Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Love

Fraternal love (Prehispanic sculpture from 250–900 AD, of Huastec origin). 
Museum of Anthropology in Xalapa, Veracruz, Mexico

“Nobody has ever measured, not even poets, 

how much the heart can hold.” 
― Zelda Fitzgerald

“I don't trust people who don't love themselves and tell me,

'I love you.' ... There is an African saying  which is:        

Be careful when a naked person offers you a shirt.” 

― Maya Angelou

“Love doesn't just sit there, like a stone, 

it has to be made, like bread; remade

 all the time, made new.” 

― Ursula K. Le Guin

"Ai," the traditional Chinese character
for love (愛) consists of a heart (心, middle)
 inside of "accept," "feel," or "perceive," (受)
which shows a graceful emotion.
It can also be interpreted as a hand
offering one's heart to another hand.

Midweek Motif ~ Love

Would we be poets and never speak of love?  

Yesterday some of us celebrated Valentine's Day.  

I celebrated my BFF's birthday.  She collects Birthday/Valentine cards, but so few are made that I rarely find one.  

But LOVE!  Is that rare too?  

Can we celebrate it daily?  What do you wish 

you had said to someone yesterday?  

Your Challenge:  Deeply and with a few pointed words, speak of love in a new poem.

Comment by Dorothy Parker

Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,

A medley of extemporanea;

And love is a thing that can never go wrong;

And I am Marie of Roumania.

❣

                                  A Red, Red Rose BY ROBERT BURNS

O my Luve is like a red, red rose 

   That’s newly sprung in June; 

O my Luve is like the melody 

   That’s sweetly played in tune. 

So fair art thou, my bonnie 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; 

I will love thee still, my dear, 

   While the sands o’ life shall run. 

And fare thee weel, my only luve! 

   And fare thee weel awhile! 

And I will come again, my luve, 

   Though it were ten thousand mile.

❦

Parkinson’s Disease  BY GALWAY KINNELL

While spoon-feeding him with one hand   

she holds his hand with her other hand,   

or rather lets it rest on top of his, 

which is permanently clenched shut.   

When he turns his head away, she reaches   

around and puts in the spoonful blind.   

He will not accept the next morsel 

until he has completely chewed this one.   

His bright squint tells her he finds 

the shrimp she has just put in delicious. 

Next to the voice and touch of those we love,   



food may be our last pleasure on earth— 

. . . . 

(Read the rest HERE.)





💗

Sonnets from the Portuguese 43: How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

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BY ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

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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 every day’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 the 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.

💕

Excerpt from King Lear
CORDELIA

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave
My heart into my mouth. I love your Majesty
According to my bond; no more nor less.



Good my lord,
You have begot me, bred me, lov'd me; I
Return those duties back as are right fit,
Obey you, love you, and most honour you.
Why have my sisters husbands, if they say
They love you all? Haply, when I shall wed,
That lord whose hand must take my plight shall carry
Half my love with him, half my care and duty.
Sure I shall never marry like my sisters,
To love my father all.

 💖




Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community—  


(Next week Sumana’s Midweek Motif will be ~ Nostalgia)

Classic Poetry ~ "Sonnets from the Portuguese - XIV" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806 - 1861

"How do I love thee..." are the words most of us conjure when thinking of Elizabeth Barrett Browning; but the prolific prodigy, who had four books to her credit by age twelve, wrote hundreds of love poems. Suffering from a chronic lung disease that descended upon her in her fourteenth year, as well as a spinal injury from a riding accident when she was fifteen, Elizabeth lived a life of pain and reliance upon morphine. Despite these challenges, she wrote passionately, enthusiastically and romantically, personifying the artist who must express. 

Sonnets from the Portuguese ~ XIV

IF thou must love me, let it be for nought

Except for love’s sake only. Do not say

“I love her for her smile—her look—her way

Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought

That falls in well with mine, and certes brought

        

A sense of pleasant ease on such a day”—

For these things in themselves, Belovèd, may

Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,

May be unwrought so. Neither love me for

Thine own dear pity’s wiping my cheeks dry,—

        

A creature might forget to weep, who bore

Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!

But love me for love’s sake, that evermore

Thou mayst love on, through love’s eternity.