before 

one long dark trek; sharing silently 

the feast to safeguard against famine.

    Art's lady, you draw a timeless moment into time;

giving the perfect answer without a question ...

Read and leave comments (0)


Polyester Fluorescent Workwear?

      If things were so spun that I 
dressed my lady I'd gaze on an Aztec princess.
A summer's warmth her eyes radiate! Jade and gold 
catch the light. Charms and tokens of love 
sparkle in earnest. Silks and feathers shimmer;
bring motion to emotion in my view.
For my life as backdrop I am ecstatic.
This is the picture to die for. 
     Back here in this flat world, England 2017, 

Read and leave comments (0)


Love Begins At Fifty

It happens we meet late in life

The suspicion is an onside Sun leaned in 
a few paces closer this day, 
ensuring our faces glisten
in a good light- how could we say?

We are without claws to catch the promise

Certainly we may 
refer to a spectacular blue sky,
as all clouds are urgently called away,
should passing juggernauts threaten
the suggestion of a grey day.

Basking in our c...

Read and leave comments (1)


Before The Angels

But for the almighty roar even Ocean would lay low;

      without reflection of Sun dancing diamonds, plain old grey.

But we weave the strand

      together you and I squeeze your hand the tighter.

This day one hard wood bench feels just for us

hopeful pigeons assess us, for all the world like badly stuffed toys

      without the magic of wings lifting them high.

Before their ...

Read and leave comments (0)


This site uses cookies. By continuing to browse, you are agreeing to our use of cookies.

Find out more Hide this message