- Feelings. When you look at the person you love, what runs through your mind? Think of words to describe how they make you feel, so you can use them throughout your poem. Even if they make your brain all foggy, write about that!
- Firsts. Everyone loves a bit of nostalgia. Remember how this person first came into your life. Was it love at first sight, or were you totally turned off until you got to know them better? Where were you? What details can you remember about the first time you met/went on a date/kissed? The little things matter, especially in a love poem, so don’t forget about them.
- Comparison. If you’re writing a love poem about someone, chances are they’ve had a pretty big impact on your life. In your poem, compare how your life was before and after this person began playing a role in your life story. Maybe you were going through a rough time and they made it better, or you were always a happy person, but they just made you smile a little wider. Whatever your story, everyone enjoys being told how much they matter, so be sure to let this person know how much they’ve changed your life for the better.
- Tone. Don’t worry about making your poem sound too sappy or romantic. Just be yourself, use your personality, and write about the things that might be a little harder to say out loud. Yeah, it sounds corny, but the best poems are the ones that come from your heart.
- Pattern. When it comes to the format of the poem, creating a rhyme scheme or pattern shouldn’t be the main focus. If a rhyme comes naturally, go for it, but remember that some of the greatest poems don’t rhyme. Sometimes, a sing-song rhyme can take away the heart of a poem because both the writer and the reader pay more attention to how the poem is written, instead of what it’s about. For a love poem, it’s about what you say, not how you say it.
- Spread the Love. No matter who you are or who stole your heart,
- we all love a love poem At Poetree Creations.
- Why not give it some thought.
Category Archives: Tradition
When I lay and think, in my bed at night,
the day you’ll arrive, seems nowhere in sight.
I toss and I turn, dreaming of you,
opening my eye’s… checking if my dream came true.
It didn’t, again, and a tear starts to roll,
weeping quietly… my pillow I hold.
Many sleepless nights I’ve prayed for you, my love.
God touched my soul from heaven above
He’s answered my prayers for my bride to be.
I’ve never felt this lucky, God did this for me.
That’s a question I asked each and every night.
He must think your special, Joy, and I know he’s right.
No other has made me feel so complete,
my whole life was lived, just so we could meet.
All these thoughts and more going through my head.
I fall asleep not worrying, but dreaming of you… instead.
Author: David G Teves
Christmas means many things
To people through out the land
To Christians it’s a celebration of Jesus
Of a birth that God had planned
It’s just another day
They still worship God
They do it a different way
All other religions are just as important
For they are touched by the divine light
They all have there own celebrations
To praise God is their right
We should thank God for his gifts
For his light of love is in all
He claims not to belong to one movement
He only asks we listen to his call
Enjoy your religion
Be happy in all that you do
For God is your Father and Mother
And he is in all of you
Malcolm G Bradshaw
Bonfire, you’re a merry fellow
With your flames of red and yellow,
And your cheery cracks and pops-
You gobble up the old bean-props,
The pea-sticks, withered plants, and all
The leaves blown down beside the wall.
Your never-ending spires of smoke
(The colour of a pixy’s cloak)
Go mounting to the starry sky,
And when the wind comes bustling by
Oh, what a merry game you play,
And how you pop and roar away!
Your heart is red, your smoke is thick,
On, pile on leaves and branches quick!
Let’s dance around and shout and sing,
Oh, Bonfire, you’re a LOVELY thing!
From the Enid Blyton Poetry book, 1934.
YOUR FAVOURITE POEM SENT IN BY YOU WHAT’S YOURS
Some twelve months ago,
An hundred or so,
The Pope went to visit the devil;
And as, you will find,
Old Nick, to a friend,
Can behave himself wondrous civil.
Quoth the De’il to the Seer,
What the De’il brought you her
It was surely some whimsical maggot:
Come, draw to the fire;
Nay, prithee, sit nigher:
Heree, sirrah! lay on t’other faggot.
You’re welcome to Hell;
I hope friends are well,
At Pareis, Madrid, and at Rome;
And ,now you elope,
I suppose, my dear Pope,
The conclave will hang out the broom.
Then his Holiness cry’d,
All jesting aside,
“Give the Pope and the Devil their dues;”
For, believe me, Old Dad,
I’ll make thy heart glad,
For, by Jove, I do bring thee rare news.
There’s a plot to beguile
An obstinate isle;
Great Britain, that heretic nation,
Who so shyly behav’d,
In the hopes of being sav’d
By the help of a d . . d Reformation.
