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Age Romance Poems | Age Poems About Romance

These Age Romance poems are examples of Age poems about Romance. These are the best examples of Age Romance poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Verse |

Romance Again


A swimming cloud became the mist;
our morning peace stirred inner light.
Before the sun rose ending night,
our honesty lit passion’s flight.   

We met sea crests as morning kissed
a gently rolling shore of gulls,
white-wings seeking sea’s tranquil lull
as dawn’s light winked on distant hulls.

Soft sands of gold, our walks I’d missed.
To cradle love at break of day,
we once began each day this way,
before our golden years turned gray. 

Now, hands entwined, we reminisce.
Our laughter breaks the silent dawn.
Fond memories I thought long gone,
come flooding back to carry on.

I want for nothing more than this - 
our worlds collide, a second chance. 
With children grown, a new romance,  
upon our beach, rekindled dance.

A swimming cloud became the mist;
we met sea crests as morning kissed
soft sands of gold; our walks, I'd missed.
Now hands entwined, we reminisce.
I want for nothing more than this.
    

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015


Details | Prose Poetry |

When Words Falls In Love

"Words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself."
(from:  A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court, by Mark Twain)

~~~

Should old romantic souls bind their hearts with chains of cynicism?

Should waves of hope and troughs of disappointment
be banished as though an ocean of beating hearts no longer exists?

We are but fading sunlight, common shades of gray.
 
Convicted of this inescapable reality are we sentenced to forsake pleasurable thoughts which stir pleasurable memories?

Should desire be a vapor we are not allowed to grasp?

Fires still smolder in old minds though touch is desensitized by scars, years, age and distance,


                                                     but a heart is forever young.



We may never see the pictures in our minds, but shall we refuse to surrender our visions? At least until death closes the door?

Let us always stare boldly into the fire although we know
passion's flame may blind us.



What else can we do 


                                                             when words fall in love?

Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2017

Details | Rhyme |

The Happy Dress

It’s a mother-in-law’s right, her prerogative 
To ‘drop in’ on her son almost any time,
But a mother-in-law should always be prepared
For almost anything she may find.

So, Mother Cready dropped in unannounced;
But as she approached her son’s front door,
Suddenly it opened.  “Ta Da!  Do you like my happy dress?”
His young wife stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.

“Oh, my word!” Mother Cready exclaimed with surprise.
“Why are you naked?  Are you insane?”
Just as surprised, the young wife pulled her inside.
“Please, Mother Cready…if you’ll just let me explain.

You see, when Mac has had a rough day,
When he’s been under a lot of stress,
Sometimes I meet him at the door
With a smile and a kiss in my happy dress.

It always relaxes him and makes him happy,
Then he makes me very happy too.
It works for Mac and me, Mother Cready;
Maybe it would work for you.”

“We’re too old for such.” scoffed Mother Cready.
“Perhaps if we were young like the two of you.”
But, on her way home, she decided
She was definitely going to try it too.

So, she bathed and put on some nice perfume,
Fixed her make-up and her hair.
She was thinking some very sexy thoughts,
But she had to hurry…no time to spare.

She heard her husband’s car in the driveway;
And as he approached their front door,
She threw it open.  “Ta Da! Do you like my happy dress?"
She stood there in her ‘all in all’…nothing more.

She saw a little grimace cross his face,
But that was not the worst.
Then he said, “I appreciate your happy dress, my dear;
But maybe you should have ironed it first.”

ALTERNATE LAST VERSE

“Well…your ‘happy dress’ could use some ironing;
But my birthday suit could use some starch.”
He kissed her. “Bet you and I can work it out.”;
And off to bed they marched.

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014


Details | Free verse |

Watching Us Age

I'm watching you age
into wiser smiles, measured steps.
(Your lines look beautiful)

Gravity of life reshaped
our foolish expenses of energy
(Oh, the hurrying we did together)

wasted vanity of emotions.
