What are favorite short(ish) non-cheesy poems about love?
January 9, 2025 5:56 PM
I am looking for poems about all kinds of love -- romantic, sexual, platonic, familiar, friendly, whatever -- that aren't too long. Some sentiment is OK but nothing obvious. I like conflict or poetry that understands that love isn't always perfect.
I'm looking for ideas for Valentine's Day cards, which I do instead of Christmas/holiday cards. I don't necessarily need one true poem but a few to suit several relationships would be great.
I'm looking for ideas for Valentine's Day cards, which I do instead of Christmas/holiday cards. I don't necessarily need one true poem but a few to suit several relationships would be great.
Love Is, Nikki Giovanni
You might find her book, Love Poems, worth checking out.
posted by EvaDestruction at 6:20 PM on January 9
You might find her book, Love Poems, worth checking out.
posted by EvaDestruction at 6:20 PM on January 9
I love Edna St Vincent Millay's Sonnet XXX:
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.
posted by Jeanne at 6:28 PM on January 9
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.
posted by Jeanne at 6:28 PM on January 9
Don’t Hesitate - Mary Oliver
If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty
of lives and whole towns destroyed or about
to be. We are not wise, and not very often
kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this
is its way of fighting back, that sometimes
something happens better than all the riches
or power in the world. It could be anything,
but very likely you notice it in the instant
when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case.
Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid
of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.
posted by Iteki at 6:28 PM on January 9
If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy,
don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty
of lives and whole towns destroyed or about
to be. We are not wise, and not very often
kind. And much can never be redeemed.
Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this
is its way of fighting back, that sometimes
something happens better than all the riches
or power in the world. It could be anything,
but very likely you notice it in the instant
when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case.
Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid
of its plenty. Joy is not made to be a crumb.
posted by Iteki at 6:28 PM on January 9
Habitation by Margaret Atwood
Marriage is not
a house or even a tent
it is before that, and colder:
the edge of the forest, the edge
of the desert
the unpainted stairs
at the back where we squat
outside, eating popcorn
the edge of the receding glacier
where painfully and with wonder
at having survived even
this far
we are learning to make fire
posted by RGD at 6:49 PM on January 9
Marriage is not
a house or even a tent
it is before that, and colder:
the edge of the forest, the edge
of the desert
the unpainted stairs
at the back where we squat
outside, eating popcorn
the edge of the receding glacier
where painfully and with wonder
at having survived even
this far
we are learning to make fire
posted by RGD at 6:49 PM on January 9
If you'll forgive some cliches:
Auden - The More Loving One
Cummings - I Like My Body When It Is With Your Body
Donne - A Valediction Forbidding Mourning
Dickinson - Wild Nights
posted by foursentences at 7:02 PM on January 9
Auden - The More Loving One
Cummings - I Like My Body When It Is With Your Body
Donne - A Valediction Forbidding Mourning
Dickinson - Wild Nights
posted by foursentences at 7:02 PM on January 9
Your Catfish Friend - Richard Brautigan
If I were to live my life
in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond
and you were to come by
one evening
when the moon was shining
down into my dark home
and stand there at the edge
of my affection
and think, “It’s beautiful
here by this pond. I wish
somebody loved me,”
I’d love you and be your catfish
friend and drive such lonely
thoughts from your mind
and suddenly you would be
at peace,
and ask yourself, “I wonder
if there are any catfish
in this pond? It seems like
a perfect place for them.”
posted by Redstart at 7:03 PM on January 9
If I were to live my life
in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond
and you were to come by
one evening
when the moon was shining
down into my dark home
and stand there at the edge
of my affection
and think, “It’s beautiful
here by this pond. I wish
somebody loved me,”
I’d love you and be your catfish
friend and drive such lonely
thoughts from your mind
and suddenly you would be
at peace,
and ask yourself, “I wonder
if there are any catfish
in this pond? It seems like
a perfect place for them.”
