Category: Poetry

Poems of love!

History, in Black and White! 

Love in black and white, portrayed with embedded color, shades of the heart, painted in its eclectic hue. Of people, of places, of things, imprints upon the canvas of the heart. What’s etched, within the pages of history; of what was, of what is, of what makes a consequential impression. Black and white by design, colorful in kind, brushed with the breadth of love’s artistic sublime, revealed by history’s endearing intent. Varying perspective, monochrome perception; never opposing principle, in love lensed reciprocal. Its beautiful color residing, within the space between; heart and soul. Love’s illustration, paints a vivid image, when shades of gray leaves one’s crimson heart, feeling black and blue. Love’s subtle beauty, colored outside the lines, love nevertheless, if it leaves one’s heart impressionable. Pastel colors, with shades of black and white, may seem somewhat bombastic, yet deeply fantastic. Black and white, life and death, hopes and dreams; textured humanity. Likened to that of a lamp distinguishable, burning bright love’s inextinguishable worth. In blackened moments, illuminates fluorescent white. Love’s tapestry, in living color, never pixelated black and white, but texturized historical!

WCR

Song Inspired; She’s Like the Wind!

What’s a heart to do, when your breath is taken, when your mind is blown beyond words, being a shift in your soul’s perception. When within the proverbial forest, its sway leaves your soul panting; heart knowing at any moment, it’s another breathless encounter. What do you do, your heart trying to play it cool, thinking it’s a breeze, but every heartbeat bracing for its subtlety; not to be totally swept away, into the depth of its whirlwind. Like that of the wind, unbeknownst, her love poised to take your heart captive, she doesn’t know what’s being done. Wind, what’s your agenda, is it to alter my soul’s artificial intelligence of love? Like how the wind undulates, true love is naturally perceptible, perceptive especially. Its actions particular, the nature of its aura peculiar. Within your soul the knowing, I can feel it coming, in the air tonight; she’s like the wind. Fragrance of her love, her breath felt breathing into your soul, her presence feeling close, moving your heart in another daydream. Even at distance, proximity of her love tangible, your soul touched by love’s warm embrace. This I know, love hovers in the stillness of your soul, your heart anchored within a place of needing; tethered to love’s heartfelt truth. The question, living without her, would your heart go insane? Strength of her essence, capturing your gaze, taking you by the heart, leading you throughout the moonlight. What’s a heart to do, moved profoundly by its gentle gust, your soul, letting its gusto be… On the breadth of its allure, does the wings of my heart soar. Wind, tell it to my heart, am I the only one? Love, the convergence of forty years, but it doesn’t seem I was; just a fool to believe, she’s like the wind! 

She’s like the wind, a song by Patrick Swayze and Wendy Fraser. Released in 1987, on the soundtrack to the film Dirty Dancing.

WCR

Love’s Sappy Hue! 

Sappy love, seeps with a distinct texture, the soul drenched in the aura of love’s tapestry. Never needing a particular occasion, to tap into its quintessence, hence. Melting heart and soul, with the ambiance of its warmth. Every day, love, gives an open heart its due, its essence laid gently on the soul, the dawn of its breathless dew. Love’s sappy hue, one’s heart, not missing the forest for the trees. Love that drips tenderly, captivates the soul’s gaze, the heart becoming its perpetual muse. Like that of pure maple syrup, tasty love coats the breadth of one’s soul. Enhancing the shades of one’s heart, with the nectar of love’s divine fragrance. Beauty of its enchanted hue, found within the depth of its sappy allure, love’s sweet cure!

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Dearest Love!

My Dearest love, within the depth of my soul, rest the virtue of thy charm. Deep within thy arms, you are my heart, but I don’t have to write that here. Every day, again and again you search within my soul, see if my love is pure. Dearest love, my heart would never presume, to say your meaning is just a verb. Dearest love, doesn’t need a special time, or space; deep love flows constant, a deep river. On the tip of my heart, words etched within the crevices of my being, love’s essence spills inked. Valiant love, defies time’s wishes, one’s soul the muse of thy rhyme. Roses red, violets misty blue, my heart’s love true. Dearest, you’ve captured my imagination, taken my every breath, lingering to become my, entire heart and soul. They say, sharing is caring, but my soul says, daring is preparing, one’s heart to be of love’s service, forever and always. Love is a connection, a bond never to be broken; never-the-less, but more than. LOVE, forgive me, if my words seem bold, the half not yet told. For I am, my heart is, draped in the fabric of thy intimacy. Thy beautiful texture, unveiled my soul, makes known thy endearing might. My dearest love, my heart is utterly lost for words. These words, a mere breadth of my heart, versed in the tapestry of thy crimson hue. For my heart’s sake, bare my soul, let thy passion be, the confessions of my undying love! 

Yours irrevocably!

WCR

Humorous Muse; Heart and the String!

Some hearts assume, a man deep in love doesn’t relish the moments, his better half tugs his heartstrings like a breathless cello, hello. Making some needlessly presume, she’s behind the scenes pulling his strings. Oh, but here’s the thing, a devoted man inherently, loves his significant other becoming a trusted composer, his heart forever being her muse. A heart with no strings, love not tethered to anything, echoing the depth of love’s heartfelt thing. Words having such a harmonious ring, till death I do, tether my string. And so, it’s never a bother; rather, a secure man feels elated, knowing her love cares enough to want, to strum his heart like no other. As for me and my heart, for four decades the same woman has been tugging my strings. Sometimes, as men software can lag, and insecure men just want to brag and boast. How their love is the most, and another would never be allowed to pull their string. But tell me, what joy does it bring, if a heart’s violin didn’t have strings? You see, every man needs to know, her love is so instrumental, for years to make his soul’s acoustics sing. Men, the symphonic rhythm of her love, orchestrates the conditions, to be swayed by our love’s rendition. A woman, would gladly give up all the bling, to know, for her your heart still has a thing. No heart, desires a puppet on a string; have the genuine love thang, with the most beautiful southern twang. Heart on a string, it’s absolutely a thing; love pulls you in, ask of you to lean in. And even, when words Sting, like a bee, or the man with the legendary music thing; “Fields of Gold.” Wherewith, promises are never made lightly, of heartstrings strung together, finding the common thing is this. Be hearts bound by three stranded string, what makes the love thing become a stronger cling. Sharing is caring, but baring is daring, to put your soul on the line; Heart, and String!

