Love Poetry For Couple

I see you everywhere except in dreams �Karl Shapiro Someday this poem will be a memory, like the ten dollars you got winning the spelling bee, like the sweet smell of the tobacco pouch in your grandfather's pocket, the grandfather you adored, how the gold string that tied it vanished like a coin drawn into a magician's sleeve amazing the child who watched, who was you, the child burned by illusions that turned into dreams, the child, awake now to the ruin of old age, but you cannot heal her, you cannot cry. You know no words of comfort. You pronounce her dead and move to a far country, sunless, without air. + Who she is: Joyce Ellen Davis at Canopic Jar + Where she blogs: Joyce Ellen Davis's 'following the little god'  and  Plodding Taurus + Her Amazon page: Joyce Ellen Davis's Amazon page Joyce Ellen Davis

The beauty of a child can become lost In the beauty of all those children. �Tj Pfau This is the story of Motlatsi In another Africa, perhaps in an alternate universe. Lives a beautiful dark child With skin like smooth chocolate. Each morning he rises from his bed And eats the mealie pap his grandmother Prepares as she does every day. Today is like all the other days. She stirs, The corn meal in the pot goes around, And bubbles and thickens. Afterward, His grandmother takes his small soft hand In her large hand, and together they scatter Corn to the chickens in the yard. This is the story of Motlatsi. In another Africa, perhaps in an alternate Universe, lives this beautiful dark child With skin like smooth chocolate. He chases the chickens in the yard on his Tricycle. The bell on the trike sings A warning: I am coming! Watch out! I come! A pin-tailed Whydah cries from the broad leaves And green thorns of the Kahretsana. This is another part of the story Of Motlatsi, in another Africa, i...

Joyce Ellen Davis Like most of my favourite contemporary poets, I met Joyce Ellen Davis online. Thank God for the Internet, I feel like saying. I believe it was when I asked her for the publication of one or some of her poems among the pages of Canopic Jar, the literary magazine I co-edit with Phil Rice. She did send me poems, as she has agreed today for me to share one of her poems on this