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I gazed awhile
On her cold smile; Too cold—too cold for me— There passed, as a shroud, A fleecy cloud, And I turned away to thee, Proud Evening Star, In thy glory afar And dearer thy beam shall be; For joy to my heart Is the proud part Thou bearest in Heaven at night, And more I admire Thy distant fire, Than that colder, lowly light. aka Edgar Allan Poe |
She Walks In Beauty like the night
She Walks In Beauty like the night
a poem by Lord Byron She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent! |
How neatly a cat sleeps,
sleeps with its paws and its posture, sleeps with its wicked claws, and with its unfeeling blood, sleeps with all the rings-- a series of burnt circles-- which have formed the odd geology of its sand-colored tail. I should like to sleep like a cat, with all the fur of time, with a tongue rough as flint, with the dry sex of fire; and after speaking to no one, stretch myself over the world, over roofs and landscapes, with a passionate desire to hunt the rats in my dreams. I have seen how the cat asleep would undulate, how the night flowed through it like dark water; and at times, it was going to fall or possibly plunge into the bare deserted snowdrifts. Sometimes it grew so much in sleep like a tiger's great-grandfather, and would leap in the darkness over rooftops, clouds and volcanoes. Sleep, sleep cat of the night, with episcopal ceremony and your stone-carved moustache. Take care of all our dreams; control the obscurity of our slumbering prowess with your relentless heart and the great ruff of your tail. Pablo Neruda |
The Fickle One
My eyes went away from me Following a dark girl who went by. She was made of black motherofpearl Made of darkpurple grapes, And she lashed my blood With her tail of fire. After them all I go. A pale blonde went by Like a golden plant Swaying her gifts. And my mouth went Like a wave Discharging on her breast Lightningbolts of blood. After them all I go. But to you, without my moving, Without seeing you, distant you, Go my blood and my kisses, My dark one and my fair one, My broad one and my slender one, My ugly one, my beauty, Made of all the gold And of all the silver, Made of all the wheat And of all the earth, Made of all the water Of sea waves, Made for my arms Made for my kisses, Made for my soul. Pablo Neruda |
[asking]
by Barbara Jane Reyes there is a ghazal swimming inside of her, wanting to be born. on the matter of foretelling, of small miracles, cactus flowers in bloom on this city fire escape, where inside your tongue touches every inch of her skin, where you lay your hand on her belly and sleep. here, she fingers the ornate remains of ancient mosques. here, some mythic angel will rise from the dust of ancestors’ bones. this is where you shall worship, at the intersections of distilled deities and memory’s sharp edges. the country is quite a poetic place; water and rock contain verse and metaphor, even wild grasses reply in rhyme. you are not broken. she knows this having captured a moment of lucidity; summer lightning bugs, sun’s rays in a jelly jar. this is not a love poem, but a cove to escape the flux, however momentary. she is still a child, confabulating the fantastic; please do not erode her wonder for the liquid that is your language. there is thunderstorm in her chest, wanting to burst through her skin. this is neither love poem nor plea. this is not river, nor stone. |
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep. Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then the little drops of anguish will all run together, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart. Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach; may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance. Don't leave me for a second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll have gone so far I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking, Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying? -Pablo Neruda |
Forse perché della fatal quïete
Tu sei l'imago a me sì cara vieni O sera! E quando ti corteggian liete Le nubi estive e i zeffiri sereni, E quando dal nevoso aere inquïete Tenebre e lunghe all'universo meni Sempre scendi invocata, e le secrete Vie del mio cor soavemente tieni. Vagar mi fai co' miei pensier su l'orme che vanno al nulla eterno; e intanto fugge questo reo tempo, e van con lui le torme Delle cure onde meco egli si strugge; e mentre io guardo la tua pace, dorme Quello spirto guerrier ch'entro mi rugge. Translation: To Evening. Sonnet by Ugo Foscolo Perhaps because you are the image of that fatal quiet so dear to me, you have come, O Evening! And when happy summer clouds and the gentle west wind are your escort, and when from snowy restless heights you send shadows and darkness into the world, you descend summoned always, and gently hold the secret ways of my heart. You make my thoughts wander forms that vanish into eternal nothing; meanwhile this cursed time flees, and with it, the throng of cares with which it me destroys; and while I gaze on your peace, that warlike spirit sleeps, that yet within me roars. |
thou thought......
