MOM POEMS, LOVE POEMS and WAR POEMS » Romance

In Search of You

admin — Fri, 24 Jul 2009 20:58:06 +0000

At times in life, when I stop distressed,
To find my wounds, lying undressed;
And pain is all that I can feel,
With no one around, to get me to heal.

At times in life, when I do tire,
Whose company do I admire?
I search in vain, for a lap to lie,
If not that, just a shoulder to cry.

At times in life, whom do I blame?
When fate plays a nasty game.
Best friends turn bitter foes,
And leave behind a string of throes.

At times in life, when everything’s good,
I’m enjoying good wine and delicious food.
Just when I have, forgotten to cry,
With whom do I share this ample joy?

At times in life, when I’m trudging along,
With no one to whom I can belong;
I need nothing, but love that’s true,
Which is why I am, in search of you!

Romance by Robert Louis Stevenson

admin — Fri, 01 Feb 2008 18:08:15 +0000

I WILL make you brooches and toys for your delight
Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night.
I will make a palace fit for you and me,
Of green days in forests and blue days at sea.

I will make my kitchen, and you shall keep your room,
Where white flows the river and bright blows the broom,
And you shall wash your linen and keep your body white
In rainfall at morning and dewfall at night.

And this shall be for music when no one else is near,
The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear!
That only I remember, that only you admire,
Of the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire.

Romance by Edgar Allan Poe

admin — Fri, 01 Feb 2008 16:43:10 +0000

Romance, who loves to nod and sing
With drowsy head and folded wing
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,

To me a painted paroquet
Hath been—most familiar bird—
Taught me my alphabet to say,
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child—with a most knowing eye.

Of late, eternal condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky;
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings,
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away—forbidden things—
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.