We’ll never have done,
If we burn one by one,
Tis’ such a d . . d numerous race!
For no sooner one’s dead,
Like the fam’d Hydra’s head,
Than a dozen spring up in his place.
But, believe me, Old Nick,
We’ll play them a trick,
The like was ne’er hatched in France;
For this day before dinner,
As sure’s I’m a sinner,
We’ll burn all the rascals at onece.
When the king with his son
To the parliament’s gone,
To consult about old musty papers,
We’ll give them a greeting,
Shall break up their meeting,
And try who can cut the best capers.
There’s powder enough,
And combustible stuff,
Inf fifty and odd trusty barrels,
Which will blow all together,
The Devil cares whither,
And decide at one blow all our quarrels.
But this was scarce said,
When in popp’d the head
Of an old Jesuitical Wight,
Who cry’d You’re mistaken,
They’ve all saav’d their bacon,
And Jemmy still stinks with the fright.
Then Satan was struck,
And said ’tis bad luck,
But you for your news shall be thanked:
So he call’d to the door
Seven devils or more,
And they toss’d the poor dog in a blanket.
Watts, Isaac, Horae lyricae. Poems, By I. London, 1706
We’d never argue, we’d never fight.
I’d take it all, the weird and strange.
I’d give my life to ease her pain.
I cannot read her different mind.
Another like her, you’d never find.
I think she’s amazing, she’ll never find out.
She’s one in a trillion, without a doubt.
She thinks she is normal, just boring and plain.
There’s no one else like her, no one near the same.
If her mind was a book, I’d read it 10 times.
If her voice was a song, I’d replay till I die.
If her life was a movie, I’d laugh, love and cry.
If she’d ever have me, I’d make her be mine.
YOUR FAVOURITE POEM
(In honor of All Hallows’ Eve and those spirits who are still with us)
Je pense que j’ai finalement traduit de l’anglais vers le français parfaitement!
très dur, mais super boulot moi
Un poème pour envoyer à quelqu’un que vous aimez
C’est ce que j’appelle Les Amants Perdu Poème…..
Je n’ai pas honte de dire ou admettre que c’est vrai.
Je suis un toxicomane mais d’une manière spéciale,
Vous voyez, mon cœur veut juste vous.
I’am un toxicomane à cet amour que je ressens,
depuis le jour où j’ai posé les yeux sur tu que je connaissais.
chaque jour qui se lève mon cœur bat,
et il se demande ce qu’il faut faire.
Votre absence rend mon coeur que vous voulez tu,
et mon corps aspire à votre contact.
L’énergie qui coule dans mes veines,
me donne envie de vous tellement.
Si seulement je pouvais vous tenir,
Et vous avoir à côté de moi.
Peut-être que cette douleur que je ressens à l’intérieur,
allait enfin me libérer libre.
Je t’aime au-delà de tout,
et au-delà des étoiles que je ne peux pas voir.
J’espère juste que tu ressens la même
quand vous dites que vous m’aimez.
Tout ce que je voulais, c’était d’être dans votre cœur demain, hier et aujourd’hui.
et pour nous d’être ensemble et de ne jamais être loin.
J’espérais qu’un jour vous vous rendrez compte,
mon amour pour toi est vrai.
comment vous êtes si parfait à mes yeux.
et comment mon amour pour toi juste grandi.
Il s’agit d’un poème Je voudrais pouvoir vous envoyer.
mais je n’ai jamais reçu votre lettre et je n’avais pas de place pour l’envoyer trop.
translated into English;
I think I finally translated from English to French perfectly!
very hard, but great job me
A poem to send to someone you love
This is what I call The Lost Lovers Poem …..
I’m not ashamed to say or admit that it’s true.
I’m an addict, but in a special way,
You see, my heart just wants you.
I’am an addict to this love that I feel,
since the day I laid eyes on you I knew.
each waking day my heart beats,
and wondered what to do.
Your absence makes my heart want you,
and my body craves your touch.
The energy flowing through my veins,
makes me want you so much.
If only I could hold you,
And have you beside me.
Maybe this pain I feel inside,
would finally release me free.
I love you beyond all
and beyond the stars I can not see.
I just hope you feel the same
when you say you love me.
All I wanted was to be in your heart tomorrow, yesterday and today.
and for us to be together and never be far away.
I hoped that one day you will realize,
My love for you is true.
how you are so perfect in my eyes.
and how my love for you just grew.
This is a poem I wish I could send you.
but I never received your letter and I had no place to send it too.