posted by Redstart at 7:03 PM on January 9
Margaret Atwood
you fit into me
like a hook into an eye
a fish hook
an open eye
posted by VelveteenBabbitt at 8:16 PM on January 9
you fit into me
like a hook into an eye
a fish hook
an open eye
posted by VelveteenBabbitt at 8:16 PM on January 9
"The Wild Rose" by Wendell Berry
Sometimes hidden from me
in daily custom and in trust,
so that I live by you unaware
as by the beating of my heart,
suddenly you flare in my sight,
a wild rose blooming at the edge
of thicket, grace and light
where yesterday was only shade,
and once more I am blessed, choosing
again what I chose before.
posted by Lemkin at 9:06 PM on January 9
Sometimes hidden from me
in daily custom and in trust,
so that I live by you unaware
as by the beating of my heart,
suddenly you flare in my sight,
a wild rose blooming at the edge
of thicket, grace and light
where yesterday was only shade,
and once more I am blessed, choosing
again what I chose before.
posted by Lemkin at 9:06 PM on January 9
Not poetry yet my favourite poetry are the lyrics of Joni Mitchell.
Example: A Case of You.
posted by 15L06 at 10:35 PM on January 9
Example: A Case of You.
posted by 15L06 at 10:35 PM on January 9
What I Didn’t Know Before
Ada Limón
was how horses simply give birth to other
horses. Not a baby by any means, not
a creature of liminal spaces, but a four-legged
beast hellbent on walking, scrambling after
the mother. A horse gives way to another
horse and then suddenly there are two horses,
just like that. That’s how I loved you. You,
off the long train from Red Bank carrying
a coffee as big as your arm, a bag with two
computers swinging in it unwieldily at your
side. I remember we broke into laughter
when we saw each other. What was between
us wasn’t a fragile thing to be coddled, cooed
over. It came out fully formed, ready to run.
For What Binds Us
BY Jane Hirshfield
There are names for what binds us:
strong forces, weak forces.
Look around, you can see them:
the skin that forms in a half-empty cup,
nails rusting into the places they join,
joints dovetailed on their own weight.
The way things stay so solidly
wherever they've been set down—
and gravity, scientists say, is weak.
And see how the flesh grows back
across a wound, with a great vehemence,
more strong
than the simple, untested surface before.
There's a name for it on horses,
when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,
as all flesh,
is proud of its wounds, wears them
as honors given out after battle,
small triumphs pinned to the chest—
And when two people have loved each other
see how it is like a
scar between their bodies,
stronger, darker, and proud;
how the black cord makes of them a single fabric
that nothing can tear or mend.
posted by foxfirefey at 12:30 AM on January 10
Ada Limón
was how horses simply give birth to other
horses. Not a baby by any means, not
a creature of liminal spaces, but a four-legged
beast hellbent on walking, scrambling after
the mother. A horse gives way to another
horse and then suddenly there are two horses,
just like that. That’s how I loved you. You,
off the long train from Red Bank carrying
a coffee as big as your arm, a bag with two
computers swinging in it unwieldily at your
side. I remember we broke into laughter
when we saw each other. What was between
us wasn’t a fragile thing to be coddled, cooed
over. It came out fully formed, ready to run.
For What Binds Us
BY Jane Hirshfield
There are names for what binds us:
strong forces, weak forces.
Look around, you can see them:
the skin that forms in a half-empty cup,
nails rusting into the places they join,
joints dovetailed on their own weight.
The way things stay so solidly
wherever they've been set down—
and gravity, scientists say, is weak.
And see how the flesh grows back
across a wound, with a great vehemence,
more strong
than the simple, untested surface before.
There's a name for it on horses,
when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,
as all flesh,
is proud of its wounds, wears them
as honors given out after battle,
small triumphs pinned to the chest—
And when two people have loved each other
see how it is like a
scar between their bodies,
stronger, darker, and proud;
how the black cord makes of them a single fabric
that nothing can tear or mend.
