New Love Poems

New Love Poems

by Terry Benczik

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What is love? How do we get and keep that almost indescribably happy feeling?

The collection, New Love Poems, by award-winning poet Terry Benczik moves with tenderness, sensitivity, and humor through love’s many moods. The book reflects the wild adventure and charming idyll that romantic feelings provide.

It describes a woman’s journey of love


What is love? How do we get and keep that almost indescribably happy feeling?

The collection, New Love Poems, by award-winning poet Terry Benczik moves with tenderness, sensitivity, and humor through love’s many moods. The book reflects the wild adventure and charming idyll that romantic feelings provide.

It describes a woman’s journey of love through a jungle of emotions, from attraction and excitement through hurt, despair, longing, and hope. There are also portraits of feelings of love that soar and bring the reader to an elevated territory. The thoughts and feelings here are images and stories we might all recognize and cherish. Some poems spark sentiment, wistfulness, desire, and laughter. Other poems reflect love, not just for a romantic partner, but for humanity and the divine beloved; conveying a realization that the love we carry in our hearts is the most precious gift we can give to ourselves and to others.

“Reading poetry awakens our own inner artisan energies and transforms us. New Love Poems is a treasure of blessing-filled healing poems for both heart and soul. Terry Benczik is truly Rumi’s daughter with her profound, authentic heart poetry.”

—Rev. Jayne Howard Feldman, author of Commune with the Angels, Driving Under the Influence of Angels, and Angels by My Side

“Well, a rare combination of talents is our Terry Benczik! She is fully conscious of the joys of human life—that ‘pleasing, anxious being,’ as Thomas Gray so memorably described it; and simultaneously she is movingly mindful of Virgil’s ‘tears of things’ (lacrimae rerum). Yet she somehow manages to suffuse a tender charm over both these aspects of our mortal experiences, both the weeping and the laughter. I’m sure it is her aesthetic sensitivity which I find so appealing—that gentle power, that verbal elegance, that poignant memorability, which characterizes her poetic achievement.”

—Colin Dexter, creator, Inspector Morse

Editorial Reviews

Kirkus Reviews
A wide-ranging collection of poems about love, extending from the personal to the spiritual and from the romantic to the platonic. Benczik's debut collection takes a broad look at love, beginning with wooing and flirtation and moving to romance, heartbreak, friendship, love for oneself and experiences with the divine. The characters in the romantic love poems are often left unnamed, creating the feeling of a universal experience to which readers can easily relate. Although Benczik writes about heartbreak and rejection, love in her poems is almost always a source of healing; the collection tells of new loves that "kissed the tears away" and the speaker's quest for love in the wake of Hurricane Sandy and the 9/11 attacks. The longer narrative poems are tempered by shorter pieces that evoke a Dorothy Parker–esque sense of humor. In "Valentine's Day," she says simply, "A celebrated date / to osculate / your mate." Her tongue-in-cheek wisecracks are evident throughout but so are a sense of genuine hopefulness and a desire to uplift and enlighten the reader. The poems frequently break into the second person with words of wisdom and comfort. "I want to give you this gift in case you were missing it like I was," the narrator says after describing a long struggle to gain attention from others. "So now, let's tell everybody the secret / You have God's Full Attention, too." Religion is a recurring theme, but as with the rest of the collection, the poems attempt to represent a broad range of experiences; Buddha appears in addition to Catholic saints, and an unspecified God makes multiple appearances. The poems often venture into rhyme but never adhere to a fixed form for long. Readers are left with the lingering sensation that this talented new author is not only exploring love, but her own poetic voice and range. A sweet, philosophical collection of poems about love in all its forms.

Product Details

Balboa Press
Publication date:
Product dimensions:
6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.38(d)

Read an Excerpt

New Love Poems

By Terry Benczik

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2013 Terry Benczik
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4525-7521-6



    On Seeing Stewart Granger
    in a Deli on 57th Street

    A royal prince walked in;
    (He must have been!)
    so stunning, my jaw dropped,
    and everything in the deli
    literally stopped.
    The manager marched over.
    "Sir, do I know you?
    You look familiar ..."
    And he, smile bemused,
    hair of silver, said,
    "I was an actor ...
    a swashbuckler ..."
    Then, in his best
    pirate stance,
    he smiled at the gawpers
    circled around him
    while making a fencing
    gesture in the air with his hand.
    No one who was in line to get
    their sandwiches
    thought about food.
    I wanted to break into applause
    and congratulate him
    for all he was.
    Instead, there was a quiet
    bow, invisible somehow.
    All we could do was stare.
    New Yorkers, yes.
    But he was magnificent—
    A rare thing.
    So graceful, so present.
    I have never seen such
    polish and élan.
    He was soon given his takeaway
    and was gone.
    And though I'm not a fan
    of his film chronology,
    I say this now
    without apology.
    Sometimes, when I'm missing glamour
    or I'm bored,
    I think of the day
    of the splendid swashbuckler
    and his sword.