I love our becoming...
more vast of vivid moments

(Our expanding normal bits)
gnarled with experiences.

Copyright © Misheel Chuluun | Year Posted 2012

Details | Romanticism |

Can you feel me

Feel me standing there
on the draw bridge
that stands stubburn and erect
over the rushing waters blown by the wind
back and forth.
I listened to the crows
posted on gargoils designed
of eightenth century Gothic architecture
singing their death songs,
when the sun is setting in the far.

The voices of women passing
startle me with a feeling of sorrow
I can't breathe, I am dying.
Feel me, can you feel me rot away?
Slowly but surely rot away
as time passes with ease,
and taxi cabs take smiling, intoxicated faces
to wayward cafes, oh how they screech to a halting stop
and wave to me to get in.

"No thank you, I'd rather walk." I say to the smiling faces
highly intoxicated with the thought of the birds and the bees
rattling around in their empty minds.
Then they drive off, into the city lights and turn a darkened corner.
I look at the rushing water
and feel myself rot away
slowly but surely rot away.

Can you feel me?
Can you hear me?
Can you see me?
Feel my heart thump with slow paces
that manage to keep up with fast melodies.
Of songs that play in your mind
only the ones that make you sigh
and think those one days in Spring time
as you walked over the draw bridge
and paid no mind to the water underneth.
I hear no more talk of you and me, I hear no more talk
of the good old times we all shared.
Time has passed, as I take my last breathe
and hold my chest and shead a tear.
Feel me, can you?
If you can, put your hand to my weak heart 
and feel it thump away with every second wasted
on useless items.
Now, see me a man of one time greatness
reflect his life with a reflection in the water below.
How I sigh and cry and breath heavely,
as I feel myself rot away.

The voices of woman pass me by.
Tomorrow is a new day,
for the smiling faces in taxi cabs will go home
and soak their raging hangovers with cool, wet rags.
As I still stand on the draw bridge singing with the crows,
feeling myself rot away.

Can you feel me without you, rotting away?
I surely can feel myself rot.
Such a heavy word, "rot"
So vulgare, yet a great description of me,
without you.

I pull out a shawl you once wore and I kiss it.
As the wind gusts and the sun rises and my shadow
comes to meet me, the wind shall take my last memory
of you away.
And I shall weep no more.
Then what will I do? Shall I walk the streets
and think of you.
Yes you, still rambling all throughout my head
like a lose screw.
Can you feel me? Feel me rot away
feel me think about you, and all your works.
Can you feel me?

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

The Master Mind of Numbers

Ever since I have stepped into modernization, I have been pinched with values of the ancestors,
I cannot believe that the inside does not reflect the outside anymore,
When one says he or she has changed and become open minded, 
Is it only to make one feel temporarily pleased or is just to enjoy hurting a person,
Why has age become a factor or an excuse to start a new problem?

Every time a heart skips a beat, the warm sensation takes place, a friendly chat takes place,
Numbers begin to swirl around. The intellectual chat, attraction of like minds,
Or even the rebellious differences stand in a corner against numbers.
Time flies and so does one progress with various experiences. 
Does it matter if you are too old or young to be with someone?

Who gets to judge about numbers?
Nothing occurs very young but takes place during adulthood with mature thinking. 
How should one deal when age becomes a problem to a new relationship?
More or less, does anyone have the right to judge if one is not married at a certain age.
With observation, reading various articles, numbers have created a nuisance in the mind of shallow thinkers in many societies.

When all the feelings are right, then why do numbers go wrong?
Doesn’t sensibility, love, responsibility or even security count or is it overshadowed with age.
Still one may try to let go and filter some thoughts, but how does one filter attraction and passion.
Years have passed by and still the jackpot of excuses concerning numbers have polluted various communities. A spark of hope is still there when faith and true love will attain blessings from the higher self and well-wishers always.