YOUR FAVOURITE POEM
SENT IN BY YOU WHAT’S YOUR’S?
What are the world’s most popular poems?
Between May 15th 2007, and March 21st, 2008, Classic Poetry Aloud had some half a million downloads from across the globe. This shows the most downloaded poems, and so the world’s most popular poems, to be:
- She Walks in Beauty by Lord Byron
- Ode to Autumn by John Keats
- If by Rudyard Kipling
- Sonnet 18: Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day? by William Shakespeare
- Kubla Khan by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
- How Do I Love Thee? by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
- O Captain! My Captain! by Walt Whitman
- Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley
- Death by John Donne
- Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats
Days start to get shorter as the seasons change
Each has what they feel is their favorite time
Whether Spring or Fall, Winter or Summer
Voicing that preference is not any real crime.
Winter has to be my least favorite season
The sun can be pretty reflecting on fresh snow
Drinking hot cocoa and cuddling, curled by a fire
But unfortunately I can’t stay in 3 months, I know.
Spring and Fall give a change that is welcome
But they don’t seem to last long enough for me
The gentle rains on the roof as you try to sleep
Just hope there is no damaging weather to see.
Summer will always be my favorite time of year
Sure it gets hot, but so much better on my bones
Lay by the pool or straddle the bike for a day trip
Not to mention bodies in all those tanning tones.
I recognize others have their reasons for a choice
Whatever season they prefer that differs from mine
Guess that us just another example of personality traits
Enjoy what you will, let me have months of sunshine
As long as there have been poets, there have been love poems. After all, if love cannot inspire, what can? Our minds turn to love on special anniversaries, Valentine’s Day and weddings, but how to express it? We are not all blessed with the gift of poetic words. The list below may include a romantic love poems for him or a love poem for her to serve the occasion but don’t pretend it’s yours. You will look very foolish when you are found out. But love tends to do that to us anyway.
10. ‘Wild Nights’ by Emily Dickinson
A leading American poet (1830 – 1836), she is one of the most accessible and popular poets. This selection is not typical of her output and is surprisingly passionate for a woman of those times. Dickinson led a secluded life and it’s not certain for whom these lines were intended, ‘might I but moor tonight with thee’. Biographers believe that she may have created a fantasy for herself. But this may also have been a love poem for a man.
Wild nights! Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be
Futile the winds
To a heart in port,
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart.
Rowing in Eden!
Ah! the sea!
Might I but moor
To-night in thee!
9. ‘We Are Made One with What We Touch and See’ by Oscar Wilde
Of course, it’s well known that Wilde’s romantic exploits got him into trouble, resulting in a two-year sentence for hard labour. He’s better known for his comedic plays and witty quotes than for his poems. This poem has the joyful line; ‘we draw the spring into our hearts and feel that life is good’. Read the full poem.
We shall be notes in that great Symphony
Whose cadence circles through the rhythmic spheres,
And all the live World’s throbbing heart shall be
One with our heart, the stealthy creeping years
Have lost their terrors now, we shall not die,
The Universe itself shall be our Immortality!
8. ‘Bright Star’ by John Keats
A leading figure amongst the English Romantic poets, many of Keats’ poems are melancholic. He was a doomed man, dying of TB at the age of 26 in a house in Rome where he had gone to improve his health. The house, next to the Spanish Steps, is now a museum dedicated to his life and the life of Shelley. He wrote his poetry in a brief five-year period. Sensual love is celebrated in the line, ‘pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast’.
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art–
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors–
No–yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever–or else swoon to death.
7. ‘Another Valentine’ by Wendy Cope
This is from the point of view of a couple that have been together a long time. At first, Cope seems slightly resentful that she is being forced into making a romantic declaration just because a certain date in the calendar demands it, but she gets into the spirit of the occasion and her love for her man shines through. They are sure of each other, as shown by ‘you know I’m yours and I know you are mine’. It is more difficult to find love poems for him, but “Another Valentine” is just that.
Today we are obliged to be romantic
And think of yet another valentine.
We know the rules and we are both pedantic:
Today’s the day we have to be romantic.
Our love is old and sure, not new and frantic.
You know I’m yours and I know you are mine.
And saying that has made me feel romantic,
My dearest love, my darling valentine.
6. ‘A Drinking Song’ by W.B. Yeats
The title does not suggest a love poem and it’s debatable as to how much alcohol consumption is playing a part! Nevertheless, it is a romantic poem. The opening lines are ‘wine comes in at the mouth and love comes in at the eye’ Let’s hope they don’t regret it in the morning.
Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That’s all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.
5. ‘Valentine’ by John Fuller
Perhaps the least well known poet on the list, he is an English writer, born in 1937, and is the son of the feted poet, Roy Fuller. This is a sensual poem, which celebrates the physical features of his beloved; ‘I like it when you tilt your cheek up’. It’s a gently teasing poem with fun lines such as ‘I’d like to find you in the shower and chase the soap for half an hour’. Read the full poem.
The things about you I appreciate may seem indelicate:
I’d like to find you in the shower
And chase the soap for half an hour.
I’d like to have you in my power and see your eyes dilate.
I’d like to have your back to scour
And other parts to lubricate.
Sometimes I feel it is my fate
To chase you screaming up a tower or make you cower
By asking you to differentiate Nietzsche from Schopenhauer.
I’d like to successfully guess your weight and win you at a féte.
I’d like to offer you a flower.
4. ‘Love Is’ by Adrian Henri
The late Henri, along with his fellow Liverpool poets, Roger McGough and Brian Patten, brought poetry to a new generation in their 1967 anthology, ‘The Mersey Sound’. It’s a poem about everyday love between everyday people but is strangely touching. ‘Love is a fan club with only two fans’ and ‘love is what happens when the music stops’.
Love is feeling cold in the back of vans
Love is a fanclub with only two fans
Love is walking holding paintstained hands
Love is fish and chips on winter nights
Love is blankets full of strange delights
Love is when you don’t put out the light
Love is the presents in Christmas shops
Love is when you’re feeling Top of the Pops
Love is what happens when the music stops
Love is white panties lying all forlorn
Love is pink nightdresses still slightly warm
Love is when you have to leave at dawn
Love is you and love is me
Love is prison and love is free
Love’s what’s there when you are away from me
3. ‘How Do I Love Thee’ by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Browning had the advantage of a good education, not given to most Victorian women in England. She blossomed as a poet and found love with fellow writer, Robert Browning. They married against her father’s wishes and eloped to Italy. It doesn’t get any more romantic than that. The opening lines to this romantic love poem are often quoted; ‘how do I love thee, let me count the ways’.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
2. ‘A Red, Red Rose’ by Robert Burns
This is both a poem and a song, first published in 1794. Burns is one of the most famous Scotsmen in the world and the anniversary of his birth, January 25th, is celebrated around the world with recitations, whiskey and haggis (for those that can stomach it). Burns Night undoubtedly features this romantic poem and the lines, ‘O, my love is like a red, red, rose, that is newly sprung in June’.
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose,
That’s newly sprung in June:
O my Luve’s like the melodie,
That’s sweetly play’d in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ ’twere ten thousand mile!
1. ‘Love Sonnet 130’ by William Shakespeare
The most revered playwright in history also found time to compose 154 sonnets, published in 1609. The sonnets are a great source for quotations on the theme of romance, love and passion. He was constantly preoccupied with the relationships between men and women in his writing. Number 130 glories in lines, such as ‘and yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare as any she belied with false compare’.
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
A mine spread out its vast machinery.
Here engines with their huts and smoky stacks,
Cranks, wheels, and rods, boilers and hissing steam,
Pressed up the water from the depths below.
Here fire-whims ran till almost out of breath,
And chains cried sharply, strained with fiery force.
Here blacksmiths hammered by the sooty forge,
And there a crusher crashed the copper ore.
Here girls were cobbing under roofs of straw,
And there were giggers at the oaken hutch.
Here a man-engine glided up and down,
A blessing and a boon to mining men:
And near the spot, where many years before,
Turned round and round the rude old water wheel,
A huge fire-stamps was working evermore,
And slimy boys were swarming at the trunks.
The noisy lander by the trap-door bawled
With pincers in his hand; and troops of maids
With heavy hammers brake the mineral stones.
The cart-man cried, and shook his broken whip;
And on the steps of the account-house stood
The active agent, with his eye on all.
Below were caverns grim with greedy gloom,
And levels drunk with darkness; chambers huge
Where Fear sat silent, and the mineral-sprite
For ever chanted his bewitching song;
Shafts deep and dreadful, looking darkest things
And seeming almost running down to doom;
Rock under foot, rock standing on each side;
Rock cold and gloomy, frowning overhead;
Before; behind, at every angle, rock.
Here blazed a vein of precious copper ore,
Where lean men laboured with a zeal for fame,
With face and hands and vesture black as night,
And down their sides the perspiration ran
In steaming eddies, sickening to behold.