British actor Stewart Granger was primarily cast in romantic and heroic film roles, including numerous costume dramas. His popularity was greatest from the 1940s to the 1960s. Mr. Granger wielded a sword in films such as The Prisoner of Zenda, The Swordsman of Siena, and Moonfleet.

    What I Really Wanted to
    Say Instead of "Hello"

    Your eyes are so big
    and so blue     I could go swimming
    in them on a hot
    summer's day
    and never leave.

    Your Beautiful Face

    I remember calling my best friend
    and telling her I had feelings for you—
    a crush, probably—
    but I was certain I had feelings for you.

    The embarrassing thing is
    I couldn't recall the color of your eyes,
    whether you wore glasses, or
    even the shade of your hair.

    I remembered your laugh,
    your kindness, your gentleness,
    and the sound of your voice.
    But the rest—I was panicked!

    I never really looked at you as if you
    were in the swimsuit competition for
    Mr. America. I did remember that
    definitely, probably, you might be
    taller than me.

    I had known you for a little while, and yet
    the only truth I knew about you was you.

    I am charmed by you, the sum of your parts,
    and it is not about your nose or the angle
    of your cheekbones.

    My best friend reassured me (the way best friends do),
    "You really do care for him. Your soul sees him.
    Calm down; breathe deep. There's a chance he sees
    who you are, too."

    But, she advised me (the way best friends do),
    "When you run into him, it's okay to take
    a good, long look and enjoy the scenery."

    So next time I meet you,
    I can't wait to see your beautiful face
    for the very first time.

    Dreams of Discovery

    There is that Lana Turner part of us
    that sits, with hair perfect, and cosmetics
    freshly applied, waiting in the Sweet Shoppe
    at the luncheon counter
    to be discovered by a famous magician
    who will make our dreams come true.

    Waiting for someone who truly sees us,
    who sees we are so amazing,
    the whole world must be informed.
    Who knows it is nothing
    to do with our appearance. Who sees the
    indescribable it that no one else owns.

    I am The Wizard concealed. I see your beauty,
    and I want to bring light to all that makes you
    sparkle in my eyes.
    These things take time.

    Be patient, that Lana Turner part of you.
    This sorcerer is careful, and your specialness
    is sublime. I must pretend not to see it
    in spite of myself. That way, we may allow room
    for the real magic to happen.

Lana Turner was a well-known movie actress who was discovered as a teen while drinking a cola at a soda fountain in Hollywood. Unlike other actresses who have had to endure years of struggle for recognition, Ms. Turner's path to stardom seemed predestined.



    Rumínatíons on Love

    Savaged by love,
    Destroyed by love,
    Ripped apart by love,
    My insides scooped out by love.
    Whipped by love,
    Enslaved by love,
    Tortured by love,
    Torn and shredded by love,
    Elevated by love,
    Lightened by love,     Time and time again, fooled by love.
    Abandoned by love,
    Flirted with by love,
    Left all bubbly and giggling by love.
    Boosted by love,
    Buoyed by love.
    Held afloat by love in a storm.
    Pieced together by love.
    Loved by love.
    Oh, love, what are you?
    Oh, love, who are you?

    Whoever, whatever the love is for,
    it is the same feeling:
    exalted, bigger than
    anything else in the whole world.
    Oh, love. I see you now.
    I know you now.
    I am love.


    hungry shark,
    always moving,
    sleek and firm.
    Some days, tuna;
    some days, caviar.
    Thirst never slaked,
    appetite never satisfied
    in an ocean
    filled with food.
    That's what I feel when I kiss you.

    The threat
    of teeth.
    A splash
    of cologne.
    Wild desire.
    I will
    be consumed
    like shimmering

    Coral reef,
    feeding frenzy.
    An adrenaline
    surge that
    races the
    That's what I feel when I kiss you.
    That's why I'll kiss you again.

    A Dangerous Poem

    This dangerous, dangerous poem
    with points so sharp, you could cut
    your fingers on the pages.

    It's too adult for children to read
    and could upset far too many people
    with the wrong thing on their minds.

