Love and Relationships - Placing_a_wedding_ring.jpg

15 Simplified Love and Relationship Poems | AQA GCSE POETRY ANTHOLOGY

Spread the word

Love and Relationships Poetry. Simplified.

Frances_Wedderburn_Webster_Cooper

When We Two Parted

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sank chill on my brow–
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell in mine ear;
A shudder come o’er me–
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well–
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met–
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?–
With silence and tears.

sever cut
thy your

foretold predicted

Sorrow Sadness

Thy Your
vows promises

thee you
knell ringing
shudder shake
o’er over
wert were
thou you
thee, you,
shall will
rue regret

grieve, suffer,

deceive lie to/fool

thee? you?

Neutral Tones - Walden_Pond

Neutral Tones

We stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was white, as though chidden of God,
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod;
– They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.
 
Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove
Over tedious riddles of years ago;
And some words played between us to and fro
On which lost the more by our love.
 
The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing
Alive enough to have strength to die;
And a grin of bitterness swept thereby
Like an ominous bird a-wing….
 
Since then, keen lessons that love deceives,
And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me
Your face, and the God curst sun, and a tree,
And a pond edged with grayish leaves.

as though like
chidden criticized
ash, powder left over after burning,
rove wander
tedious tiring
to and fro back and forth

bitterness anger
thereby by that/in that way
ominous scary
keen sharp/eager/ well-developed
deceives lies to

Winter Swans

The clouds had given their all –
two days of rain and then a break
in which we walked,

the waterlogged earth
gulping for breath at our feet
as we skirted the lake, silent and apart,

until the swans came and stopped us
with a show of tipping in unison.
As if rolling weights down their bodies to their heads

they halved themselves in the dark water,
icebergs of white feather, paused before returning again
like boats righting in rough weather.

‘They mate for life’ you said as they left,
porcelain over the stilling water. I didn’t reply
but as we moved on through the afternoon light,

slow-stepping in the lake’s shingle and sand,
I noticed our hands, that had, somehow,
swum the distance between us

and folded, one over the other,
like a pair of wings settling after flight

waterlogged (full of water)

in unison together

noticed (saw/heard/became aware of)

Singh Song - 640px-Corrie_Corner_Shop.jpg

Singh Song

I run just one ov my daddy’s shops
from 9 O’clock to 9 O’clock
and he vunt me not to hav a break
but ven nobody in, I do di lock –

cos up di stairs is my newly bride
vee share in chapatti
vee share in di chutney
after vee hav made luv
like vee rowing through Putney –

ven I return vid my pinnie untied
di shoppers always point and cry:
hey Singh, ver yoo bin?
yor lemons are limes
yor bananas are plantain,
dis dirty little floor need a little bit of mop
in di worst Indian shop
on di whole Indian road –

above my head high heel tap di ground
as my vife on di web is playing wid di mouse
ven she netting two cat on her Sikh lover site
she book dem for di meat at di cheese ov her price –

my bride
       she effing at my mum
       in all di colours of Punjabi
       den stumble like a drunk
       making fun at my daddy

my bride
       tiny eyes ov a gun
       and di tummy ov a teddy

my bride
       she hav a red crew cut
       and she wear a Tartan sari
       a donkey jacket and some pumps
       on di squeak ov di girls dat are pinching all my sweeties –

ven I return from di tickle ov my bride
di shoppers always point and cry:
hey Singh, ver yoo bin?
di milk is out ov date
and di bread is alvays stale,
the tings yoo hav on offer yoo hav never got in stock
in di worst Indian shop
on di whole Indian road –

late in di midnight hour
ven yoo shoppers are wrap up quiet
ven di precinct is concrete-cool
vee cum down whispering stairs
and sit on my silver stool,
from behind di chocolate bars
vee stare past di half-price window signs
at di beaches ov di UK in di brightey moon –

from di stool each night she say,
        how much do yoo charge for dat moon baby?

from di stool each night I say,
        is half di cost ov yoo baby,

from di stool each night she say,
        how much does dat come to baby?

from di stool each night I say,
        is priceless baby –

ov of

vunt want

di the

chutney fruit salad

vee we

dis this

dem them

stumble (trip while walking/make a mistake)

crew cut haircut

dat ar that are

ven when

ver where

hav have

precinct area
cum come

dat that

yoo you

priceless incredibly valuable

Love's Philosophy - Klamath_river_California.jpg

Love's Philosophy

The fountains mingle with the river
   And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
   With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
   All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
   Why not I with thine?—
 
See the mountains kiss high heaven
   And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
   If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
   And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
   If thou kiss not me?

mingle with meet

divine wonderful/God-related
mingle mix
thine your/yours

clasp hold (together)

disdained disliked
clasps holds (together)

thou you

Farmer's Bride - Millais_farmers-daughter.jpg

The Farmer's Bride

Three summers since I chose a maid,
     Too young maybe—but more’s to do
     At harvest-time than bide and woo.
              When us was wed she turned afraid
     Of love and me and all things human;
     Like the shut of a winter’s day
     Her smile went out, and ’twadn’t a woman—
            More like a little frightened fay.
                    One night, in the Fall, she runned away.
 
