When Valentine’s Day Is Poetry in an e-book Torn By Love

Torn By Love

Meager is the cry
of the baby, but
I have tried
not to tear
your torn tissues,
must ask your permission.

Grandmother,
I search for an amulet
to bring you
to soothe you. My
being is torn.

A girl of charm
not of tradition
is in my life, but
I am torn
by love
by being

Grandmother,
I do not wish
to be a tear of the eye
to streak a bloody torn cloth.

I am torn
by love
by being

Though meager was my cry
when you lost your daughter,
I have tried to be a prayer
for you and
for your daughter

Born of your
cries and screams
I pray

Grandmother,
you are
my precious Mother.
What charm may I bring you?

May I pray
for your daughter?
I wish I
had known her,
not caused
her death
though meager was my cry

I am torn
by love
by being.

Meet me
as I am
with gifts
with meager charms.

Grandmother,
there is a girl
who wishes to be
a woman with me.

I am torn
by love
by meetings.

I pray in
many ways
we will all
grow together,
born into love
with your blessings.

Grandmother,
cry me into life
beyond tradition.

I am torn
by love
by meetings.

Meet me
and her, your
new born-in-law, for

Loud and thunderous
is the cry of happiness

Join us in the rain,
Grandmother

— Douglas Gilbert

From: Poems of Love Lost and Found

by Douglas Gilbert in the iBookstoresm
*

This book is available for download on your iPhone, iPad, or iPod touch with iBooks and on your computer with iTunes. Books must be read on an iOS device.

Description

We are glowing with poems because from the journey of a dream I awoke happy, enveloped in you under covers, my Valentine. Enraptured in the blankets of home with you, of you, our embrace is the brightness of us, with us. We are the morning together, together in love. An awakening is here to be for real at home, a peaceful passion, a satisfaction day, not dreaming but being in the lightness of us, with us. We are warm being the morning sun, like banners waving playfully above the river of Love, these extremely rippling, our streaming, child to the river. Ripples of the day, we stream like banners waving playfully above a gentle brook, child to the stream. The child’s babble is joyful enough to be a gurgle in a float-along morning. We splash along, embraced by immersion, the kiss of the day, fantastic and better than a dream.

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