    This poem is so dangerous, only the most
    trusted may view it.

    It has the potential to awaken grave emotions
    long buried!
    To make the dishonorable repent their sins.

    Yet it could wreak havoc in quarters I seek
    to protect.

    You see, this dangerous poem could cause you to
    realize the extent of my hidden feelings for you.
    That's more risk than I have ever wanted to take.

    For You, My Love

    Cast my fate with you?
    You tormented fellow.
    I love you for all of your faults.
    You love me too much to see
    these faults are shared.

    Expose me to the light? Don't!
    Too much sunlight fades everything.
    Keep us secret.

    I'll be your sweet inner whisper,
    the faraway look in your eye,
    the person you talk to when alone in the car.
    I was a good sleeper till I met you.
    Now I sit bolt upright in bed at odd hours,
    feeling your distant thoughts travel far and fast
    and kiss me awake.

    It's ridiculous to love you.
    But we are both fools for love.
    I have known nothing
    that compares to this.
    So let our story begin.


    My love for you is not complicated.
    It's a glass that's overflowing.
    You say you love me
    so much,
    you are scared
    to go forward.
    Where do we put all these feelings?
    You're afraid it won't last?
    What won't?
    Dive into the water.
    Love is not complicated.
    It's love.
    Happiness is a choice,
    not a far and distant land.

    The Letter

    My heart leaps,
    and I rush to the door,
    insert my key,
    hear the satisfying click.
    Inside, I wash my hands,
    a purifying ritual;
    I want to come to you clean.

    Then I run my finger
    under the lip
    of the envelope
    your own hand has addressed,
    your own mouth has sealed.

    I feel the lightweight papers
    in between my fingers
    and look intently
    for any impression that
    you wish to give me.

    I put the pages
    back inside—
    where your hands have been,
    where your lips has been—
    and lightly hold the envelope
    and smile.

    Letters are such satisfying things.
    Such intimate things.
    I would not feel
    the same way about you
    if all you did was text message.

    A Fleetíng Feeling

    Let me live inside this kiss.
    You are turmoil and remorse and regret
    and a longing for things of times past.
    You analyze everything.
    You think too much, you read too much,
    you feel too much. I want every bit.


    I was driving,
    and I got lost.

    Lost in your town.
    Lost in the place of you.
    Lost in the thought of you.
    Lost in the eyes of you.
    Lost in the you of you.


    I knew I was going somewhere,
    but my heart took its own direction.
    Lost, but not alone.



    Offíce Routíne

    Woman answers phone, lengthily, officiously, with
    her name, her title, company name, and the
    ever-polite, "May I help you?"
    Then she transfers the call
    to the correct extension and whispers,
    "Darn, wasted my sexy voice again!"

    Sea Storíes
    Land and sky both meet the sea,
    but all three seem to love equally.

    Ocean pours its soul upon the land,
    endlessly touching glistening sand.

    The sky is shy and meets the deep,
    quietly and softly, save when it will weep.

    Yet whom does the ocean love the best—
    the pulse of the earth held in her breast,

    or the thundering skies that make her rise
    and fall that her heart does call?

    Land and sky both meet the sea,
    but all three seem to love equally:

    the sea, the earth, the expanse of sky,
    they all have bigger hearts than I.

    The Ríver

    An ancient soothsayer told me
    in another life,
    I was a Chinese boy
    whose twin brother married well.
    I was not content.
    There was a special girl;
    yet my time was spent
    waiting for the right moment
    to speak of my intentions.
    One day, I discovered
    the girl I loved was taken
    to a village far in the north.
    My heart was on fire,
    and I found myself cursing fate for
    bringing you to a place
    I could never even imagine.
    I travelled for days
    and soon grew hungry, finding little food.
    Hearing news of you in the wind,
    I journeyed to a powerful river
    that lay between us.
    Tired and not a good swimmer,
    the river put out the light
    inside of me.
    In this life,
    I face that river
    over and over
    to try and get to you.
    When will this journey end in happiness?

    A Low, Mean Wínd

    A low, mean wind
    pulls off of the water
    and touches my face
    just enough
    to catch me off-guard.

    Like a lover's hand
    brushing against my ear
    it reminds me
    my body has been
    in a long, vacant sleep.

    This low, mean wind
    it flutters and stirs
    and makes me
    sometimes feel that
    I cannot control
    anything that matters.


Excerpted from New Love Poems by Terry Benczik. Copyright © 2013 Terry Benczik. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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