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  • Richard Wright

    Please is there any secret about how a good poet who is underground could make himself and his work known to the world like other poets? Please help if you can!

  • pritam kr saxena

    Love is only things that should be care

  • pritam kr saxena

    Love is….
    That told u to bath in colder brezze
    Silent but make u crazy

  • Viviane

    Love Poem
    (by John Frederick Nims)

    My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,
    At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,
    Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen,
    And have no cunning with any soft thing

    Except all ill-at-ease fidgeting people:
    The refugee uncertain at the door
    You make at home; deftly you steady
    The drunk clambering on his undulant floor.

    Unpredictable dear, the taxi drivers’ terror,
    Shrinking from far headlights pale as a dime
    Yet leaping before apopleptic streetcars—
    Misfit in any space. And never on time.

    A wrench in clocks and the solar system. Only
    With words and people and love you move at ease;
    In traffic of wit expertly maneuver
    And keep us, all devotion, at your knees.

    Forgetting your coffee spreading on our flannel,
    Your lipstick grinning on our coat,
    So gaily in love’s unbreakable heaven
    Our souls on glory of spilt bourbon float.

    Be with me, darling, early and late. Smash glasses—
    I will study wry music for your sake.
    For should your hands drop white and empty
    All the toys of the world would break.

    • M and m

      its so nice it helps my homework and the love poems makes me happy and crazy OH MY GUSH

  • Joseph P. DiMino

    “The Heart” by Joseph P. DiMino

    You can tell it
    What to do—
    Be firm,
    Be smart—
    But never forget,
    The heart has a mind
    Of its own;

    You can tell it
    Where to go—
    With whom
    To board
    And flow—
    But even
    Little children
    Should know,
    The heart has a way
    Of its own;

    You can tell it
    How long to stay,
    With whom to make
    House and play—
    Making vows
    To never betray,
    But the heart
    Has a time
    Of its own;

    Yes, the heart loves…
    And the heart roams;
    Often new faces
    And voices
    Not our
    Imagined choices—
    The heart is never
    Entirely known

    For sure,

    The heart
    Is a subject
    Alone—

  • Anonymous

    Great poetry! The heart, indeed, is our second mind. Could not have been said better.

  • texshelters

    That Burns poem is such a cliche as to be a joke. PTxS