     “Out ’mong the sheep, her be,” they said,
     ’Should properly have been abed;
     But sure enough she wadn’t there
     Lying awake with her wide brown stare.
So over seven-acre field and up-along across the down
     We chased her, flying like a hare
     Before out lanterns. To Church-Town
              All in a shiver and a scare
     We caught her, fetched her home at last
              And turned the key upon her, fast.
 
     She does the work about the house
     As well as most, but like a mouse:
              Happy enough to chat and play
              With birds and rabbits and such as they,
              So long as men-folk keep away.
     “Not near, not near!” her eyes beseech
     When one of us comes within reach.
              The women say that beasts in stall
              Look round like children at her call.
              I’ve hardly heard her speak at all.
 
     Shy as a leveret, swift as he,
     Straight and slight as a young larch tree,
     Sweet as the first wild violets, she,
     To her wild self. But what to me?
 
     The short days shorten and the oaks are brown,
              The blue smoke rises to the low grey sky,
     One leaf in the still air falls slowly down,
              A magpie’s spotted feathers lie
     On the black earth spread white with rime,
     The berries redden up to Christmas-time.
              What’s Christmas-time without there be
              Some other in the house than we!
 
              She sleeps up in the attic there
              Alone, poor maid. ’Tis but a stair
     Betwixt us. Oh! my God! the down,
     The soft young down of her, the brown,
The brown of her—her eyes, her hair, her hair!

bide wait
woo. try to attract.

abed; in bed;

acre area of land

lantern lamp
shiver shake

to chat to talk

beseech beg

beasts wild animals

swift fast
slight small/short

rime, rhyme,

‘Tis It is

Betwixt Between

Porphyria's Lover

The rain set early in to-night,
       The sullen wind was soon awake,
It tore the elm-tops down for spite,
       And did its worst to vex the lake:
       I listened with heart fit to break.
When glided in Porphyria; straight
       She shut the cold out and the storm,
And kneeled and made the cheerless grate
       Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;
       Which done, she rose, and from her form
Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,
       And laid her soiled gloves by, untied
Her hat and let the damp hair fall,
       And, last, she sat down by my side
       And called me. When no voice replied,
She put my arm about her waist,
       And made her smooth white shoulder bare,
And all her yellow hair displaced,
       And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,
       And spread, o’er all, her yellow hair,
Murmuring how she loved me — she
       Too weak, for all her heart’s endeavour,
To set its struggling passion free
       From pride, and vainer ties dissever,
       And give herself to me for ever.
But passion sometimes would prevail,
       Nor could to-night’s gay feast restrain
A sudden thought of one so pale
       For love of her, and all in vain:
       So, she was come through wind and rain.
Be sure I looked up at her eyes
       Happy and proud; at last I knew
Porphyria worshipped me; surprise
       Made my heart swell, and still it grew
       While I debated what to do.
That moment she was mine, mine, fair,
       Perfectly pure and good: I found
A thing to do, and all her hair
       In one long yellow string I wound
       Three times her little throat around,
And strangled her. No pain felt she;
       I am quite sure she felt no pain.
As a shut bud that holds a bee,
       I warily oped her lids: again
       Laughed the blue eyes without a stain.
And I untightened next the tress
       About her neck; her cheek once more
Blushed bright beneath my burning kiss:
       I propped her head up as before,
       Only, this time my shoulder bore
Her head, which droops upon it still:
       The smiling rosy little head,
So glad it has its utmost will,
       That all it scorned at once is fled,
       And I, its love, am gained instead!
Porphyria’s love: she guessed not how
       Her darling one wish would be heard.
And thus we sit together now,
       And all night long we have not stirred,
       And yet God has not said a word!

sullen angry
for spite for revenge
vex frustrate

Porphyria (blood disease, which usually involves delusional madness, death and the avoidance of sunlight)

cheerless sad

Blaze Fire
cottage house
cloak coat
soiled dirty/dirtied

stooping bent over
o’er over
Murmuring Whispering
endeavour effort/try

dissever cut off

prevail win
feast food-based celebration
restrain limit/hold down
in vain without success (or without purpose)

debated (discussed back and forth)
pure total/totally/with nothing else mixed in

warily nervously

Blushed Became embarrassed

rosy wonderful
utmost extreme
scorned rejected
fled escaped

And thus And so

Sonnet 29 - General_Sherman_tree_looking_up-1.jpg

Sonnet 29 ('I Think of Thee!')

I think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there ‘s nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down,—burst, shattered, everywhere!
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee—I am too near thee.

thee! you!
thee, you,
nought nothing
straggling (moving slowly, behind others)
thee you
thy your

boughs branches

thee. you.

Walking Away

It is eighteen years ago, almost to the day –
A sunny day with leaves just turning,
The touch-lines new-ruled – since I watched you play
Your first game of football, then, like a satellite
Wrenched from its orbit, go drifting away
 
Behind a scatter of boys. I can see
You walking away from me towards the school
With the pathos of a half-fledged thing set free
Into a wilderness, the gait of one
Who finds no path where the path should be.
 
