Wednesday Scribblings, and we’re given some prompt phrases for inspiration. Somehow the phrases brought first love to mind for me. Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United, February 17, 2021 The image is by Smita Urunkar.
first love is a star-spangled
glorious rush of emotion
that takes the breath away.
suddenly the grass is greener,
the sky is bluer,
the night is bejeweled,
and the stars burst into
constellations of dance.
grasp this golden moment,
lose yourself in the euphoria
revel in the perfection of loving
and being loved .in return.
hold tight to the golden ring,
for love can be a monster…
or not.
... and who among us can forget our first loves .... humongous sighs from my little corner of the world.
ReplyDeleteWe are usually left thinking our first loves were monsters for breaking our hearts, aren't we? I am not sure I'd want to have no experiences with love beyond the first though. There is so much to learn about ourselves in loving and losing.
ReplyDeleteAfter reading your poem, I can see why the phrases made you think of first loves. Especially the bit about "constellations of dance". First loves can be so explosive and bright, and as formidable as your first stanza describes. I really love the wisdom of the last stanza.
ReplyDeleteLuv luv that art. Nice poem the or not is poignant
ReplyDeleteThanks for dropping by to read mine
Much💗love
A wondrous re-igniting of that beautiful feeling!
ReplyDeleteA ‘star-spangled glorious rush of emotion’ is how first love seems, especially in retrospect, but it can be so painful! In a similar way to the pain of giving birth, nature seems to anaesthetise us, and we do it all over again!
ReplyDeleteI like the way you combined the prompts and found myself nodding when I got to the end. I remember youthful love and how intense it felt--but I also feel like I dodged a bullet when all is said and done. :D
ReplyDeleteNice theme, Beverly. My first love was in first grade. We would hide on the steps of the storm cellar, she led but I was a willing follower. Her father took her out of public school and I never saw her again. She committed suicide at age twenty.
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It was for third grade that she left.
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The bloom of love is followed with a bit of wilting... but a seed always sprouts and blooms again! Lovely poem.
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ReplyDeleteFirst loves bring a smile. Lovely poem, Bev!
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