In these deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where heav'nly-pensive contemplation dwells,
And ever-musing melancholy reigns;
What means this tumult in a vestal's veins?
Why rove my thoughts beyond this last retreat?
Why feels my heart its long-forgotten heat?
Yet, yet I love!--From Abelard it came,
And Eloisa yet must kiss the name.
Dear fatal name! rest ever unreveal'd,
War is never over
Thought the treaties may be signed
The memories of the battles
Are forever in our minds
War is never over
So when you welcome heroes home
Remember in their minds they hold
Memories known to them alone
Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass'd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine- thy own sweet smiles I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
Voice only fails, else, how distinct they say,
'Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away! '
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
(Blest be the art that can immortalize,
The art that baffles time's tyrannic claim
To quench it) here shines on me still the same.
Without you every morning would feel like going back to work after a holiday,
Without you I couldn't stand the smell of the East Lancs Road,
Without you ghost ferries would cross the Mersey manned by skeleton crews,
Without you I'd probably feel happy and have more money and time and nothing to do with it,
Without you I'd have to leave my stillborn poems on other people's doorsteps, wrapped in brown paper,
Without you there'd never be sauce to put on sausage butties,
Without you plastic flowers in shop windows would just be plastic flowers in shop windows,
Without you I'd spend my summers picking morosley over the remains of train crashes,
Without you white birds would wrench themselves free from my paintings and fly off dripping blood into the night,
Without you green apples wouldn't taste greener,
I will give you a poem when you wake tomorrow.
It will be a peaceful poem.
It won’t make you sad.
It won’t make you miserable.
It will simply be a poem to give you
When you wake tomorrow.
It was not written by myself alone.
I cannot lay claim to it.
I found it in your body.
They say you always remember your first kiss.
So why can’t I remember mine?
I remember the person,
I remember her hair,
The way her mouth was narrow and shaped like a heart.
But I can’t remember when that mouth first touched mine.
I remember the words she spoke,
I saw a dream
Standing with you,
Near the rivers and streams
Having an ice-cream
Kissing you without any a'we
Looking at thee
Just you and me.
If only I could encapsulate her kiss in a poem
I would read it every morning, before I fell asleep
And every mundane morning, when I woke up
Never would I grow tired of her soft, sweet,
petite, full, warm, embracing and captivating
"Soul meets soul on lovers' lips" – Percy Shelley
Our connection was so pure,
Our hearts combined as if they were made for each other,
As if we were made for each other,
And when your hand
That connection is only made stronger,
Your fingertips shock my skin with pure joy,
Your lips send a jolt through mine,
sunshine golden warm
blossoms glisten morning dew
moonlight on dreamers
comfort rainbow sky
the premiere green of the spring
lovely fall farewells
beauty in my eyes
a balmy breeze in the shade