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Jaicob Jul 2021
Love is a word
Love is an emotion
Love is a noun
Love is a feeling
Love is an adjective
Love is visible
Love is a verb
Love is a word

Look to the hills-
Ocean waves float by
Veering to the right
Ever so slightly.

Listen! There it is!
Oh, how the waves turn,
Visiting one another
Evacuating below the tide.

Love is a word.
Love isn't something you feel, it's a connection with somebody. An intense yearning to be with them whenever you're apart. You'd do anything to be with this person and are willing to give up everything for their happiness.
Maria Etre Sep 2020
I played with all the tenses
but that also never changed what
could have been
will be
Proctor Ehrling Feb 2020
You're reaching the town
I left at your incentive
Your verb was a noun
My verb an adjective
I've built a rapport
On breaking my own heart unprovoked
You've built a house
You lie in it and burn to dust
Freestyle written in 3 minutes.
Maria Etre Jan 2020
I fell off the bed
little did I know
that I was
something I have already
fallen for
Martin Narrod Dec 2018
well then shepherd in the mess why does that sharpened cowl of wheat surround those sweet yams in the satchel, some scene of loosening transgressions, no pear ripening itself one dull, and one unfulfilling afternoon, rolls down over its branch of sister and brother father and mother Bartletts from the stem, only to make its way into the bottom of that stretched out tawny hide. Where by the wayside every other nobody can see straight inside when a hand moves in, sweeps its fist and then goes deeply down into that can of rotten novelties we all hate, but you feel keeps us in suspense. I wonder will it ever end? Bells busting from the insides of their guts, another candy shock, up and bounces, popcorn kernels, roasted almond slivers, and some preceding green vegetable posted on the 8th St. Diner marquee display on 9th, another advertisement fighting at the sore, devoured hunger for that silhouette following closely behind the moistened wells where my brush dabs lightly into the cup before the gouache and paint mixture begin to dry, that is where I wait and wonder why? Why? Pained with hunger but besmirched with fright, skin sweaty, knotted like muslin yards growing weak against the coil. So humbling were the groans that nearly a decade crossed swiftly across his face, only five or ten minutes had passed before another twenty years flowed into the vast matrix of the rivers of blue sweat marked by estuaries, creeks, and streams across the brow, down the cheeks, and ultimately across the neck, lazing down into the chest, before settling its heavy panic soaking in the guts. Where a heavy glass brick has been vitrifying in the sun, never have two people seen the steamy and piping-hot quarry go from its conviviality and festivity of life, into this shriveled up tree having found its way into the prairie where giant winds bend its branches and enormous thunderstorms nearly strangle it with its own roots. Frisked by sin and pangs of nostalgia in which a thousand thoughts intersplice the whorls imprinted upon our brains.
Thought circles
Jaylin Hoku Nov 2018
I forgot love is a verb;
Prove your words with the weight of your hands
I know from experience how heavy letters can line up to be
Now show me how love acts while it is silent
How resilient it can be when no one is listening
Trust me I will hear the sound of your trials and errors
The gavel will strike
shaking my heart
Forget butterflies
Seeing is believing
Says the visually impaired young lady of a poet
But if you allow my hands to trace your body of Braille
Maybe I will see the weight of your words
And feel your love becoming
Colm Jun 2017
Izaak is an introvert
Izaak likes his room and board exactly as it is, so that he isn’t bored
Quiet in his apartment, just as he was in his dorm
But soon his people started telling him, more and more
That he needs to get out more
That he needed to go out an explore
Just in case he ever should look back and wonder
What exactly it was, like if he wanted more?
And so he tried and so he went, out into the world
He spoke and socialized
He brought, and bought and spent until he himself felt very spent and worn
Because Izaak is an introvert, and for the outside he wasn’t meant to be
Let alone to be reborn, and so
After all the stretching, the social pains, the growing norms, which were not wrong
Just different, he was both different, and the same
And in his room, he was welcomed him back
Once again, to the walls of printed ink and paint which he himself did create
Because Izaak, did indeed need to see the differences within his own eyes
But only in time to better understand and represent
The quiet life which he was meant to lead, inside
Because Izaak is an introvert
And no introverted thing is ever truly a waste of time
There is both the stretcher and the stretched. But in the quest, there is nothing wrong, just different. There is just preference. There are just different kinds of songs. All to be sung at the appropriate time. Beneath the sun, and the moon, and the monsoons heavy throng.
JGuberman Aug 2016
Your complexities
are compounded by my simplicities,
and since
you came to me
like the alphabet of a language
I cannot read
you will,
when you leave
depart unchanged.
I will be changed forever
like a root verb
which is built upon
to express
a more complex idea.
Ellie Geneve Dec 2015
This is not a poem about
the feeling.
Give life to the feeling
and act upon it.
Or else,
it will die.
So, go ahead
and love.
love is an action verb
It's quite hilarious
When you say "I love you"
When in fact,
love is a verb
not a noun

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