Long Puppy love Poems
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Neither puppy love nor lust, each insists
in its imperfect play. Their hearts resist
both by clinging in its barbaric way.
Youth forgiven. The wolf begs her to stay.
But a commitment is made in marriage.
It is not found in a baby carriage.
What do we know of love - it’s not first sight.
It is the highs and lows - bond holds on tight.
Love’s patient, kind, not selfish nor boastful.
It’s the making of memories - joyful.
To let go of bitterness’ a decision.
Poof like magic, the wrongs are forgiven.
Black and blues, the stumbles and falls, gets up
on the horse - believers climb to the top.
~
Now what of those years, of the worse decrease?
Does the sorrow make the better cerise?
Does the white-gowned wife, handsome groom resume
as if the bond is pruned, roses in bloom?
Yes, the rivulets of tears reverent.
The jubilee melody resonant.
When love is stirred with sugar and nettles,
sorrow’d years melt. Felicitous petals
land on silver hair and wrinkles. O God!
Yes, three cords complete and restore the flawed.
Love protects, hopes, perseveres in trials.
The truth of a lifetime's years in their smiles.
Shakespeare regales Summer’s hot gaze, short days.
Yet love stoked in the Winter’s hearth - O blaze!
1/30/2021
What Is Love
Sponsor: Unseeking Seeker
Hybronnet is similar to a sonnet, can have a variable rhyme scheme,
does not have to be iambic meter. The poet is given liberty to choose how to structure the rhyme of the Hybronnet poem into a combination of rhymes be it slant, feminine, masculine, etc. or apply it in any design deemed appropriate
my dear
feel me in my silence
our time to speak is done
we had our day
and what a day it was
never before
or after
have I felt love so intensely
it was mutual
later, you called it puppy love
I think it was more
maybe, you're right
maybe, even now, I don't know mature love
I was too selfish
lacking generosity
worse, I couldn't really hear that old lady
when, at the mall, she said,
"keep her"
now, I'm, too, an old man
we've changed
but I have the same flaws
we had our day
but, I think it's important -
in the fourth quarter
to give myself the gift
to remember
and honor
what we had
I hope you do, too
feel me in my silence
my dear
As the autumn of my life approaches, some memory fades,
But I still recall very special times from my primary grades.
We did things then, now considered politically incorrect,
Enjoying Valentine and Halloween parties - no one did object!
The Valentine party was the social event of the school year.
Kids secretly expressed affection for that very special dear.
They deposited their cards in a box covered with colorful crepe;
Walls were bedecked with hearts of every size and shape!
Someone scrawled on the blackboard, "We Love You Miss Ruth!"
And below were scribbled the names of her adoring youth.
Valentines cost two for a penny in those uncluttered days;
A cheap way to express puppy-love in such endearing ways.
As the cards were distributed, secret admirers gave a shy grin;
Boys received saccharine cards much to their chagrin.
Miss Ruth served cookies, cocoa and chocolate milk,
And heart-shaped candies saying 'Mine' or something of that ilk!
Miss Ruth gave a special hug to every girl and boy.
Her love and care topped off a day of consummate joy!
I fear that the children of today may never again enjoy,
The simple pleasures I knew that today some vow to destroy!
Now I wonder if in this day and age where anything goes,
If children are even permitted their affection to disclose?
Or have the politically correct creeps decreed it ain't okay,
For kids to celebrate innocent love on Saint Valentines' day!
LATE BLOOMER
sun highlights
the bod of oak bark -
Autumn knight
CLINGERS
won’t let go -
cling to puppy love,
its branches
CLEAVERS
cleaves to old
relationship vow -
storm shakes loose
LANDING
the leaves land
amidst the old maids’
bitterness
BRITTLE BONES
the children
jump in old gals’ laps
living loud
RING AROUND THE ROSIES
circle round
sing, “ashes…ashes…”
and fall down
LEARNING CURVE
life up there
in the lusty air
now seems strange
GONE WITH THE WIND
scattering
the old bats’ ashes
to the wind
REBORN
phoenix lands
a bitty wiser
and lighter
I was shot by Cupid's tainted dart
And puppy love awakened my sleeping heart
Tried to impress with exaggerated tales
Mark the box letters sent through the mail
Hunted and fished for sport and food
Baseball games with the neighborhood crew
Dirt always flying from old gravel roads
Wearing my brother's, hand me down clothes
Baseball cards popping bicycle spokes
Stealing the babysitter's pack of smokes
Riding my bike to the nearest creek
Stripping off my clothes to the water I'd streak
Change from my Sunday suit after church
Running around in just shorts with no shirt
Family meals three times a day
Each time we'd all bow our heads and pray
Lied about it all with two crossed fingers
Dad finding out meant a real humdinger
Turn around and do it all over again
Way back then when I was ten
by Daniel Turner
Jan 29, 2016
Violets
by Michael R. Burch
Once, only once,
when the wind flicked your skirt
to an indiscreet height
and you laughed,
abruptly demure,
outblushing shocked violets:
suddenly,
I knew:
everything had changed.
