Posts Tagged Love Is Not A Feeling

Poetic License


Over the past couple of weeks I have been visiting blogs that feature poetry. I am a huge fan and I have written close to a hundred poems over the course of my lifetime and have given most of them away without keeping a copy for myself. Stupid. Tragic, I know but I cannot dwell on the past.

Instead I decided to write a few more and post them from time to time for the world to see. I think there is already a poorly written poem of mine somewhere on this site, but I am far too lazy to search through each post until I find it. If any of you know where it is, please let me know where. The last poem in this post is mine but be sure to check out the really good ones first.

I have permission from the authors to post their poem here and have provided you with a link back to their site so you can read even more.

As always, if you like something please leave a comment for these brilliant poets. Gracias!

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.Life’s Quilt
by Emma Cassabaum

Every life is a patchwork quilt.
Each as unique as the next,
No two are ever the same.
They begin the same:
a fragile and plain piece of cloth.
As childhood floats by,
Memories are constantly sewn on.
Each memory a patch.
Vibrant and individual,
Each memory stands out from one another.
As years roll by,
More and more patches are tacked on,
Some are horrid and dark,
But there are always more cheerful ones.
The quilt of life becomes worn down,
A little dirty and worn thin.
Perhaps a patch has been completely destroyed.
Even at the end of the quilt’s life,
Or rather life’s quilt,
The patches never cease to keep us warm.

Shush
by Blaga Todorova

I could see the shy smile hiding on your face.
I could hear the sigh of pleasure ready to abandon your lips.
I could feel the urge to say the words out loud, filling the static.
I know you want to declare, to mark, to announce … I know.

But… Shush!!!
Don’t tell anyone I let you hold my hand!
Don’t reveal the secret of the temptation we shared!
Don’t display our vulnerable hearts in the bright sunshine!
Don’t… not yet!

Just… Shush!!!

Hold the heaven we found for you and I,
let us taste it before the eyes open and see the gray.
Keep the comfort, the hunger that we fed with beauty,
let us breathe it, before the outside world stains it with
ordinariness, with poison of everyday routine.

Shush!!! You have to!!!
Tell me some more stories about magic,
be my “always” even for a bit, even just for today .
Tomorrow we can tell the world about us,
but now please …just “Shush” and listen to the music that plays,
every time you come near to share a kiss ….
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Cry
by Vanessa I. Flores

Left alone in the shadow of guilt,
Left alone in the room of pain.
He,
She,
We,
cry.
Cry for the children who need help.
Cry for the adults who don’t know how to love or only know how to show their affection through the strong lash of a belt
and can no longer cry tears of joy but rather cry tears of anger and frustration.

We.
Cry.
Cry for the souls who have lost their way in this tunneled world of life.
Cry for the minds who are unable to form thoughts for themselves and are pressured into a form of social acceptance and pride.
For the minds who can not freely present themselves because socially, they would be considered “weird” or “freaks”.
He.
She.
We.
I.
Cry.
For those who have lost their way among the land we call home.

Forgetting Lovely Queens
by Valencia Monroe

It makes me sad to see how she gives up her crown and forgets that she is a queen.
That she likes to be loud and seen.
She turns in her real hair for that fake hair.
It hurts me that she doesn’t care.
She has been told that she is  not a diamond, but glass.
How she is proud and glad to show her breast and ass.

It hurts me that she smiles in pride to be called a “bitch” or “ho”.
Oh how it maltreats my soul.
She submit her body as a mans toy.
While he whispers in her ear she’s his “Pride and Joy”.
I cry because of the sight that I have seen.
It makes me sad to see how she gives up her crown and forgets that she is a queen..


.Darkly
by Yuuki Chan

Before the moment of flowers
Petals tumbling through the haze of gray
Beyond the realm of pain
Tears stealing away more
than grooves and channels
etched perchance into skin
Weave through rain
And you are rain
falling gently into the
quiet that babbles between
Two lovers
Fill the spaces between fingers
Emptiness that runs to
the promises of yesterday
bent haphazardly at the core
Bent but never broken.

Breathe
by Judy Marie Santiago

When the morning cuts the night,
I’m still learning to breathe again.
Our memories fill my empty, silent room,
And as sleep, my lonely refuge lets me down,
That’s when I pull my worn out guitar out of the case,

And a tune is born out of the deafening silence.

When the sun corrupts the day,
I breathe in circles—in despair.
Tried to waste time in the noisy, crowded avenues,
But your face screams the hell out of my mind.
Sing myself a song, just to let go,

Sing a happy one, never our own.

When the light finally gives up,
It’s the hardest moment to breathe.
Everyone’s tired, but never my heart.
Staring at the sun as it sets,
I wish I could pull the clouds away,

Saw the wall, got a pen and started to write in rhyme.

When the darkness embraces the struggling sky,
You said breathing is finally over—it’s time to die.

I can never accept my loss—you’re all that I own.
Misery beholds my downfall; won’t you save me from the cold?
Alone in this night, I hold a pencil tight,
Even if you won’t come alive, I’ll risk a sketch of your like.

You are the thought behind the music my guitar plays,
Behind every song I sing, every poem I write,
And every picture that could ever exist in my mind—
But my heart tries to kill.

And if they say love is an art, I say, you are.

You are both my ease and my pain.
My life has been about you—you are the reason for this.
I breathe for you.
Won’t you let me breathe again?
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.Beyond Reasonable Doubt
by Ishabelle Manalo

When you say that you want me
Do you mean you want only me?
Or does everybody else hear
The lines you whisper in my ear?

This moment, I know you’re mine
Everything is more than just fine
But later will things be the same?
Will you call out someone else’s name?

Tonight, you’re promising me tomorrow,
But will the new day bring me sorrow?
Will I find you in the arms of another?
Do you really want me unlike any other?

Today you can tell me you’ll stay
But who knows when there’ll be a day
That you would not want me anymore.
What would the future have in store?

When you say that we’re meant to be
Do you think of me when you say “we”?
Am I the real object of your affection?
Or am I just an egoistic satisfaction?

How can I believe in you completely
Or in the words you say so sweetly
When every time I look into your eyes
I can see the enticing look of lies.

I want to fall without hesitation
And believe you without any question.
Give me sign, something to believe in,
And I won’t stop myself from falling.

Love Is Not A Feeling
by Tom Baker

Love has been romanticized and emotionalized
People have bought into the lies
That love is a feeling or emotion
Feelings come and feelings go and
Emotions can change like the tide or the wind
But love, true love
Is not a feeling but an act of your will

Love is committed and truly unconditional
People have embraced the deception
Not realizing love is anchored, steadfast and not whimsical or flighty
Feelings are based on an outside force
Emotions can be swayed by hormones or public opinion
Love however, is always there, always willing; always forgiving
Love is a practical decision, an act of will

Love is not based on what you do for me
That’s just happiness
Love is not determined by how you look today
That’s just lust
Love doesn’t depend on what I do for you
That’s just affection
Love should not be worrisome or anxious
That’s just fear

True love comes from within. A thought, a choice
Love is NOT a feeling but it is a conscious decision
An act of volition
An act of your will
Love is not a feeling… who do you truly love?

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All Rights Reserved © by their respective authors. Tom Baker and his Morning Erection blog make no claims to any poetry other than his own.

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