Category Archives: love

Those loving words


...........................My love arrives
                          disguised by night
                         when daytime eyes
                        are closed
                        in sleep.
                         So soft
                            he breathes
                               that he may hear
                                 me as I speak
                                  those never-ending
                                  loving words
                                 to the rhythm
                                of his heart;
                               those words
                               he's heard
                                so oft' before.
                                   He strokes my hair
                                       and holds me close
                                          and whispers words
                                           into my ear;
                                         repeats those words
                                   those loving words
                           those long forbidden
                     loving words
                that only I
            may hear.
         He fills my
       yearning soul
       with love
        that makes
            me whole
                and though
                    at daybreak
                      he may go
                       his heart
                       will ever stay
                      and through
                     the night we
                    speak of love
                    'til sun's harsh rays
                     steal him away
                       and when I wake
                           I wake alone
                               but even though
                                   my heart may ache
                                     I know with no
                                      uncertain faith
                                      that when
                                     I go to
                                  sleep again
                              he will return
                        to kiss my face
                     and hold me close
                    and whisper words
                    of endless love
                     and he will
                         fill my

©Jane Paterson Basil

The ways of love


sometimes it comes bright
like lightening
striking suddenly, blinding you,
for a while or for a lifetime

sometimes it comes fierce
like a whirlwind
lifting you,spinning you,
ripping you until it is finished

and sometimes
it rides in on a warm breeze
an easy love,
gentle and sweetly pleasing

but she had never known
a love that could germinate
from such an unpromising seed
and to grow unseen,
to full maturity.

She feels its roots planted
firm within her heart,
its branches reaching for the sun,
and she inhales
the exotic blossom.


©Jane Paterson Basil




our lips spoke everyday sentences
murmering about who said what
and whether they should or did or would
while silent as a chaste kiss
our bodies whispered irrepressible promises
rarely slipping far into the illicit

he was a forbidden dream never to be fulfilled
and I was his wild virgin rose
his  secret temptation
out of reach of scarlet acts

so many times we met as if by accident
each of us knowing where the other would be
and I lay my head on his chest
enveloped in the beat of his heart
feeling no hunger or tickling need

he lifted me like a feather
and like a dead bird I fell when we were apart

no matter that he was never mine
no matter that we could not be together
and no matter how many times
and in how many ways
my flesh has been disloyal to these memories,
my heart nestles warmly next to his
and I have never, nor ever will betray him
by falling in love again


©Jane Paterson Basil

Tunnel vision



in the air between
the High street chatter, the cafe clatter
the girls that giggle, the toddlers that wriggle
the drunks that stagger, the studs that swagger
the shop window scene where mannequins preen

in the air between
the Christians that preach, the beggars that reach
the ice-cream man, the delivery van
the boys that slouch, the addicts that gouch
the political tracts with their questionable facts

our souls meet

and drift

to a distant island made of you and I

when we hear the echoes of the day
whispering in our ears
we think it is merely the sigh of a wayward wind

we smile indulgently
and we kiss

©Jane Paterson Basil

The promise of romance


I met a man in Nottingham.
when innocent and young.
He promised sweet romance
with his nickel-plated tongue.

He offered me fine cuisine,
then took me to a skip –
said if I wanted to choose my food
I was welcome to take first dip.

We dined on outdated chicken pies,
followed by stale fruit cake,
leftover cheese, damp crackers,
and mysterious spongy bake.

I said I’d like to see a play –
he vowed he’d find something better.
He walked me three miles into town
to search for street theatre

A drunkard played the castanets
to a tone-deaf woman’s song,
a man with but a single leg
pranced and hopped along.

He asked if I liked dancing –
I smiled in quiet assent.
He took me down a tatty street
and up some steps we went.

In his grimy, litter-strewn bedsit
at the end of a corridor;
we danced until we fell upon
a mattress on the floor.

We went to choose a wedding ring
at the jewellers one night;
I chose a band of platinum
and said it was just right.

The window smashed, I grabbed the ring,
but things did not go well;
the police were round the corner –
that’s why I’m in this cell.

So all young girls in Nottingham
who are innocent and young,
don’t listen to vows of sweet romance
from a man with a plated tongue.

©Jane Paterson Basil

How did I get to be so cynical…

be ready for all kinds of action
when love is the main attraction,
but know it could all turn to dust
if you find it is no more than lust.

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Lynn, over yonder at Word Shamble, has just come up with a nice little seven-day challenge. We get a one-word prompt each day on the subject of love, and we can write any kind of poem, or  prose we prefer, but she asks that we keep it short.

Today’s word is Attraction, and I couldn’t resist slinging a heavy metal object into the romantic machinery…

©Jane Paterson Basil

Locked and barred

This week, in the Sandbox Challenge, Calen asks us: What door have you closed in your life, and why? Will you ever open it again?

Embed from Getty Images

I used to dream of love and romance;
of marrying a reasonably handsome man
who would be the perfect companion
in every way. He would never fire me to anger
and would understand and support my many passions.
Together we would fashion our own private paradise
and he would never look twice at some big-busted bimbo
or overpriced impulse buy.
He would fill my days with laughter and smiles
and we’d while away the nights in intimate delight.
We would wish to die in each others arms
and pray there was a heaven,
so we’d never have to part.

But it all went wrong, and I gave up hope.
Now I take up my hammer and a heap of oak.
and even though I closed it six years ago or more,
I place a weighty plank across the door,
grab my tool, and drive the nails straight through.
I fix up a second plank, and then another two,
then check them and find that they’re secure,
but I add a load of screws, just to be sure.
Only now can I guarantee
that no man will ever try to romance me,
because they’ll never fight their way through the door,
and through all those heavy timbers which I pulled from my floor.

©Jane Paterson Basil

Home décor



she excels at selecting presents,
but although most of my accessories
enjoyed their first days in another place
I am obsessive about my colour scheme,
and I glanced uneasily at the gift-tagged package,
secretly fearing it may be differently shaded;
picturing Indian sequinned purple, or even
a tasteful but innappropriate shade of grey.
I should have had more faith.

star-spangled wrapping lies about my feet,
dampened by tears of appreciation
as I hug the cushion to me
the words “never forget you are loved”
emblazened across it’s crisp fabric
sinking into my torn heart and warming my cheek.

©Jane Paterson Basil