Copyright © Bhavna khemlani | Year Posted 2012

Details | Romanticism |

Love needs Two Hearts

Love cannot bloom,
love cannot go on,
love cannot persue it dreams,
love cannot be what it is meant to be,
love cannot be where it is supposed to be,
if love doesn't have two hearts.

Love needs two hearts to be true,
Like water to a dried rose
makes it bloom in spring weather
with such glory and beauty.
Love cannot be true if one heart
doesn't love the other.
Care, trust, honesty and loyalty
in love it has no boundaries,
it has no color, it has no age,
like a fine wine or an aged whiskey
it grows better with time.
But love cannot fullfill without the other half.

If a woman loves man,
let her love him,
if you love me,
than love me, but if my heart is gone
and cannot be found in such relation with you
then I must halt, till my heart comes around.
If it never does show with the first light of morning,
then it wasn't meant to be with thee.
Come now, do not shed a tear for me,
a simple heathin, who cries havoc
when something doesn't go his way.
Do not cry, do not shed your one of a kind tears
for a souless man, for a heartless man like I,
but do not blame me,
if my heart cannot be found.

Love needs two hearts,
not one or the other can survive
without each other.
Love is patient, love is kind,
but with ever lover comes another.
And we will all fall in great and deep love,
be intoxicated with each other,
and our sweet kisses that God himself would shed a tear
for such beauty that still exisits.
Love needs two hearts,
you cannot have one, without the other.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ballad |

My addiction

I have an addiction...
It dont matter what time of day it is my addiction is there...
Not always in the literall since...
But it is always on my mind...
I lay my head down to sleep at night thinking about you...
I sleep dreaming about you...
I wake up thinking about you...
Your always on my mind...
No matter what I do my addiction is always on my mind...
Even if your not the last one I talk to before I lay my head down to sleep...
I still lay my head down thinking of you...
I just cant get enought of you...
No matter what my addiction is there...
My addiction has a name...
Her name is Shelby Nestle...
No matter how much we text or talk on the phone...
Its never enough...
I cant get enough of your beautiful eyes...
I cant get enough of that beautiful smile...
I cant get enough of kissing your soft lips...
That feeling I get inside when our lips touch...
Or holding you in my arms...
This is a new addiction to me...
Never have I been this addicted this quick...
It scares the shyt outta me...
But then I love it...
You are my new addiction baby... 
You are my...
My heroin...
My ecstacy... 
My cocaine...
You are my own personal drug...
I cant imagine and addiction stronger...
You are my addiction...
I wouldnt even think about trying to break this addiction...
I wouldnt go to rehab for this addiction...
I like it to much...
YOU ARE PERFECT JUST THE WAY YOU ARE

Copyright © jaremy mount Jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Acrostic |

Boy Toy

Brilliant attribute absent in the linkage
One is the passage way- a burning sexual drive
Younger and better is the Lad’s nature and affection.

Totally weightless is her relevance on the affair
On this exotic intimacy is a boy and his mama’s mate
Yet all are satisfied as the spoil of pleasure is well shared.

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? |

What is Sex

What is Sex ?
Sex is something that we all need.
Sex is a drug of love and caring.
Sex is a thing that pleasures our body and gets us in the motivation that takes us into somewhere that we haven’t did or seen before.
The moaning and the sounds is a sign of feeling good and fulfilled with excitement.
It’s a strong desire that makes us feel like we are loving and soft sensitive hearted.
Sex can change us I get that but it is also a sign of love making.
If a woman asks you do you love her when you start to make love then your answer should be I do in all my heart and I promise that I will be gentle and tender if you tell me too.
Sex can be a dis pleasant   when you don’t give a damn and don’t love that person.
But it takes a real  person  to know that never take love and sex for granted but to  cherish it and joy it.
Sex is a great thing.
Sex is love if you don’t take it for granted.
Sex is peace
Sex is intimacy
Sex is motivation.
And Sex is a sign  of feeling great and having a future in the next life that  awaits you.