WCR

It’s Impression!

What do you call a feeling, pressed tenderly up against your heart, but yet, felt deep within the crevices of your soul? How do you depict an essence, so profound it alters your perception forever? What do you call something, that collides with your heart deeply, without leaving a chasm in the depth of your soul? Is there a word, given to an encounter so impactful, its mark is left etched on your heart? Its ink, revealing from the pours of your soul, its tattooed hue. What perspective do you give to moments, its existence neither space nor time can erase? Is there a significance you give to something, which utterly leaves your heart exposed, to bare your soul? What do you say about something, you know that its presence lingers, and certain its breadth hovers? What price renders the significance, of a thing that poetically draws… you into its portrait, that causes a rosy frame of reference to bloom breathlessly, and its ability to give a heart wings to soar? What term does one’s soul use to convey, a heartfelt sense of being, an intuitive sense of needing? In its representation, even broken things are made beautiful. A broken heart, whole nevertheless. Rose petals laid bare of its stem, still just as sweet. Butterflies within its cocoon state, will confidently find its wings. What name do you give to the thing, that transcends? You call it, Love, the beautiful impression, left imprinted on the heart!

WCR

Revisited: Soul Food!

Attentive love, easy on the heart, warm to its touch, sautéd tastefully with its holistic simplicity. Essence enriched, dished abundantly, served wholeheartedly. Soul food, full of compassion, filled with appreciation, seasoned with gratitude, marinated in deep affection. Even with just a hint of admiration, gives it the right amount of clarity. That your love’s language, food for the soul. But, why not kick it up a notch, add to it some; “je ne sais quoi,” something, indicative of your heart’s desire, emboldened by one’s spice for life. A hint of this, a pinch of that, adds to the allure of one’s love being, tasteful. A sense of needing, excites a heart in giving, best portion of themselves. An atmosphere of love’s aroma, will linger profoundly, resonates deeply. Guessing what works, quirks tainting the heartfelt appeal, one’s heart not in it. Soul food, not made with love, creates a tasteless stew, lacking its most critical element. Adding to it genuine trust, enhances the nature, the indulgence of love’s intentional ingredients. Love, not stirred with consistent awareness, a feeling of being burnt. Indifference, making the experience unappealing, the encounter hard to swallow. Even, in the midst of bitterness, day after day, set the table regardless. Line the heart with the fabric of love, and the ambiance will become the soul’s feast. A heart with room, indulges in seconds, what first impressions may have negated. Sharing your heart, feeding your soul; endearing. Truth be told, moments the soul holds, the heart being bold. Love served on a platter, never meant to flatter, but rather, feed one’s soul. A heart bland, its innermost likened to its batter, not sweetened with the rich extracts of love. Hearts content, skip through the meadows of life, famished feast on love’s sustenance, food for one’s soul! 

*** A post revisited, a rewrite of the original, shared Nov 1, 2021 New picture, new take, but nevertheless, food for the soul. *** If anyone is interested, this link is to the original post. Link to Soul Food: Nov 1, 2021

WCR

On My Way to Heaven!

On my way to heaven, my heart met an angel, traversing time, in between our soul’s existence, love’s deepest breadth revealed. Thirty eight years, feels like a thousand, on our way to forever. Within her care, my heart in no haste, resting deep within love’s embrace. Trying to find, hoping to become, what my love needed to be, deeply enlightened. You see, heaven is my destiny, but before my soul journey’s there. This angel’s love, my soul’s mate, sent to search my heart, test my love’s resolve. My soul, wouldn’t dare claim, her heart doesn’t have wings. In my heart of hearts, her love takes flight, takes my love to new heights. My breath, doesn’t have to hold tight, deep in my soul this feels right. Love heaven sent, be a lifetime spent, knowing love heartfelt. Her heart’s angelic verb, likened to love’s healing herb. Her love a song, harped rhythmically felt strong. Love’s beauty capturing your gaze, its sway moving you all your days. Heaven, doesn’t seem a far off place, your heart totally eclipsed by the light of its hue. In her reflection, glimpsed the keeper of the stars. In between here, and eternity; lived, loved, discovered angels are real. Traversing the way of love’s celestial plane, my soul had an encounter. On my way to heaven, my heart, met an angel!

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I’m.

I’m a simple man, with a complicated heart. My love is inquisitive, my soul intuitive, my heart perceptive. Will never speak my mind, unless my heart gives it permission, love being its mission. I’m. My love is glaring, my heart is caring, my soul is daring; a reflection. I’m a son, a brother, a husband, a father; I’m just a man. Predestined to serve, destined to preserve, true meaning of love. I’m. Don’t step to me, unless you’re willing to throw down. Throw down what harms, to embrace love’s charm, love with open arms. I’m. My heart is full, my days filled with love’s noble quest to be, and will only make room for Just, you. You who need encouragement, you with a broken heart. You looking for a heart willing to listen, to whatever’s on yours. I’m. There’s so much on my shoulders, but my spirit’s never crushed, a lot on my plate, but my hopes never shattered pieces. In love I put my trust, to bear the weight, there’s no time for hate. And, when night falls, and the dawn calls, love makes my heart befall, and I’m!

WCR