Love Poetry For Couple

I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head and walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of bluegreen leaves with its watery sun & three moons towards the cave where you must descend, towards your worst fear I would like to give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you from the grief at the center of your dream, from the grief at the center. I would like to follow you up the long stairway again & become the boat that would row you back carefully, a flame in two cupped hands to where your body lies beside me, and you enter it as easily as breathing in   https://www.mimanualdelbebe.com/usuario/laquita-384916 https://emiliowvqm828.angelfire.com/index.blog/1677954/how-to-master-new-year-greetings-in-6-simple-steps/ http://www.divephotoguide.com/user/...

1. Have you always been "poetic"? An interview at Geoffrey Philp's blog dates your first poem back to when you were 9. What was the first poem you placed in a magazine? Did that/those "first" poem/s make it into any of your books? Always, if that means seduced by rhyme and rhythm and the power of images. My father didn�t read us bedtime stories � he read us poems from an anthology called THE BEST LOVED POEMS OF THE AMERICAN PEOPLE. Some poems told stories, and some of those were fit for children, like �The Gingham Dog and the Calico Cat�, but others were very grown up poems, like Longfellow�s �The Day is Done�. Shortly before his death, I read his favourites back to him from the same book, weeping the whole time. The first poem I published was in BIM, an important literary magazine founded in 1942 in Barbados by Frank Collymore, which has just recently been revived. There were very few publishing outlets for us in the region at the time so many of us in the Cari...

What I most want is to spring out of this personality, then to sit apart from that leaping. I've lived too long where I can be reached. Rumi "Unseen Rain" (i) In another life, this place was my home. I feel the rising of a forgotten knowledge like a spring from hidden aquifers under the earth. To glimpse your own nature is to come home like the rainfall that turns to mist before

Our minds can turn anything romantic. Is the problem. The sewagy mud of the Fraser a quaint muslin & the spumes pulsing out of chimneys at the Lafarge cement plant look, at night, like two of Isadora Duncan�s scarves, pale, insouciant veils, harmless. The trees are all gone but then aren�t our hearts more similar to wastelands. We can make it kin, this pollution, children one is