Copyright © Cmack Estevez | Year Posted 2016

Details | Narrative |

A Chris and Joleen story

                          A Chris and Joleen story
               They became friend’s
             Then Joleen fell for him and they became lovers
           He was charming and a lover
         She was a princess and a angel.
  When she came in his wing and saved him
His wing was broken  for 3 years.
The prince spent 3 years tracking down a new love  a new beloved wing but he realize patients was an option love couldn’t be rushed.
Joleen’s words and meanings were dearly special to him.
But the age  between them was four years apart
She was a minor that loved him
He was legally that loved her
But   it didn’t matter he screamed age ain’t nothing but a number .
He screamed throwing it down the low was delightful and special
Haters can hate
Haters can try plague their love on both their houses instantly.
But what they can’t do is stop Chris and Joleen’s love
They  are  the young version of Romeo and Juliet.
They are the young version of Tristan and Isolde.
They are the Saviors of love and sacrifice 
The love is wonderful and special to them.
The depressions can try to perish them
But it can’t stresses their love.
Love is a strong drug
IT’s stronger than thugs  tryna gang bang but instead it’s a positive drug .
Emotions  flows in Joleen and Chris
Peace and Joy flows in Joleen and Chris
Girlish flows in Princess Joleen
Boyish flow in Prince Christopher
Together the combine of their  drug of lovers are forever thy King and Queen that has a legacy a passion a destiny to inspire lots of couples that in order to allow your love to grow you must stay and work it out .
Chris and Joleen are our past
Chris and Joleen are our last
They are a team
They are love 
They stick together
They cuddle together
They mate intimacy together
They hold each other together.
They die in the cold together 
And lastly Chris and Joleen will always be meant to be eternally at Earth and at lastly in Peacefully Heaven.

Copyright © Cmack Estevez | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ballad |

In Youth-less Age

In Youth-less Age
 


Though gentle, hopeful drifts we brood,
but age our wont be kind enough,
in threescores is when life imbued,
will partial be the earthly stuff;
but you'll still be my fancy then,
when Suns shall be the Shallowest,
and dry as those days --my fingers, pen!
Diluting the persistent best;
then shall I my own mind bereave,
when servile times would near a close,
but will your eyes, mine still deceive,
that greater truth than life propose.
The understanding of our earth,
up till we stay, --the way shall give,
entwine when with a lovers mirth,
we not our age but more shall live;
there I shall be a part of you,
though life may still not worthy be,
but time the hearts as one does sew
and breeds the soul's eternity.
 
Soon ladies fine with auburn head,
in youth's subservience shall grow,
with shadows white and lips blood red,
to whom the haste --the world will owe;
but, by the words that reason frowns,
and those that cost if cared for less;
within the gardens, across all towns,
just you my dame this heart possess,
as your my gardens cherished fruit,
could time nor age do you wrong,
your grace can shift a hand from mute,
such do my rhymes to you belong,
and the words, claims that come to me,
be their center, and my days renew,
until the time this soul is free,
and life us quells, an end pursue;
the end of the sojourn we made,
shall love then still be intense more,
when breaths and sight move to a fade,
like youth, your age --I shall adore.
 
R.N.Khan, © 2012

Copyright © Raja Nosherwan | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |

I've Danced on Tables

I’ve danced on tables

My boots laced high

I have that kinda style

Cognac in one hand

Tambourine in another

I go on for miles

Songs of sorrow

Songs of love

Sweeping the night time air

Stars all aglitter 

A toast to you

Glasses raised high in the air

We sang and we danced

We laughed and romanced

Days that lasted forever

Now we look on

As they dance to our song

Our days have but gently ended

Copyright © Zoria Gregory | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

Gale in the Night

“There were silver sparrows
feeding in the shadows
of bricker-bracken
on fresh pine nuts
from an old hope chest’s cones

Theirs were waning wings
tarnished in the window
of a bricked-up build
with a china hutch
from an old age gone long

I came on haunting heels
creeping like a widow
of a blacked-out bond
who misses much
from an old age gone long

It’s all an adage gone wrong”


That’s how you sang 
like a gale in the night
and the stars met
that had been crying out for eons

I cut my hand 
on the feather in your hair
and the sun set
as a drop of blood into the ocean

I felt so sane
with an eye to your words
a striving get
for seeds still being sowen

I swear the wind has never blowen

Copyright © Benjamin Amsden | Year Posted 2011

Details | Ballad |

Anwnn

Coming from the misty lake Lough Leane
Came a beautiful maiden of the name of Niamh
Upon a mare, for she is not from the world of man
A seraphic princess from Anwnn
Upon the shores she claimed around his kin
"I have came for Oisin son of Finn"
"Maiden you come to me so alluringly 
I am he, if we marry for all eternity!"

