Love Poems
Most Famous Love Poems of All Time!
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Now that I am older I can see
the things she hid from me so carefully—
the worry that wore her face at night,
the sacrifice she made look light and free.
She gave from empty, never showing empty,
she...
Her love is like a steady light—
not the flash of fireworks overhead,
not the brilliant sudden burning,
but the lamp beside the bed.
The one that's always on when you come home,
the one that doesn't flicker or go...
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She braided my hair in the morning
while humming a song she half-remembered,
the mirror holding both our faces
in the light of those Octobers and Decembers.
I did not know then what I was holding—
I thought it ordinary,...
There is a smell that returns me immediately—
her kitchen at the end of the day,
the spices and the warmth and the particular
music that her cooking used to play.
I can make the recipe exactly—
I have the...
My father's hands were large and sure,
built for the work that work required,
the kind of hands that held a hammer
and then held me when the day retired.
The same hands that turned the wrench in cold
were...
He never gave a speech about his values,
never sat us down to make it clear—
he simply lived them in the daily,
showed us what he meant by being here.
Quiet strength is the most powerful kind,
the kind...
He was gone before I woke on schooldays—
the kitchen still held the warmth of his coffee,
the door softly closed against the morning cold,
the world unready and him already in it.
Before dawn, before the house had opened,...
We fished beside each other without talking—
the water spoke enough for both of us,
the line and the waiting and the patience
the whole curriculum of the fuss-less.
He didn't need to fill the silence teaching,
the teaching happened...
I saw him cry exactly once—
the day they carried his father out,
and in that single unguarded moment
I understood what he was all about.
He was made of the same material as grief,
as love, as missing, as...
He didn't lecture. He demonstrated.
He didn't advise. He showed up and did.
Every principle he wanted planted
was first lived before it was said.
He taught fairness by being fair himself,
taught generosity by giving what he had,
taught...
Love is not a long word—
it is the shortest sentence,
one breath,
and the rest is evidence.
The moon knows my name—
I have called it often enough.
It does not answer,
but it stays.
The tree does not fight the wind—
it bends with the full body,
and when the wind has passed,
it stands again.
The rain fell
and I remembered you—
not a complicated remembering,
just: you. The rain. The window.
The sunrise asks for nothing.
It simply rises
and gives its gold
to whoever is standing there.
The heart speaks quietly—
not to compete with the noise,
but to the one
who has learned to be still.
The old house has a smell that follows me—
into every house I have lived in since,
a ghost of wood and particular light
and the quality of every old offense
and kindness—the arguments held in the kitchen,
the laughter...
There was a territory I have not returned to—
the specific geography of a grandmother's lap,
the warmth of it, the smell of it, the telling
of the story that began with once-upon-a and never had a gap.
She is...
We scattered in the years after—
some north, some south, some simply deep into their lives—
and the geography we shared in school
became the country of the archive and the drives
of memory. The faces are still precise—
I...
The old bicycle rusts in the corner of the shed—
wheels still true, the bell still workable—
a machine that carried me through the whole kingdom
of the neighborhood, before the maps were observable.
I knew every house by its...
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