I want to fly into the skies,
like nightingales
and rest on roses
with my tender being.
Now my mind lies
on each leaf,
like shadows do in the summer.

If I could only tell
all my worries to myself,
because I am chained to tiredness,
and so cannot talk,
let alone sing about them.

A small drop squeezed out of autumn leaves
gives another flowing spring.

I find your gorgeous face quite bright and sweet,
Like stars or angels soft; to eyes loved pleasures,
Because the eye adores the ones who're neat,
Comparing it in poetry to treasures.

Your shapely stature's tall, to me breathtaking,
Like waves excited is my yearning heart,
And to see you with others is heartbreaking,
My object of admiration, each part.

The world has seen so many girls like you,
Dressed in elegance, shaped as flowing fires,
Although it's known, it seems so fresh and new,
The scintillating source of most desires.

But still your temperament is quite ugly,
If only pretty eyes of you could see.

Brevity, a long word yet it's passing meaning's
A sigh like beauty itself, how saddening,
Like the song who the small nightingale sings,
So neutral, knowing not what is happening.

A beach – a sea – a breeze – a night,
My mind — my heart – feelings – and mood,
Lit up by golden lamppost light,
Alone, while I do hope and brood.
My hope's from beauty, and from
Darkness is all the brooding, here
Making me both alive and numb,
Between a joy, between some fear.
But oh, the wave did hit my feet!
A coldness embraces my skin,
(My socks all wet), it did retreat,
Back to the sea – where have I been?
    Both hope and brooding vibes did leave,
    To be mindful, I now achieve.

Find a Poet Not a poser, not a "it's just a hobby" poet. Find one who mumbles lines as they scramble for a pen at breakfast; who shakes their head randomly when their thoughts aren't rhyming properly;  who has notebooks stashed around the house that you must never touch.
2. Listen Savor the spoken words, for those are harder to express. Keep in mind that they can't be edited and re-written, and be forgiving when a mistake is made.
3. Read The body speaks as loudly as words on a page do. When their eyes are closed or focused on the ceiling and the fingers are tapping out syllables, recognize the unique process. Respect the need for quiet, because if you look closely, you can read the poem on their face before they write it on the page.
4. Write Write your story together. Grab hold of the pen and hang on as you move across the page of life. Sometimes you will dance across, others you will be dragged. You may have to cross out a word, or a line, or a page, but don't give up. Discouragement is a poet's biggest enemy, inarticulateness their biggest fear. So end each day with a semi-colon, because the story will never end the way you think it will, and there must be room for more. There is always room for more, more words, more laughter, more tears, more love,
When you love a poet.