And so he rode upon her horse to the secrets of Anwnn
For he and she, they'd be happy for all eternity 

Come with me to Anwnn
I am she, your queen Niamh
I have come for you Oisin, son of Finn
Don't leave me or you'll see 
The age of man
The age of man
The age of man

Copyright © Wyatt Loethen | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |

Better With Age

A favorite star of mine 
that portrays class and style
is Demi Moore and then
she stated with a smile...
“I said I would get better with each baby, and I have."
I find this quote funny 
yet with meaning and I'm glad. 

In this century
do we really still judge?
Continuing to find the need
to label unique love?

If a woman finds content 
in a sweet male cub
then we should be happy
instead of using our noses to snub. 

I find the term cougar
a compliment in the end.
It symbolizes maturity
not prowling to win. 

As we age we gain
self assurance and self worth.
Becoming confident 
instead of dependent like at birth. 

Maybe there is a connection
between a cougar and younger men.
Don't knock it unless you've tried it
perhaps it will bring you zen.



*By Kristen Bruni for Cougar Effect Contest

Copyright © kristen bruni | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |

WHENEVER MIDDLE-AGE RECALLS YOUTH

Whenever middle-age recalls youth
with its long, exciting and carefree days:
we remember that we lived them in our own ways;
our parents argued that it wasn't astute...
have they forgotten how they shamelessly lied
to get some romantic kiss before it actually died?


Before the invention of television most folks were moody...
there were only radios and vinyl records to listen to,
so the dreamy heart would sing and not be blue;
amazingly today, everything is digital due to high technology.


Even grandmother admitted of kissing her sweetheart over
a few Strega Liqueur drinks before falling face-down on the lawn;
she didn't get caught and that secret has remained with her
until now and blushing she tries to smile, remembering  that frown.


Whenever middle-age recalls youth as being innocent and free of all woes... 
it may surprise you how it went hand in hand with progress;
in the sixties, Rock & Roll was considered evil and scandalous, 
but our frantic moms adored Elvis for his attire and gentleman's manners.



* Strega is an Italian Herbal Liqueur
Translation: The Witch's Liqueur







Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2013

Details | Ottava rima |

Richard, I Remember You

Oh, Richard Ruef, I remember you.
And sunlit strolls; oh, quiet interlude.
We studied; then we danced at night’s adieu.
The dreams live on a lifetime to conclude.
Your promise locked within a future new.
Near poetry of moths and lengthy halls,
As to my memory our dreamland falls.

Discovering your hopes a little late.
You left behind a friendship that had grown.
But, I was young and lost at virtue’s gate.
Our fate denied like thoughts of you, alone.
To see you once again would be so great.
Under a porch light, sharing present lives.
My open window waits; the hilltop thrives.

November 9, 2014

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2014

Details | Verse |

The Variations of Women's valor

When occasionally making eye contacts with young girls
That is often that they look away quickly, as they are shy           
When making eye contacts with middle-aged women
Most likely that we have to be forced to retreat back.           
