A Stranger....

A stranger you were once.
Then, with a gentle look you took my hand.
As our lives engaged,
you lit my life and I held both your hands.
Now that decades have passed,
ours souls have indeed become one.
How fortunate we are
that we have found the love so true
that everyone dreams about.

- Laura Veronica Merodio

Your Love.....

A gentle word like a spark of light,
Illuminates my soul
And as each sound goes deeper,
It's YOU that makes me whole

There is no corner, no dark place,
YOUR LOVE cannot fill
And if the world starts causing waves,
It's your devotion that makes them still

And yes you always speak to me,
In sweet honesty and truth
Your caring heart keeps out the rain,
YOUR LOVE, the ultimate roof

So thank you my Love for being there,
For supporting me, my life
I'll do the same for you, you know,
My Beautiful, Darling Wife.

-David G. Kelly

What I Love About You

I love the way you look at me,
Your eyes so bright and blue.
I love the way you kiss me,
Your lips so soft and smooth.

I love the way you make me so happy,
And the ways you show you care.
I love the way you say, "I Love You,"
And the way you're always there.

I love the way you touch me,
Always sending chills down my spine.
I love that you are with me,
And glad that you are mine.

- Crystal Jansen

An Entrapment

My love, I have tried with all my being
to grasp a form comparable to thine own,
but nothing seems worthy;

I know now why Shakespeare could not
compare his love to a summer’s day.
It would be a crime to denounce the beauty
of such a creature as thee,
to simply cast away the precision
God had placed in forging you.

Each facet of your being
whether it physical or spiritual
is an ensnarement
from which there is no release.
But I do not wish release.
I wish to stay entrapped forever.
With you for all eternity.
Our hearts, always as one.

-ANTHONY KOLOS

A Special World

A special world for you and me
A special bond one cannot see
It wraps us up in its cocoon
And holds us fiercely in its womb.

Its fingers spread like fine spun gold
Gently nestling us to the fold
Like silken thread it holds us fast
Bonds like this are meant to last.

And though at times a thread may break
A new one forms in its wake
To bind us closer and keep us strong
In a special world, where we belong.

-Sheelagh Lennon

To Mary Scurlock, 1707

Madam,

  It is the hardest thing in the world to be in love and yet attend to business. As for me, all who speak to me find me out, and I must lock myself up or other people will do it for me.

  A gentleman asked me this morning, 'What news from Lisbon?' and I answered, 'She is exquisitely handsome.' Another desired to know when I had been last at Hampton Court. I replied, 'It will be on Tuesday come se'n night. Prythee, allow me at least to kiss your hand before that day, that my mind may be in some composure. 'O love!-

A thousand torments dwell about me!

Yet who would live to live without thee?

Methinks I could write a volume to you; but all the language on earth would fail in saying how much and with what disinterested passion I am ever yours.

RICHARD STEELE (1672-1729)

To Josephine Beauharnais, 1795

I wake filled with thoughs of you. Your portrait and the intoxicating evening which we spent yesterday have left my senses in turmoil. Sweet, incomparable Josephine, what a strange effect you have on my heart! Are you angry? Do I see you looking sad? Are you worried?.... My soul aches with sorrow, and there can be no rest for your lover; but is there still more in store for me when, yielding to the profound feelings which overwhelm me, I draw from your lips, from your heart a love which consumes me with fire? Ah! it was lat night that I fully realised how false an image of you your portrait gives!

     You are leaving at noon; I shall see you in three hours.

     

     Until then, mio dolce amor, a thousand kisses; but give me none in return, for they set my blood on fire.

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE (1769-1821)

Jewels

My love was nude, but, knowing my desir,

Ha donned he sunding jewels, an attire

That, with its air of triumph rich and brve,

Recalled some sultan's proud and favored slave.

That radiant world of gem and metal dancing

Striks forth a music mocking and entanc ing;

I love it madl, for my chief dlight

Is in the interplay of sound and light.

She lay there, then, andlet herslf be love,d

And from her couch she smiled down and approvd

My deep, calm love that rose to her as if

It were an ocean mounting to a cliff.

Eyeing me like a well-tamed tigress there,

She poed with  distracted dreamy air,

And candour joined to lewdness lent a new

Strange charm to metamorphoses I knew.

Her oil-bright, swan-like arms, les, loins and thighs,

All unduating, passed befor my eyes

Clairvoyant nd serene; those fruits of mine,

Her belly and breasts, the cluster on my vine,

Advanced like evil angels to cajole

And trouble te quiescence of my soul,

Dislodging her from the crystal rock whre she

In solitude was resting peacefully.

