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Foreign Autumns: A Collection of Love Poems


An assortment of love poems of all kinds.

Were it Not for Her

Were it not for her love,
my stars would fade into the distance,
carrying all unbearable sweetness
from the pleading spirit of my heart.

Were it not for her tenderness,
the tide would thrash upon my ragged body,
hurling me into the jagged rocks at the edge of the shore.

Were it not for her liveliness,
the autumn would drift away,
the mornings, afternoons, nights,
would pass by like days, weeks, months.

Ah my dear, ah my love.

She has set ablaze the forest
which surrounds my very being.


Tonight this verse fades
into the starving sorrow
which creeps into my mourning soul
that catches the next breath
as if it were the last.

Tonight the autumn greets me,
knocking at my window,
the wind beckoning me to forget.

Forgetting is too much.

Perhaps I met her,
perhaps she met me too.
But parting glances ripped the petals
which drove our roses together.

Maybe her only seed
took root in another mountain.

Tonight this verse fades
into the starving sorrow
which, like I, seeks another end.

red behind a concrete door

the roses blow across the path
suddenly, yet openly
as if to say
world, I receive you

their concrete curtains
behind             every wall
cannot stand proud around mine
for the wandering, azure seas
have eroded away the petals

this tree I can knock on
this tree I can sing with
this tree I must bud on

my rose blossoms

Yet, I cannot feel the warmth?

You Bring Out the Blue in Me

You bring out the blue in me.
Your soft, wavy body,
your endlessly forgiving eyes,
your gentle hands which shape the wind.

You fill my temple with
nothing but devout prayers
and muted thoughts
which drown out everything else.

You bring out the red in me.
The intense infatuation in me.
The outbursts of sinful anger
which seek to punish,
and only punish.

You feed my soul,
throwing all of my hardened sorrow
away from the inner sanctum of my heart,
softening it.

My dear, you bring out so much.
Please, do not be silent.


If only the world were so confined.

My love,
I write to you not through joy proved untrue
or through the charming delight
that you planted into the soil
near the tree
where my heart
has roots.

My dear, If only fate had gazed her eyes upon our shoulders
when the wind sighed and the stars touched.
I can still feel the warmth now,
though this time
my rose blossomed.

My friend,
I cannot capture the azure bluejay
because destiny is a kind mistress.

Thank you.

– a man

a man

sometimes i wish i could feel the fire
which caresses and tenderly nurtures
all men
into stoic mountains

sometimes i wish i could be the warmth
against the seductively cool
which so enamors the imagination
which has whet the creative appetite
and fed the empty souls
of many generations

perhaps it was not meant to be
perhaps i was not placed in the right field
never meant to blossom among
stronger, heavier flowers

maybe i am not
but then again
maybe i should be


The warmth tenderly caresses,
my dear,
if you were not so bright
the shores would have no tides
creeping through noble sand
and would paradise seek different isles.

My friend,
vitality is mirrored in your eyes,
blue petunias are nurtured in your cheeks,
and the rose blooms on the tip of your nose
to catch the clarity which reaches with open palms.

Your charm, it seems to know no bounds.


I is for Victory

i stare
and i see
clarity chasing me

I am.
And I should be.
An eternal rose, blossoming through the cracks of

The absolute nipped at my bud.
But, now vibrantly intense,
it faces the light
and approaches the boundless,
the suede azure mistress.

Thank you. Thank you.

the thoughts are        h a r s h
reality is        h-a-r-s-h-e-r

I came, I saw, all is right.

Bloom in Concrete

You have an amazing sense about you, you know.
The first time I peered through the windows
I saw
something so bright and seductively soft.

I accepted it.
And continue accepting it I will.

perhaps fate is kind,
perhaps fate is cruel.
But I know that my spirit is uncontrollable,
drawn to the eternal azure sparkle
that stretches from your temple
to the stars.

I am not one to give up, but to surrender.

The cliffs protecting me
are softened in your presence.

Though the tides continue to crash down,
and though I will always seek new adventure,
your image will always be on the horizon.

In You

In you I see
refined cliffs,
chiseled by the wind
and touched by unappeasable sweetness.
How can one forget your smile
which blossoms in all seasons?

In you I feel
that resolute warmth
which consumes my temple
and is the foundation
for my boulders on the edge.

The world is not so forgiving.
But you,
you are

You shroud my breathless rose
in vitality,
in courage,
in unceasing intensity.

Why, I cannot be uprooted!

Tonight, forever

the deep winds surround me.
Like my spirit, it howls
and the stars shiver in
endless, infinite heaven.

Your hands have always molded
my spirit,
housed in the body I call temple.
Woefully replaced with a stronger fire,
which serves to burn only
the hands that touch it.

Forgetting you would not be so easy,
and I knew this to be true.
But beneath the mounds of life
and lush moss,
my island’s roots rotted,
poisoning the surrounding water.

I am drawn to you like a moth to a flame.
But I am stuck inside the
wrinkled body of the log,
forever watching.
Forever counting.

May God ease my soul.

– a.t.m.

Rain again.

Hey look, it’s raining again.

Sometimes I lie on the bed
and stare out the window
and think about the color of my heart.

I realize now that the answer has changed.

The rooms around me seem empty.
The eclipse casts its shadow over my temple
which I have removed all idols from.

They still mock me,
as if they knew from the beginning
what cruel pocket of fate to leave me in.

The concrete around me crumbles
as I lay naked in the villa.
A child I am,
an adult I should be.
I am but the sheer expression of will,
driven only by a relentless delusion.

The rose may wither now,
but do not worry.
One day,
the earth will give up the rot left behind.

I am reminded.

When I wake,
I am reminded.

I am reminded of the warmth that used to be,
of the hues that made the sunrise worth watching,
of the intensity which carried my frail rose through the days.

When I walk,
I am reminded.

I am reminded of my sands
which your shore swiftly eroded,
of the vast openness
which faced us, and us alone.

When I listen,
I am reminded.

I am reminded of the music of the world,
the chimes which echoed through the forest
we traversed together.
I am reminded of myself,
my gracious temple,
and the hymns which surrounded you.

I am reminded.

I remember what it all meant,
and why it all meant.

I’ll never forget the feeling.

Your Songs

A field of petunias would have blossomed
if you chirped and sang with the birds
like you always did when we were little.

The delicate winds would have danced
to your even more delicate melody
and I would have waved, smiling,
my lips standing still as you would be.

The bright green and cloudless sky
would have hummed to your song
and would have given rise
to nature’s most charming delights.

Your songs do not only serve to take you away.

Fateful Shore

Under the caressing sky, under the gentle moon,
your face is reflected upon the shores
where the water shakes and the sand trembles at your might.

As you stand out, gazing, the lilies find your lips
and with your smile blossom more immensely than before.

It seems our lives were meant to touch,
for without you my tides never rose
and the free waters never rippled.

Tonight your infinite yes’s sing to me and refill the cup
which has sought the deliverance you brought to my shore.

Oh my dear, may we follow the tide and travel forevermore!