Always I meet old ladies in their eyes           
I am quite sure that they look very glad                   

This feeling! ah!  I have to say         
That women grow valor strong by strong          
While men accumulate timid as time goes by

Copyright © Xuefeng Pan | Year Posted 2016

Details | Romanticism |

Baby Sitter

I watch her sleeping a helpless rose without me Like a man watching her sleeping wife Her life looking innocent and scary I then change diapers She hates diapers But she cries when you don't remove them And mourns as you remove them Just like her mother Then we play games together I act her age to win her love I prepare meals and feed her Like my bride on the wedding day With these forty years i am making soon Her twenty years makes me that Her baby sitter

Copyright © Rodgers Roger | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

In our future

I see her in my future/
Her smile still has that same smell/

Her wrinkled voice still shines in my darkness/
To the countless souls she’s granny/

She’s my baby/
To the world our love was greedy/

She’s nobody’s ancestor she’s breathing/
She’s my wife that’s why we look alike and kinky/

I see her in my future/
She still reminds me where i left my poetic underwear/

She’s my lady/
I see her in our future/

Copyright © Raymond Ngomane | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

Only Lovers Left Alive - Part 2

Naive before forbidden juice
This world to me remains abstruse
Centuries lived but now disdain
Immortality: what’s the use?

Now, dear Adam, why so gloomy?
Life eternal; we’re so lucky
All the things we’ve seen and done
We’ve learned of love and all earth’s glory.

Chaos bound, saved from what we know
A farewell bid to Kit Marlowe
Not exempt from their contagions
It’s feeding time, we’ve got to go!

Appreciation for all things
Float on thoughts of natures wings
All your talk of stupid zombies
But look what happens when one sings:

Tranced, you look at her with envy
You want the best for your progeny
These vial creatures are not yours, they
Make mistakes like we did surely.

All this madness that surrounds us
Doesn’t mean it’s long and endless
Who is to say the water wars
Will cause this beauty to concuss.

In the end we see this lover
Doing best so not to suffer                           
Entanglement starts in the bed
Each others minds, there they’ll hover.

When some have come and some have gone
No matter what we think is wrong
Survival: that’s all that matters
The lovers’ blood will make us strong.

The only lovers left alive,
Will see this land once again thrive
Which two lovers best exemplars
But Adam and your darling Eve.

...

Adapt and move but shan’t connive
By reinventing, they survive
Presenting the immortals kind
The only lovers left alive.


Copyright © Nicola Byrne | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

A Single Summer Night

The summer’s heat made me almost swoon. Here we were on the last day in June. Two weeks had passed since I wore my cap and gown. I spotted a woman who had just moved into town. For a boy at the young age of eighteen, everything comprised a usual summer scene. What attractiveness she possessed! I could not help but stare. I swear I saw her wink at me while she passed through the sultry air. I was all alone later that day when she walked up to me. She said, “Hello, I am new in town. My name is Audrey”. This woman was older than I, and must have held a mystical force. She was enough to make my ship begin sailing well off course. This lady told me she lived alone and went through a divorce. We walked over to her house, and then we went inside. Audrey took my hand and showed me she had nothing to hide. I was a boy when I saw the sunset with my eyes. The next morning, I was a man when I gazed at the sunrise. Many years have passed, and Audrey is but a memory. In a single night, this woman made me reach maturity. Robert Pettit for Frank Herrera's Coming of Age contest

Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2012

Details | Haibun |

When love beckons


( Experimental Haibun) When love beckons, shall I follow? You may say, " Why? Don't you have plenty? " But, my dear, some corners are still empty. Flowers from the bush have twinkled their eyes, Others sprayed aromas and brought fire flies. Allurements are many and varied their beauties - Then, why shall I refrain from enjoying those cuties ... Drenched in love, amidst the orchids of rainforest - Your face is all over (C) Anindya Mohan Tagore (Bobby)

Copyright © Anindya Mohan Tagore | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? |

Foolish Infatuations

I fell for her in nineteen sixty nine,
When we commenced our journey of love
Along the twilit path of innocence;
My zeal was unaware of the reality
That the woman I loved wasn't mine.