SHE SO thrust out her pelvis that it seemed

She ade Antiope's plum p hips combine

With the smooth bust of a youth in a new design.

On her tawny skin rouge exquisitely gleamed.

And as the dead lamp left us half in gloom,

And now th hearth alone lit up the room,

With every flaming sih there came a flood

Of light tha drowned her amber skin in blood.

CHARLES DAUDELAIRE (1821-67)

Temptation

Call yourself alive? Look, I promise you

that for the first time you'll feel your pores opening

like fish mouths, and you'll actually be able to hear

your blood surging through all those lanes,

and you'll feel light gliding across the cornea

like the train of a dress. For the first time

you'll be aware of gravity

like a thorn in your heel,

and your shoulder blades will ache for want of wings.

Call yourself alive? I promise you

you'll be deafened by dust falling on the furniture,

you'll feel your eyebrows turning to two gashes,

and every memory you have - will begin

at Genesis.

NINA CASSIAN (1924 - )

Warming Her Pearls

Next to my won skin, her pearls. My mistress

bids me wear them, warm them, until evening

when I'll brush her hari. At six, I place them 

round her cool, white throat. All day I think of her,

resting in the Yellow room contemplating silk

or taffeta, which grown tonight? She fans herself 

whilst I work willingly, my slow heat entering

each pearl. Slack on my neck, her rope.

She's beautiful. I dream about her

in my attic bed; picture her dancing

with tall men, puzzled by my faint persistent scent

beneath her French perfume, her milky stones.

I dust her shoulders with a rabbit's foot,

watch the soft blush seep through her skin

like an indolent sigh. In her looking-glass 

my red lips part as though I want to speak.

Full moon. Her carriage brings her home. I see

her every movement in my head... Undressing,

taking of her jewels, her slim hand reaching

for the case, slipping naked into bed, the way

she always does... And I lie here awake,

knowing the pearls are cooling even now

in the room where my mistress sleeps. All night

I feel their absence and I burn

CAROL ANN DUFFY (1955 - )

A Nice Article about Love

I once had a friend who grew to be very close to me. Once when we were 

sitting at the edge of a swimming pool, she filled the palm of her hand with 

some water and held it before me, and said this:

"You see this water carefully contained on my hand? It symbolizes Love."

This was how I saw it: As long as you keep your hand caringly open and allow 

it to remain there, it will always be there. However, if you attempt to 

close your fingers round it and try to posses it, it will spill through the 

first cracks it finds.

This is the greatest mistake that people do when they meet love...they try 

to posses it, they  demand, they expect... and just like the water spilling 

out of your hand, love will retrieve from you . 

For love is meant to be free, you cannot change its nature. If there are 

people you love, allow them to be free beings.

Give and don't expect.

Advise, but don't order.

Ask, but never demand.

It might sound simple, but it is a lesson that may take a lifetime to truly 

practice. It is the secret to true love. To truly practice it, you must 

sincerely feel no expectations from those who you love, and yet an 

unconditional caring."

Passing thought... Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take; 

but by the moments that take our breath away.....

Life is beautiful!!!  Live it !!!

by SWAMI VIVEKANANDA 

Year On

I want you to feel

the unbearable lack of me.

I want your skin

to yearn for the soft lure of mine;

I want those hints of red

on your canvas

to deepen in passion for me:

carmine, buburgundy.

I want you to keep

stubbing your toe

on the memory of me;

I want your head to be dizzy

and your stomach in a spin;

I want you to hear my voice

in your ear, to touch your face

imagining it is my hand.

I want your body to shiver and quiver 

at the mere idea of mine.

I want you to feel as though 

life after me is dull, and pointless,

and very, very aggravating;

that with me you were lifted

on a current you waited all your life to find,

and had despaired of finding

as though you were wading

through a soggy swill of inanity and ugliness

every minute we are apart.

I want you to drive yourself crazy 

with the fantasy of me,

and how we will meet again, against all odds,

and there will be tears and flowers,

and the vast relief of not I,

but us.

I am haunting your dreams,

conducting these fevers

from a distance,

a distance that leaves me weeping,

and storming,

and bereft.

KATIE DONOVAN (1962 - )

To Fanny Brawne, 1819

I cannot exist without you - I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again - my life seems to stop there - I see no further. You have absorb'd me.

I have a sensation at the present moment as though I were dissolving... I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion - I have shudder'd at it - I shudder no more - I could be martyr'd for my religion - love is my religion - I could die for that - I could die for you. My creed is love and you are its only tenet - you have ravish'd me away by a power I cannot resist.

JOHN KEATS (1795-1821)