Language of love

Language of love

Do you remember when …?
I do.
It’s always now.

When the time comes
to utter words of affection
the speaker steps into the spotlight
of vulnerability
as the private currency of love
is shared using public language

the wordy declaration
is paired with over exposure –
like a photograph left too long in the light

emotional nakedness is not optional
for many long elasticated moments

The previously discrete emotions
(used to swirling around like rush hour traffic in your own head)
crash, tumble or flow
as they will
each syllable is laden
with the hope of distant travellers
as it is charged to carry the true message well.

Upon receipt of the declaration
remember …
lovers are notoriously unreliable witnesses
even to their own feelings
so they default to common emotional phrases
and say, ‘I love you,’
and mean, ‘I dream of you even when I’m not sleeping’.

Love, Oh Love.

© Marjorie H Morgan

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Liberal love

Liberal love

Can you love
and still
let live?

Friends remain silent
and operate liberalism
in so many areas of
each other’s lives

Lovers, like families, equate intimacy
with ownership and licence
to forgo politeness
and kind behaviour –
with obvious results.

Series of tiny wars
pepper their paths
as unity crumbles
omnipotence rises
because secrets are eliminated
equanimity is likewise destroyed.

Can you be close,
can you love
and still
let live?

If humour lives
between you,

Liberal love lives with laughter.

© Marjorie H Morgan

Between you

Between you

Intimacy is delicious privacy
between you
and your other –
what is suggested in public
is real
together, in private.

The controlled public act of ambiguity
gives way to
spontaneous, instinctive
that flow
tender sweetness and raw dizzying passion
in the blink of an eye.

The eagerness to be one
displaces any uncomfortableness
that phantom-like appears between you
passion renames clumsiness
as earnest desire,
it cancels judgement and replaces
it with the glory of unbounded wonder
at the exquisiteness of … this moment, together
as one.

Love is, is love …

Rational thought is suspended
as you both inhabit a prolonged joy-full madness of unrestrained passion.

Love is, is love.

© Marjorie H Morgan

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The truth

Love, like water
will always find its way through
every dam(n) thing
erected to keep it at bay.

One drop, or an ocean,
it’s still pure love.

We live like salmon,
courageously jumping upstream
we persistently
our way
because that’s where love lives.

The river can’t deny
to the determined, muscular salmon
any more
than the heart can deny
the quiet insistence
of the truth of love.

© Marjorie H Morgan

Glorious Kintsugi

Glorious Kintsugi

Looking in –

in-side and in the mirror

I feelingly see the marks
of the wounds
that have long decorate my heart and

like liquid gold
in broken vessels
I marvel at the absolute beauty
of my scars.

Worn like medals after a battle,
these wounds are badges
singing arias of my survival
– because scars are solely the possessions of the living.

© Marjorie H Morgan

Life story

On the threshold …

My life is my (public) story
I’m telling it to you all the time
with my words, actions and
… omissions.
I constantly give away the plot to my story.

Are you listening?

It’s in the lining of my laughter,
on the surface of my tears,
in the roots of my silence –
these are the stories behind the story of me.

I’m refining, redefining myself
Choices, as powerful as love and hate
hone my life narrative.

I’m always letting go …
of the past
and being transformed into
a new part of me.

This is …
the story
behind the story
of me.

The diamond in the coal.

Copyright 2016 Marjorie H Morgan

Rebel heart

The rebel heart
cannot be controlled.

It goes against the grain
and steadily makes its way into the
deepest ravine
and to the peak of the highest mountain.

Guides, who have walked this way before,
leave copious notes,
and well-placed signposts.
There are
warnings galore – everywhere.

the heart is blind
to all in the world
but its own dedicated course,
navigated by internal truth,
driven by permanent hope.

It will not be told.
It cannot be corralled
by anything
apart from


© Marjorie H Morgan