love poems
Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
ART IS LIFE & A GIFT. Content Warning.
I wrote this earlier in 2025. Today I decided to create a video that I had in my brain. I am studying the new formats of AI. I use AI as a tool. Really getting bored with peeps who do not even want to learn the first concept of using AI as a tool. They go through pages of their colleague’s material and discard the material as they assume was created by AI. However, I used one of my poems I wrote in 1967. The result was it was 100% AI. In 1967 there was no AI, no computers, no cell phones, and no digital. So, peepers’ creepers of paranoia over AI research, write the author, ask them if they used AI to write. That is courteous to your colleague. I am 75 with degrees in nursing, business, and journalism. I studied real journalism not FOX yellow journalism. WE NEED TO BE KIND, SEARCH FOR TRUTH, RESEARCH BEFORE ACCUSATIONS TOWARDS YOUR COLLEAGUES.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 2 years ago in Poets
Whispers Beneath The Wisteria.
In twilight's hush, where shadows lean, mr. percival walked, proud and keen. A gentleman of quiet grace, with longing carved upon his face. He met her there,miss elowen, a garden bloom past mortal ken. Her voice, a lilt, her smile, a flame, and with one glance, love softly came. They danced where wisteria swayed, in secret light, where no words stayed. He touched her hand, the world stood still, two hearts entwined by unseen will. But duty called, as wars must do, and from her arms, he sadly flew. He kissed her once beneath the moon, and promised, "love, i’ll return soon." Now every eve, she walks the lane, through drifting mist and falling rain. Her heart still hears his vow, his call, "forever yours, dear percival." Beneath the blooms, time dares not sever a love that lingers on forever.
By Chris Liberty 2 years ago in Poets