posted by foxfirefey at 12:30 AM on January 10
My favourite (ridiculous, wonderful) love poem is Cristian Best's 'Io' which is too long to quote in full here but is definitely, definitely the best poem to feature the line "I want you on google street view"
posted by wattle at 12:34 AM on January 10
posted by wattle at 12:34 AM on January 10
Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
W. B. Yeats
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
posted by Bloxworth Snout at 2:10 AM on January 10
W. B. Yeats
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
posted by Bloxworth Snout at 2:10 AM on January 10
The Nantucket Girl's Song (https://nha.org/research/nantucket-history/history-topics/what-is-the-nantucket-girls-song/)
I have made up my mind now to be a Sailor’s wife,
To have a purse full of money and a very easy life,
For a clever sailor husband is so seldom at his home,
That his wife can spend the dollars with a will that’s all her own,
Then I’ll haste to wed a sailor, and send him off to sea,
For a life of independence is the pleasant life for me,
But every now and then I shall like to see his face,
For it always seemes to me to beam with manly grace,
With his brow so nobly open, and his dark and kindly eye,
Oh my heart beats fondly towards him whenever he is nigh,
But when he says Goodbye my love, I’m off across the sea
First I cry for his departure, then laugh because I’m free,
Yet I’ll welcome him most gladly, whenever he returnes
And share with him so cheerfully all the money that he earns
For he’s a loving Husband, though he leads a roving life
And well I know how good it is to be a Sailor’s Wife.
posted by starfishprime at 3:12 AM on January 10
I have made up my mind now to be a Sailor’s wife,
To have a purse full of money and a very easy life,
For a clever sailor husband is so seldom at his home,
That his wife can spend the dollars with a will that’s all her own,
Then I’ll haste to wed a sailor, and send him off to sea,
For a life of independence is the pleasant life for me,
But every now and then I shall like to see his face,
For it always seemes to me to beam with manly grace,
With his brow so nobly open, and his dark and kindly eye,
Oh my heart beats fondly towards him whenever he is nigh,
But when he says Goodbye my love, I’m off across the sea
First I cry for his departure, then laugh because I’m free,
Yet I’ll welcome him most gladly, whenever he returnes
And share with him so cheerfully all the money that he earns
For he’s a loving Husband, though he leads a roving life
And well I know how good it is to be a Sailor’s Wife.
posted by starfishprime at 3:12 AM on January 10
"Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra
and then suddenly it flips over,
pinning you underneath.
At night, the ice weasels come."
-- Matt Groening, "Life in Hell"
posted by mmoncur at 4:06 AM on January 10
and then suddenly it flips over,
pinning you underneath.
At night, the ice weasels come."
-- Matt Groening, "Life in Hell"
posted by mmoncur at 4:06 AM on January 10
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I wish I were close
To you as the wet skirt of
A salt girl to her body.
I think of you always.
I forget the author but if you want, I can find it tomorrow. I also quite like:
In the empty mountains
The leaves of the bamboo grass
Rustle in the wind,
I think of a girl
Who is not here.
They're both from 100 Poems from the Japanese, translated by Ken Rexroth.
Favorite longer love poem is Answer by Carol Ann Duffy:
If you were made of stone,
your kiss a fossil sealed up in your lips,
your eyes a sightless marble to my touch,
your grey hands pooling raindrops for the birds,
your long legs cold as rivers locked in ice,
if you were stone, if you were made of stone, yes, yes.
If you were made of fire,
your head a wild Medusa hissing flame,
your tongue a red-hot poker in your throat,
your heart a small coal glowing in your chest,
your fingers burning pungent brands on flesh,
if you were fire, if you were made of fire, yes, yes.
If you were made of water,
your voice a roaring, foaming waterfall,
your arms a whirlpool spinning me around,
your breast a deep, dark lake nursing the drowned,
your mouth an ocean, waves torn from your breath,
if you were water, if you were made of water, yes, yes.
If you were made of air,
your face empty and infinite as sky,
your words a wind with litter for its nouns,
your movements sudden gusts among the clouds,
your body only breeze against my dress,
if you were air, if you were made of air, yes, yes.
If you were made of air, if you were air,
if you were made of water, if you were water,
if you were made of fire, if you were fire,
if you were made of stone, if you were stone,
or if you were none of these, but really death,
the answer is yes, yes.
posted by dobbs at 6:06 PM on January 9