Tag: love


Fisher’s Club by Sharon Chmielarz

5
July

If you wish, you may visit the archived columns at www.americanlifeinpoetry.org, where you may find other poems by the poets we feature. Today’s is the third we’ve published by Sharon Chmielarz. a Minnesota poet with several fine books in print, including The Widow’s House, just released by Brighthorse books.

Fisher’s Club

A roadside inn. Lakeside dive. Spiffed up.
End of a summer day. And I suppose
I should be smiling beneficently
at the families playing near the shore,
their plastic balls and splashes and chatter.

But my eye pivots left to a couple;
he is carrying her into the water.
He’s strong enough, and she is light
enough to be carried. I see
how she holds her own, hugging
his neck, his chest steady as his arms.

I have never seen such a careful dunk,
half-dunk, as he gives her. That beautiful
play he makes lifting her from the water.

And I suppose I should be admiring
the sunset, all purple and orange and rose now.
Nice porch here, too. Yeah, great view.

But I have never seen such a loving
carrying as he gives her. Imagine

being so light as to float
above water in love.

2 comments » | Life, Romance

Delivered by Cynthia Ventresca

6
June

American Life in Poetry: Column 585
BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE

The greeting card companies are still making money, though the inventive online “cards” are gaining ground. Here’s a poem about pen and ink greeting cards, by Cynthia Ventresca, who lives in Delaware.

Delivered

She lived there for years in a
small space in a high rise that saw
her winter years dawn. When the past
became larger than her present,
she would call and thank us for cards
we gave her when we were small;
for Christmas, Mother’s Day, her birthday,
our devotion scrawled amidst depictions
of crooked hearts and lopsided lilies.

She would write out new ones,
and we found them everywhere—unsent;
in perfect cursive she wished us joy,
chains of x’s and o’s circling her signature.
And when her time alone was over,
the space emptied of all but sunshine, dust,
and a cross nailed above her door,
those cards held for us a bitter peace;
they had finally been delivered.

Comment » | Life

The Virtuoso by Rick Stephen

20
May

violinistThe Virtuoso

She plays me
gently, tenderly,
yet masterfully
as one would
a priceless violin
her fingers,
soft and supple,
caress fragile heartstrings
and her bow
with perfect touch
and time
miraculously make
a magnificent melody
in spite
of broken strings left
by the less gifted
or less caring before her
playing me as I am
yet finding the notes,
in sequences
and combinations,
that bring forth music
in the timbre of my soul

2 comments » | By the Poetic Fool, Life, Relationships, Romance

Cupid’s Miscue by Rick Stephen

1
April
Cupid's Arrows by Perrault Leon Jean Basile

Cupid’s Arrows by Perrault Leon Jean Basile

Cupid’s Miscue

My love I found when young and stupid,
an easy target for a careless Cupid

Who never did take the blame
for the results of his errant aim

A lovely lass and a handsome guy
each having caught the other’s eye

Went not unseen, so Cupid’s arrow flew,
found her heart and true love grew

And having little time to waste
his next shot made with reckless haste

Turning, drawing, the arrow flew
this time though his aim not true

Cupid then left without a care
to find and match another pair

Not waiting long enough to see
his arrow miss and then strike me

Leaving she and I both standing there
the victims of his grievous error

With hopes for love looking grim
since I love her and she, him

4 comments » | By the Poetic Fool, Humorous

The Dying Sun – Rick Stephen

6
January

sunthroughblindsThe Dying Sun

Through the blinds, beams of light
slice through the dimly lit room
an angled pattern of light and dark,
like the many rails of a fence,
spreads across the floor and
up the wall as the sun
falls hurriedly toward the horizon

Tiny particles of dust float
aimlessly on unseen currents
disappearing, then reappearing
as they weave their way
through the light and shadow
it’s silent, save the purring of the cat
curled up in the sun’s warming beams

And your slow, rhythmic breathing
as you doze next to me,
my lap a pillow for your head
paper rustles as my fingers
turn the pages of my book
before they return, absent-mindedly,
to twirling your hair

Stirring briefly, you breath in deeply and
release a long, satisfied sigh
though it’s seems
only a few minutes
hours have passed
and the sun’s beams, now golden,
grow long

I can’t help but think this is heaven
and to wish it never end
when the cat rises,
lets out an irritated meow,
and moves to follow
the waning warmth of
the dying sun

6 comments » | By the Poetic Fool, Life

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