Love Old Poems | Examples
These Love Old poems are examples of Old poems about Love. These are the best examples of Old Love poems written by international poets.
I love old book stores.
The smell and look of old books,
sets my heart a pumping.
At home I have my favorite stops,
checking out each shelf carefully.
When I travel,
I look up stores before I leave home.
My list can be short or long,
with a book or two or three following me home.
This summer I found an old book,
a book jumped into my shopping cart saying,
please take me home.
I have been reading on and off for weeks,
last night I got to the end.
I could not wait to see what was going to happen,
The Last Page Was missing.
"Rhyming a ditty to give Charles a Memento.
Timing and tempo must be part of my Lento.
Conditions of his contest are to have fun.
Renditions with humour, to be a happy one." The Poet.
Ending dinner the ladies went to wash the dishes.
Recommending a cafe that served excellent fishes,
became a topic of the two old men left at the table.
"Name of that place? To remember it, I am unable."
"What's the name of that flower? Its like no other,
Lots love it" said one old man. "A favourite of my mother."
Stalling, the second old man asked if it is a rose? "You're right !"
Calling his wife "Rose, what's the name of that fish place last night?"
You are sewn to the bones
of every dress I wear
I have tailored you
to my heart
On the day we met
Our hearts fell
In love with each other
And that has never changed
I want to grow old with you
You became my heart and soul
And I became yours
We fought, we denied, we cried
But nothing changed how we felt
I want to grow old with you
Over the years,
Life has past
Children were born,
We’ve drifted apart
Then found each other again
I want to grow old with you
As silver covers our head
Eyes may become cloudy and blurry
Hearing may not be as sharp
Our bodies may not be the same
Our love has never faltered
I want to grow old with you
Original poem by
Linda L Franklin
05/16/2026
A love was born in Newfoundland
For a wonderful winter thrill.
As a brothers and sisters band
We would trek to our favorite hill.
With toboggan in tow behind
And a forward lean in the wind,
We braved the elements unkind
To launch freezing runs for the win!
Our thrill was called Suicide Hill
Where the locals who dared would go.
With the chance of boredom nil
We lined up and flew through the snow.
Our cheeks red as roses in bloom
And hands frozen curled 'round the rope
Time and again, we'd all make room
And board the toboggan once more.
She kept her secrets of love tucked away
In a shoebox, a forbidden affair
Protected deep in her innermost heart.
Their warm, playful, and inmost affection
Had blossomed in their youth, under a full
Moon that hung large in a sky scattered with
Millions of radiant magical stars.
But she had been promised to another.
This old house is a mystery,
it is filled with lots of history.
It needs to be cleaned out,
now what are we going to talk about?
Let's go to the big closet,
mom made this her big bank deposit.
Look a very old dusty shoebox,
wow!!! is it Ralph our pet blue fox?
Once our home was filled with love,
from God up above.
My kitchen had delicious foods cooking away,
as children played near by.
Many family and dear friends,
laughed and loved in my rooms of old.
One by one they went away,
all promising to come back someday.
My once pretty garden is now all weeds,
even the birds will not come near.
I'm A Forgotten Home,
I once was filled with love.
We drove from Frisco down to Monterey,
and we didn't have a word to say.
And it wasn't anger in any way.
That emotion stopped long ago coming into play.
So perhaps it was just the decades of the same thing day after day,
or that the skies were dark from bay to bay,
or fear of an end that we could not allay,
or think of any other tired cliché.
We drove from Frisco down to Monterey,
and we didn’t have a word to say.
Beneath the amber glow of dusk’s embrace,
I dine alone with clocks that clear their throats,
My shadow keeps me warm and knows my face,
While silence hums old tunes it never quotes.
I toast to love with yesterday’s cheap oats,
A bachelor saint with mismatched socks and prayer,
Still flirting with the moon in awkward notes,
As if she might look down and almost care.
The moon, a chalice tipped by unseen hands,
Spills silver like forgiveness hard to earn,
It knows the jokes of those who make their stands,
Alone, yet hope the heart might someday learn.
I ask the dark if love will still return,
Or if God keeps it shelved for wiser years;
The answer laughs — live well, and let it burn —
So grace pours in, despite unanswered tears.
it happened as we rounded the roundabout
which is supposed to happen
are you lonesome tonight? (laughing version)
my daughter has been yelling at the smart speaker
to play a katy perry song the speaker has never heard of
for the last forty minutes
she bops down the street
imitating the bass from rick james'
super freak
the stress management course advises to
cultivate a non-work identity
in which i have decided to be Jim Morrison
i've been standing outside the back door.
i need to develop authentic communication skills,
confidence,
and a depth of knowledge
pursue travel, and athletic challenges or
a mental health professional
i have been advised to carry a notebook
and wear the leather jacket
and grow my hair
two out of those three i can do
You know, granny, I am indeed autistic,
I still eat the same things I did as a kid:
Oatmeal breakfast, mac n' cheese lunch.
I both solemnly and fondly remember.
I will keep our memories, even as an old lady.
I know I am a spoiled child, but still thoughtful.
You loved me anyway, and I am so sorry,
You did things your way, why I slacked a lot.
I love you forever, even if you become another,
If we are to ever be reunited together.
In this life or in the afterlife or another life,
I know we'll meet again, somehow, someday.
I'll think of you when I eat my comfort meals,
These dishes you would always make for me.
Maybe someday, after I meet you again,
We'll have oatmeal for old times' sake.
SEARCH FOR ME on the dusty bookshelf,
in this room filled with very old books.
I sit here waiting to be chosen,
needing to be read by a reader.
Do you know it is hard to find me?
Old books standing cover to cover,
wait for a reader to SEARCH FOR ME.
I long to be in your loving hands,
and being read by your loving eyes.
Illusions trip over his glance,
its magnetic whisper—
murky man from the moon,
serenading stars.
Below our reckless journey
in speeding cars, blind and wild,
our laughter attacking midnight.
Oh, my wind-swept hair!
Aren't we dapper again,
moving with legs that couldn't embarrass us?
See, my love, autumn is coming.
From the black clouds, raindrops are falling.
My body is aching, my memory is fading.
Inside me, my heart is stalling.
Listen, my love, to the cries in the night,
I'm a simple mortal who puts up a fight.
My story is told by a man who can't talk,
As all my thoughts are lost in the dark.
See, my love, winter is coming!
My blood is so cold, my hands are shaking.
The world is too heavy, my shoulders are weakened,
So let me go, for I am awaited.
Listen, my love, screams from the caves;
People that are dead call me from graves.
Those are my friends from far, far away
That call me in death to rot in the clay.