I stopped our ride near the precipice,
The stones on which were cold due to
The night that harnessed my prospects;
We sat by a tree and I held her hands,
Caressed her hair without any malice.

We talked of our affair and feelings,
In unforeseen malarkey of an illusory feat
Which we called an immortal passion;
At long last, I had the frail courage
To express to her my amatory longings.

She was stunned at my boyish imbecility,
While I tried to becalm her in copout
With aberrant words to dodge the truth;
We continued being playful in false love,
While I lamented in my heart's humility.

After few years of sham togetherness,
I listened to my scarred young bosom
And interpreted the final message;
I parted ways with her in dolour,
Yet I longed her in veiled forlornness.

Forty years passed by and I lost my mind,
When I slowly entered my solitary dotage
With a blemished but a stronger heart;
I could think of nothing else but her,
The first love who was one of a kind.

Copyright © Niladri Chakraborty | Year Posted 2015

Details | Etheree |

Reunion

“Years have passed since that day under the fig tree. Our promises were countess. Your eyes had shone and my voice was thick. You stood on your toes and bit my nose, sticking your tongue out in a challenge. I'd accepted and pulled you so close that it brought intoxicated clarity. And then you were gone. Next morning a letter waited on my table, your words asking forgiveness. Life has moved on, grey hair, mortgage, two sons. But Subhamita, how could I forget You?”
-------------------------------------- Form: Double Etheree Date: 08 / 11 / 2016 Contest: Unrequited Love Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron

Copyright © Tamal Kundu | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

The Lost Years

The Lost Years

EDIE

Edie looks well for her age,
Hard to believe she’s almost 94.
A widow wife these past 72 years,
Lost husband Bill, in the 2nd World war.

Bill was presumed killed in action,
Though his body, was never found.
Silently she grieved all these years,
Was he lying, in unmarked ground?

Edie lives in a small country cottage,
In the High Peak town of Glossop. 
Moved from Ashton in the Fifties,
To work in the local Hosiery shop.

Two siblings, Jean and Tommy Joe
Good friends, who love her dear.
Whist Drive and Dom’s in the Feathers,
A Natter and glass of Stout beer.

Bingo at the Workers on Sunday,
You’d be surprised how often she’s won.
A feisty, keenly independent lady,
An old girl who likes to have fun.

Edie often asked herself the question;
Why did they send her Bill to fight?
A proud and gallant young soldier,
She often felt something, wasn’t right.

One icy cold night after Bingo,
Edie slipped and fractured her wrist.
A short stay in Tameside General,
A break from the Feathers and the Whist.

She met an old man in the day room,
Who appeared to catch her stare,
Watching TV with a foot in plaster,
“Two broken bones, don’t we look a pair”.

 GILBERT

Badly injured and barely conscious,
Gilbert was nursed by a couple in Dieppe.
They guessed that he was English,
Falling exhausted at their doorstep.

Eleven long years they cared for him
Before they sadly passed away.
Loving, adoptive French parents,
Made ready, his liberation day.

Gilbert doesn’t recall, life before the war.
Left Dieppe for Manchester, Summer of ‘55.
In a curious, Mancunian French accent,
Would say “I’m just thankful to be alive”.

Although he barely spoke English,
He was drawn to the Lancashire hills.
Learnt a trade in Timothy White’s,
and a lifetime of dispensing pills.

Gilbert lives at Ashton Grove Residential,
A home befitting this Bachelor King.
No one really knows how old he is,
But he can certainly joke, dance and sing.

One night he tripped upon his stage,
Falling awkward, he broke his left foot.
A short stay in Tameside General,
Protested, but knew he must stay put.

 EDIE & GILBERT 

Edie and Gilbert would talk for hours,
During their rather impromptu stay.