But they complained not, digging day and night,
And morn and eve, with lays upon their lips.
Here yawned a tin-cell like a cliff of crags,
Here Danger lurked among the groaning rocks,
And oftimes moaned in darkness. All the air
Was black with sulphur and burning up the blood.
A nameless mystery seemed to fill the void,
And wings all pitchy flapped among the flints,
And eyes that saw not sparkled min the spars.
Yet here men worked, on stages hung in ropes,
With drills and hammers blasting the rude earth,
Which fell with such a crash that he who heard
Cried, “Jesu, save the miner!” Here were the ends
Cut through hard marble by the miners’ skill,
And winzes, stopes and rizes: pitches here,
Where worked the heroic, princely tributer,
This month for nothing, next for fifty pounds.
Here lodes ran wide, and there so very small
That scarce a pick-point could be pressed between;
Here making walls as smooth as polished steel,
And there as craggy as a rended hill.
And out of sparry vagues the water oozed,
Staining the rock with mineral, so that oft
It led the labourer to a house of gems.
Across the mine a hollow cross-course ran
From north to south, an omen of much good;
And tin lay heaped on stulls and level-plots;
And in each nook a tallow taper flared,
Where pale men wasted with exhaustion huge.
Here holes exploded, and there mallets rang,
And rocks fell crashing, lifting the stiff hair
From time-worn brows, and noisy buckets roared
In echoing shafts; and through this gulf of gloom
A hollow murmur rushed for evermore.
SENT IN BY YOU WHAT’S YOUR’S?
I’ll tell of the Magna Charter
As were signed at the Barons’ command
On Runningmead Island in t’ middle of t’ Thames
By King John, as were known as “Lack Land.”
Some say it were wrong of the Barons
Their will on the King so to thrust,
But you’ll see if you look at both sides of the case
That they had to do something, or bust.
For John, from the moment they crowned him,
Started acting so cunning and sly,
Being King, of course, he couldn’t do wrong,
But, by gum, he’d a proper good try.
He squandered the ratepayers’ money,
All their cattle and corn did he take,
‘Til there wasn’t a morsel of bread in the land,
And folk had to manage on cake.
The way he behaved to young Arthur
Went to show as his feelings was bad;
He tried to get Hubert to poke out his eyes,
Which is no way to treat a young lad.
It were all right him being a tyrant
To vassals and folks of that class,
But he tried on his tricks with the Barons an’ all,
And that’s where he made a ‘faux pas’.
He started bombarding their castles,
And burning them over their head,
‘Til there wasn’t enough castles left to go round,
And they had to sleep six in a bed.
So they went to the King in a body,
And their spokesman, Fitzwalter by name,
He opened the ‘ole in his ‘elmet and said,
Conciliatory like, ” What’s the game?”
The King starts to shilly and shally,
He sits and he haws and he hums,
‘Til the Barons in rage started gnashing their teeth,
And them with no teeth gnashed their gums
Said Fitz, through the ‘ole in his ‘elmet,
“It was you as put us in this plight.”
And the King having nothing to say to this, murmured
“Leave your address and I’ll write”.
This angered the gallant Fitzwalter;
He stamped on the floor with his foot,
And were starting to give John a rare ticking off,
When the ‘ole in his ‘elmet fell shut.
“We’ll get him a Magna Charter,”
Said Fitz when his face he had freed;
Said the Barons “That’s right and if one’s not enough,
Get a couple and happen they’ll breed.”
So they set about making a Charter,
When at finish they’d got it drawn up,
It looked like a paper on cattle disease,
Or the entries for t’ Waterloo Cup.
Next day, King John, all unsuspecting,
And having the afternoon free,
To Runningmead Island had taken a boat,
And were having some shrimps for his tea.
He’d just pulled the ‘ead off a big ‘un,
And were pinching its tail with his thumb,
When up came a barge load of Barons, who said,
“We thought you’d be here so we’ve come”
When they told him they’d brought Magna Charter,
The King seemed to go kind of limp,
But minding his manners he took off his hat
And said ” Thanks very much, have a shrimp.”
” You’d best sign at once,” said Fitzwalter,
” If you don’t, I’ll tell thee for a start
The next coronation will happen quite soon,
And you won’t be there to take part.”
So they spread Charter out on t’ tea table,
And John signed his name like a lamb,
His writing in places was sticky and thick
Through dipping his pen in the jam.
And it’s through that there Magna Charter,
As were signed by the Barons of old,
That in England to-day we can do what we like,
So long as we do what we’re told.