That hesitant figure, eddying away
Like a winged seed loosened from its parent stem,
Has something I never quite grasp to convey
About nature’s give-and-take – the small, the scorching
Ordeals which fire one’s irresolute clay.
 
I have had worse partings, but none that so
Gnaws at my mind still. Perhaps it is roughly
Saying what God alone could perfectly show –
How selfhood begins with a walking away,
And love is proved in the letting go.
 
pathos emotion

fledged feathered
wilderness (land area that has never been changed by people)

gait walk
 

hesitant fearful
eddying swirling
grasp grab/understand
convey bring across
scorching burning

Ordeals Struggles
 

irresolute undecided
Gnaw Chew
Perhaps Maybe

Follower - Henry_Herbert_La_Thangue_-_The_Last_Furrow_1895.jpg

Follower

My father worked with a horse-plough,
His shoulders globed like a full sail strung
Between the shafts and the furrow.
The horses strained at his clicking tongue.
 
An expert. He would set the wing
And fit the bright steel-pointed sock.
The sod rolled over without breaking.
At the headrig, with a single pluck
 
Of reins, the sweating team turned round
And back into the land. His eye
Narrowed and angled at the ground,
Mapping the furrow exactly.
 
I stumbled in his hobnailed wake,
Fell sometimes on the polished sod;
Sometimes he rode me on his back
Dipping and rising to his plod.
 
I wanted to grow up and plough,
To close one eye, stiffen my arm.
All I ever did was follow
In his broad shadow round the farm.
 
I was a nuisance, tripping, falling,
Yapping always. But today
It is my father who keeps stumbling
Behind me, and will not go away
furrow groove

reins, controls,

angled fished/planned

stumbled (tripped while walking/made a mistake)

plod. walk.

nuisance annoyance

stumbling (tripping while walking/making a mistake)

Mother, Any Distance

Mother, any distance greater than a single span
requires a second pair of hands.
You come to help me measure windows, pelmets, doors,
the acres of the walls, the prairies of the floors.

You at the zero-end, me with the spool of tape, recording
length, reporting metres, centimetres back to base, then leaving
up the stairs, the line still feeding out, unreeling
years between us. Anchor. Kite.

I space-walk through the empty bedrooms, climb
the ladder to the loft, to breaking point, where something
has to give;
two floors below your fingertips still pinch
the last one-hundredth of an inch…I reach
towards a hatch that opens on an endless sky
to fall or fly.

requires needs/demands

acres areas of land
prairies flat land areas

Anchor (boat holding device/source of support and security/TV reporter)

Climbing My Grandfather - The_Favorite_by_Georgios_Iakovidis.jpg

Climbing My Grandfather

I decide to do it free, without a rope or net.
First, the old brogues, dusty and cracked;
an easy scramble onto his trousers,
pushing into the weave, trying to get a grip.
By the overhanging shirt I change
direction, traverse along his belt
to an earth-stained hand. The nails
are splintered and give good purchase,
the skin of his finger is smooth and thick
like warm ice. On his arm I discover
the glassy ridge of a scar, place my feet
gently in the old stitches and move on.
At his still firm shoulder, I rest for a while
in the shade, not looking down,
for climbing has its dangers, then pull
myself up the loose skin of his neck
to a smiling mouth to drink among teeth.
Refreshed, I cross the screed cheek,
to stare into his brown eyes, watch a pupil
slowly open and close. Then up over
the forehead, the wrinkles well-spaced
and easy, to his thick hair (soft and white
at this altitude), reaching for the summit,
where gasping for breath I can only lie
watching clouds and birds circle,
feeling his heat, knowing
the slow pulse of his good heart.

brogues low-heeled shoe or boot
scramble move (quickly)/mix up
trousers pants
traverse travel over

splintered broke into small, sharp pieces
purchase (instance of buying something for money)

screed a thin, top layer of hard material

altitude height
gasping (suddenly taking short breaths in)

Eden Rock - Monet_dejeunersurlherbe.jpg

Eden Rock

They are waiting for me somewhere beyond Eden Rock:
My father, twenty-five, in the same suit
Of Genuine Irish Tweed, his terrier Jack
Still two years old and trembling at his feet.

My mother, twenty-three, in a sprigged dress
Drawn at the waist, ribbon in her straw hat,
Has spread the stiff white cloth over the grass.
Her hair, the colour of wheat, takes on the light.

She pours tea from a Thermos, the milk straight
From an old H.P. sauce-bottle, a screw
Of paper for a cork; slowly sets out
The same three plates, the tin cups painted blue.

The sky whitens as if lit by three suns.
My mother shades her eyes and looks my way
Over the drifted stream. My father spins
A stone along the water. Leisurely,
They beckon to me from the other bank.
I hear them call, ‘See where the stream-path is!
Crossing is not as hard as you might think.’

I had not thought that it would be like this.

Eden Very beautiful, peaceful place
Genuine Real/honest
trembling shaking

sprigged (decorated with a design of sprigs of leaves or flowers.)

Thermos food and drink container


Leisurely (relaxing/in a relaxed way)
beckon invite


Spread the word

Leave a Comment