Later, as you braided your hair
into long bluish plaits
the shadows empurpled,
the dragonflies’
last darting feints
dissolving mid-air,
we watched the sun’s long glide
into evening,
knowing and unknowing.
O, how the illusions of love
await us in the commonplace
and rare
then haunt our small remainder of hours.
Published by Romantics Quarterly, Muse Apprentice Guild, Victorian Violet Press, Boston Poetry Magazine, and Poetry on Demand
A baby is born; O joy, O joy!
Matters not, be it girl or boy
All of life lies ahead, horizons' expanse
As the infant soul begins life's mysterious dance
Alas, all is not sparkle or glitter or glow
Baby spits up; in its diaper pee and poop grow
Baby begins to crawl, to toddle, to stumble, to walk
Making cooing sounds at first, it then starts to talk
We are thrilled by every advance in its dance
Yet we parents must not become too entranced
We need keep baby's curiosity from ending its very existence
Playing with fire, picking up glass -- our vigil, persistent
And as our child grows up, we deal with so many heartaches
With homework, with fashion, with puppy love and heartbreak
Yet all this is pure pleasure, our privilege, our personal growth-climb and
Our God-given chance to polish this gem's soul, our very precious diamond
May 13, 2019
Entry in "Tribute to a Precious or Semi-Precious Gem" contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
... May 16 entry in Richard Lamoreux's 'Applicable or Not Applicable' contest
They drift gently
down(downed)?
Into the heart they root,
confetti on desperate streets
glowing like gilded red roses.
Smell them as they chant your songs.
so very often (semi-pure-hearted) they keep things(you) aloft,
far above
the stingers
the biters of early frost.
All the while death's photographic memory
tapdancing and tossing needles.
You feel you can ride razors, go unscarred.
A pinwheel inside the bubble of soda pop dreams,
live forever's eternity...
The loins of the mind, a crisp confident ball of catnip and tinsel.
Every by-way of everyday doused in gentle flames.
Every gaze a swaying mosaic of prairie flowers...
but the sun is but a blemish to storm.
The downy gaze is but a concrete stare,
the eyes of hope glancing off yesterday.
When trails were filled with bike bells and pulse.
Petals of just being, brushed beneath tender chins.
We both liked butter and blurry stars... and we kissed...
clumsily, bad chip-toothed - pure.
Sediments of puppy love and living will devolve,
Wings tend to become claws
flight into crawl...
An uncomfortable lavender.
Paths will rut, become trough
cold canyon
flash flooding crashing.
Broken flowers cascading under the chin
butter turns
rancid
crows barking,
"I told you so-should have listened to father,
when he begged you to slow down.
The silk of naivety leads to brushfires in the mind.
Everything given to scorch...
the hills, the troughs
we (the survivors) hang from trees
groping the dark
to descend to the bones of things once loved
of things once cherished
of things now hated
of things avoided
things that lay dead...
a plague of darkness bred
in the silences
of
hopeless.
The lullaby raped into hoarseness,
like bike bells in winter.
Oh, i like her very much
I came into her good graces
the last year or so.
My eyes swim here and there
to catch a glimpse of her.
Just a glimpse is not enough they say.
I too nod my head for their cause.
Oh my,oh, when she says thank you
her gratitude lights up my heart
like the gentle warmth of a candle.
My brother makes fun of me
smiling over her texts.
Gee me,being so coy.
Ahemm...I have some matters
to take care of,I bid you all adieu.
Hey you clouds who seem so lost
carry a message to my friend Mr.Time.
He is free from his job this second
for I would like to dwell in this second forever.
I can only hope
To one day be,
As loyal to you
As you are to me.
You're always here,
And will be
Till the very end.
I never have to question
Your motives
Or intentions.
You are comfort,
You are protection,
And your constant admiration
Never tires me.
You've taught me
Life's hardest lessons—
Patiently, without aggression.
Your heart is pure,
A true example
Of what love—
Real love—should be.
More than just
A companion,
Something I can’t
Entirely fathom.
You leave me always asking,
"Who am I,
That you would treasure me?"
How is it
That this canine
Shows so much more
Of the divine
Than many of us
In humanity?
Everything I could
Ever need.
And have you ever stopped
To see—
If you did, you’d realize:
God is just Dog
Spelled backward.
Now, that’s what I call
True irony.