Love ; the Imagined, the Hoped for and the Real.

Updated on August 4, 2020
KireSuds profile image

I have enjoyed writing since I was first encouraged by a high school English teacher. I have found that over the years the words grow.

Love ; The Imagined, The Hoped for and The Real.

Love ; The Imagined, The Hoped for and The Real.

It's likely that all of us, during some point in our lives, have imagined what love will be like when we encounter it. Perhaps our imaginations will have been correct and our lives will forever be full of Joy and support. Meeting that unique person will be a moment to cherish forever. They will share and enhance our happiness and they will comfort and help through life's difficult times. And, we will be proud to be the joyful foundation of their lives as well.

Those of us who see themselves as romantics spend each day and night with a subtle, and often not so subtle, hope, that somewhere out there is “The One.” We hope that around that next corner or just over that hill, with sunrise behind it, is where they will be found. This search may be openly admitted or kept as a quiet endeavor. Yet, we find ourselves always immersed in hope as the years go by. Too often, the years go by quickly and we realize that our hopes may never come to fruition.

Actual love seems to be a rare circumstance. We see the stories we want to live through, acted out on a stage or displayed on a screen. We live vicariously within the pages of a novel and place our names within the text. When we notice others in a romantic embrace, we may become despondent and withdraw from the scene. Still, we are hopefully happy someone has discovered a real portion of what might be a true, romantic love.

And, sometimes we just get lucky.

Here are a few poems I have written with love as inspiration.

Picture of a Fairy Tale Morning

Love on a fairy tale morning with breakfast
Love on a fairy tale morning with breakfast | Source

Poems of Love

Flower Petal Denizens

The flower petal denizens,
flit around drunkenly,
intoxicated by the summer sun.

In a gentle variety of patterns,
as numerous as flowers,
they settle softly into fun.

Playing instruments of light,
I watch them dance with her hair,
and the music of dreams is spun.


Our Kisses go on Forever

Our kisses go on forever.
Our lips play insatiable beggars.

Kisses tasting of heady dreams.
Kisses floating above normal scenes.

Go longer, we'll find new breath.
Go further, we'll simply ignore death.

On, and on, so that we need not care.
On, and yet, on more my dear, I dare.

Forever we'll look into each others eyes.
Forever, gently kissing our days and nights.


There is Nothing More Wonderful

See her eyes as she laughs,
the way her smile hugs them.

It was a little gesture,
perhaps a subtle comment,
you stated just before.
It might have been a twist of phrase,
with an exclamation of a certain kind.
Whatever the reason,
delightfully planned or accidental,
it lightly tickled,
that special center,
deep within her being,
calling you to witness the magic.

Watch as her smile widens,
enjoy her eyelashes lifting,
as the giggle releases itself,
and opens her laughter.
See the hug within her smile,
when her eyes shine deeply into yours.

Watch her as she laughs,
there is nothing more wonderful.


She and I Breathed

She and I breathed upon,
and fogged today's windows.
We drew hearts and laughter,
through the tiny droplets,
using a shimmering kind of whisper.

Let loose from our lips,
is the illumination in the sky,
that beckons our eyes,
and so, they glisten in reply.


Fairy Flowers

There is someone crying in the forest,
his tears are not like the leaves,
they fall more than once a year,
nor do they drift down ever so gently.

The subtle animals stand still to hear,
a pain they have heard before,
this is the one they have known,
they've welcomed his scent, odd cadence and roar.

They find him trembling again, his howls groan,
the deer lower deep brown eyes,
a fox curls soft auburn ears,
and wrens remain silent when a heart dies.

The man calms now, empty of all life's tears,
kneeling still and so quiet,
he slowly breathes then stands tall,
moving on, his stride barely compliant.

A wren flits over with a gentle call,
and woodland souls gather round,
with eyes, ears and lovely song,
they find hope where a man's tears fed the ground.

A fairy flower blooms there, lithe and strong,
seeded by love and sorrow,
grown with devotion and loss,
sown by another dry heart, now fallow.


The Hudson and the Musical Night

The Hudson winks at the Musical Night,
a knowing glance and smile they share.
The dawn of true love strolls before them,
walking just above the pier on happy air.

She twirls and wraps herself in his eyes,
he smiles, holding her hand with deep delight.
The joyful band inebriates the sky.
The moon applauds, and the river blushes white.

The couple saunter to the end of the pier,
though the water seems like no impediment.
They kiss with the beauty of their moment.
The city skyline is a twinkling celebrant.

Their kisses go on and on, defining forever,
needing no beginning nor craving an end.
Such comfort and happiness is rarely witnessed,
and so, above the river and through the night, they transcend.


Flowers I walk by

My Neighborhood of Flowers
My Neighborhood of Flowers | Source
My Neighborhood of Flowers
My Neighborhood of Flowers | Source


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