as the stars above;
bestowed their tears for me to cleanse the darkness, now I see ....... an endless game from you to me. :candle: |
La Compiuta Donzella
Sonetto
A LA stagion che il mondo folgia e fiora accresce gioia a tutt’ i fin’ amanti: vanno insierne a li giardini allora che gli augelletti fanno dolci canti: la franca gente tutta s’ innamora, ed in servir ciascun traggesi innanti, ed ogni damigella in gioi’ dimora, a me m’ abbondan marrimenti e pianti. Chè lo mio padre m’ ha messa in errore, e tenemi sovente in forte doglia: donar mi vole, a mia forza signore: ed io di ciò non ho disio nè voglia, e ’n gran tormento vivo a tutte l’ ore: però non mi rallegra fior nè foglia. Translation: In the time when the world leafs and flowers In the time when the world leafs and flowers, gentle lovers' walks are long and joyous through the fields, to woods and bowers where little birds delight them with their song. Every man does service courteously: They fall in love, of their own free will, and every maiden spends this time in joy. But I have wept and I am weeping still since father goads me till I can't contain my feelings of bewilderment and grief: He wants me to accept, by force, a lord not of my liking or of my accord. So every hour I cry and live in pain — And take no joy in any flower or leaf. |
An Old Russian Prayer
Hear our prayer Lord, for all animals, May they be well-fed and well-trained and happy; Protect them from hunger and fear and suffering; And, we pray, protect specially, dear Lord, The little cat who is the companion of our home, Keep her safe as she goes abroad, And bring her back to comfort us. Anonymous |
for all my beloved black kittys and a shy little loveable tuxedo kitty who walks like a ninja in our home...
The Cat and the Moon
The cat went here and there and the moon spun round like a top, and the nearest kin of the moon, the creeping cat, looked up. Black Minnaloushe stared at the moon, for, wander and wail as he would, the pure cold light in the sky troubled his animal blood. Minnaloushe runs in the grass lifting his delicate feet. Do you dance, Minnaloushe, do you dance? When two close kindred meet, what better than call a dance? Maybe the moon may learn, tired of that courtly fashion, a new dance turn. Minnaloushe creeps through the grass from moonlit place to place, the sacred moon overhead has taken a new phase. Does Minnaloushe know that his pupils will pass from change to change, and that from round to crescent, from crescent to round they range? Minnaloushe creeps through the grass alone, important and wise, and lifts to the changing moon his changing eyes. William Butler Yeats |
. . . i dreamed the night
a heavy dream. in my Garden grew a rosemary tree. . . -- heimataerde - Ich habe die nacht getraumet |
Wind & Window Flower
Robert Frost Lovers, forget your love, And list to the love of these, She a window flower, And he a winter breeze. When the frosty window veil Was melted down at noon, And the caged yellow bird Hung over her in tune, He marked her though the pane, He could not help but mark, And only passed her by To come again at dark. He was a winter wind, Concerned with ice and snow, Dead weeds and unmated birds, And little of love could know. But he signed upon the sill, He gave the sash a shake, As witness all within Who lay that night awake. Perchange he half prevailed To win her for the flight From the firelight looking-glass And warm stove-window light. But the flower leaned aside And thought of naught to say, And morning found the breeze A hundred miles away. |
Variation On The Word Sleep Margaret Atwood I would like to watch you sleeping, which may not happen. I would like to watch you, sleeping. I would like to sleep with you, to enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head and walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of bluegreen leaves with its watery sun & three moons towards the cave where you must descend, towards your worst fear I would like to give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you from the grief at the center of your dream, from the grief at the center I would like to follow you up the long stairway again & become the boat that would row you back carefully, a flame in two cupped hands to where your body lies beside me, and as you enter it as easily as breathing in I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary. |
Dante Alighieri
Tanto gentil e tanto onesta pare
la donna mia quand'ella altrui saluta, ch'ogne lingua deven tremando muta, e li occhi no l'ardiscon di guardare. Ella si va, sentendosi laudare, benignamente d'umilta' vestuta; e par che sia una cosa venuta da cielo in terra a miracol mostrare. Mostrasi si' piacente a chi la mira, che da' per li occhi una dolcezza al core, che 'ntender non la puo' chi no la prova; e par che de la sua labbia si mova uno spirito soave pien d'amore, che va dicendo a l'anima: Sospira. Translation: So gentle and so pure appears my lady when she greets others, that every tongue trembles and is mute, and their eyes do not dare gaze at her. She goes by, aware of their praise, benignly dressed in humility: and seems as if she were a thing come from Heaven to Earth to show a miracle. She shows herself so pleasing to those who gaze, through the eyes she sends a sweetness to the heart, that no one can understand who does not know it: and from her lips there comes a sweet spirit full of love, that goes saying to the soul: ‘Sigh.’ :moonstars: |
Francesco Petrarca - Now That The Sky and Earth and Wind are Still
Hor che'l ciel, e la terra, e'l vento tace,