As if they’d known each other forever
In some emotional, perceptive way.

Gilbert had lost his early years,
But reflected of a full and wonderful life.
Edie was gracious and contented,
Despite 72 years, a widow wife.

Edie was as giddy as a school girl,
As she listened to Gilberts romancing.
In adversity had never felt happier,
Her young heart, ready for dancing.

He smiled in a way she’d remember,
Of a time that made her heart fill.
Smiling back, put her hand to his face,
and with a tearful eye asked; 

“is that you Bill”?

Copyright © Kevin Shaw | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |

Past the Age of Romanticism

It’s unfortunate that we are living past the age of romanticism. It’s as if in our busy lives we don’t have time to make time to let moments intertwine. We are workaholics and hedonist who forgot to appreciate that love exists.

We are a couple decades over the time where the hearts use to frequently blossom and more than passion was the outcome. Instead we pay more attention to Hollywood heartbreaks and gossip. Stories of lust and mistrust that give love a bad name. Soap-opera clichés where to apply the word 'cliché' would be cliché. 

When it comes to affection our conscience are unconscious. The mind's treachery leading to  heart's lechery are the components of nonsense that leave the soul no longer autonomous .

Then there’s the other side of the story of those who look for glory, trying to find congruent atriums and ventricles.
 Those lonely individuals whose only finds happen to be asymmetrical.
Those that live for love, those that lust love and can’t ignore it, also those who die for it.
 
It’s that common misconception that their next lover will be their last.  
It’s the repetitive mistakes that made their next lover the same as their last.

It’s the entangled bonds between two roses that are divine. We comprehend not that we are diatoms in Diotima’s explanation of a love story. 

There’s no acknowledgement of platonic love.
No demonstration of admiration for the family unit, friends and all the experiences we undergo. 

It’s out of resource and need that Eros grows. 
A gardener should be there to watch their seed grow.
It’s out of love that we should plant our rose.

Copyright © Raumelis Ramos | Year Posted 2012

Details | Limerick |

Kneegotiation

There once was a crusty old geezer
Who really knew how to please her
It may have been brash
But he dispensed cash
Whenever he wanted to squeeze her

Copyright © lim'rik flats | Year Posted 2017

Details | Classicism |

Informal Romance

Do you still remember your laughter you kept in my heart when we were younger?
Remember those days we stayed under the tree in my compound in the night, we hid from mother's eyes.
I held your feelings and emotions and you moaned,
Then I groaned in pleasurable pleasure.
Do you remember the lines we drew on the clay?


That year I carried you behind the backyard of the house,
I made for your mouth and let mine gumed to yours.
I caressed your perfectly made innocence and penetrate right into your mind and soul and corrupt it.
Remember our song of love, 'ebezina'; we sang then.
That morning I held your thign to my palms, the reddish flavoured gold beat and beat again and again.



Look at what we've made in the eyes of tomorrow!
Your father was like a thorn on our flesh, parading 
Like a bull dog and roaring like a lion in the jungle.
Remember we didn't give ears to his barking.
I felt your soft tilted breast and your tongue danced excitedly penetrating through my virgin mouth.



We clothed love and unmasked hatred before us.
Under the love garden we grew together in peace,
We watched the parotting birds sing our love,
The leaves shield us from the  dark frozen night.
Then I said 'Juliet takes me to somewhere we will be alone, I will be waiting for your love beside the sea'



Just remember the first time I hugged you behind the 
School window, we were not afraid of the teacher.
We were drunk in love even fear was afraid of us.
Those days I stood at the bush path to wait for you,
I was afraid of seeing the eyeball of your father.
The informal romance was hell on earth to leave,
Even when I left you, your face still face me.



There is only one you and me,
Through the imperfection of love we are made.
Drive gently back here we you belong; for 
Without the words of love in you am gone.




(C) John Chizoba Vincent
All Right Reserved 2016
     Voice Of Vincent



Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2016