E le fere, e gli augelli sonno affrena, Notte il carro stellato in giro mena, E nel suo letto il mar senz'onda giace; Veglio, penso, ardo, piango; e chi mi sface, Sempre m' innanzi per mia dolce pena: Guerra il mio stato, d'ira e di duol piena; E sol di lei pensando ho qualche pace: Cosoe sol d'una chiara fonte viva Move il dolce, e l'amaro, ond'io mi pasco: Una man sola mi risana, e punge; E perch il mio martir non giunga a riva, Mille volte il doe moro, e mille nasco; Tanto dalla salute mia son lunge. Translation: Now, while the heavens, and the earth, and the winds are still, And beasts and birds are locked in sleep, Night's starry chariot makes its circles, and in its bed the ocean lies waveless; I watch, I think, I burn, I weep, and she who caused my anguish is ever present, and remains, to my sweet pain: Warfare is my state, full of anger and pain, and only thoughts of her bring any peace. Thus from one pure and living fount flows the sweetness and the suffering on which I feed; a single hand restores me and wounds; and, since my anguish knows no end, a thousand times a day I die, and a thousand times I am born, so great is the distance from my salvation. |
Giovanni Boccaccio - "I am a young maiden, and I willingly"
mi son giovinetta, e volentieri
m' allegro e canto en la stagion novella, merzè d' amore e de' dolci pensieri. Io vo pe' verdi prati riguardando I bianchi fiori e' gialli et i vermigli, le rose in su le spini e i bianchi gigli ; e tutti quanti gli vo somigliando al viso di colui, che me, amando, ha presa e terrà sempre, come quella eh' altro non ha in disio che' e' suoi piaceri. De' quai quando io ne truovo alcun che sia, al mio parer, ben simile di lui, il colgo e bacio e parlomi con lui, e com' io so, così 1' anima mia tututta gli apro, e ciò che '1 cor disia : quindi con altri il metto in ghirlandella legato co' miei crin biondi e leggieri. E quel piacer, che di natura il fiore agli occhi porge, quel simil me '1 dona che s' io vedessi la propia persona che m' ha accesa del suo dolce amore ; quel che mi faccia più il suo odore, esprimer no '1 potrei con la favella ; ma i sospiri ne son testimon veri. Li quai non escon già mai del mio petto, come dell' altre donne, aspri né gravi, ma se ne vengon fuor caldi e soavi, et al mio amor sen vanno nel cospetto ; il quai, come gli sente, a dar diletto di sé a me si muove, e viene in quella eh' i' son per dir : " Deh vien, eh' i' non disperi ! " Translation: I am young and fain to sing In this happy tide of spring Of love and many a gentle thing. I wander through green meadows gazing With blossoms gold and red and white ; Rose by the thorn and lily fair, Both one and all I do compare With him who, worshipping my charms, For aye would fold me in his arms As one unto his service sworn. Then, when I find a flower that seems Like to the object of my dreams, I gather it and kiss it there, I flatter it in accents fair, My heart outpour, my soul stoop down, Then weave it in a fragrant crown Among my flaxen locks to wear. The rapture nature's floweret gay Awakes in me doth last alway. As if I tarried face to face With him whose true love is my grace ; Thoughts which its fragrancy inspires I cannot frame to my desires, My sighs their pilgrimage do trace. My sighs are neither harsh nor sad As other women's are, but glad And tender ; in so fond a wise They seek my love that he replies By coming hither, and so gives Delight to her who in him lives Yet almost wept : " Come, for hope dies.' |
With A Flower
I hide myself within my flower, That wearing on your breast, you, unsuspecting, wear me too -- And angels know the rest. I hide myself within my flower, That, fading from your vase, you, unsuspecting, feel for me Almost a loneliness. - Emily Dickinson |
It Is At Moments After I Have Dreamed
it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes, when (being fool to fancy) i have deemed with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise; at moments when the glassy darkness holds the genuine apparition of your smile (it was through tears always)and silence moulds such strangeness as was mine a little while; moments when my once more illustrious arms are filled with fascination, when my breast wears the intolerant brightness of your charms: one pierced moment whiter than the rest -turning from the tremendous lie of sleep i watch the roses of the day grow deep. - ee cummings |
Dreams In The Dusk - Carl Sandburg
Dreams in the dusk,
Only dreams closing the day And with the day's close going back To the gray things, the dark things, The far, deep things of dreamland. Dreams, only dreams in the dusk, Only the old remembered pictures Of lost days when the day's loss Wrote in tears the heart's loss. Tears and loss and broken dreams May find your heart at dusk. |
Here I Love You - Neruda
Here I love you.
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself. The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters. Days, all one kind, go chasing each other. The snow unfurls in dancing figures. A silver gull slips down from the west. Sometimes a sail. High, high stars. Oh the black cross of a ship. Alone. Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet. Far away the sea sounds and resounds. This is a port. Here I love you. Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain. I love you still among these cold things. Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels that cross the sea towards no arrival. I see myself forgotten like those old anchors. The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there. My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose. I love what I do not have. You are so far. My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights. But night comes and starts to sing to me. The moon turns its clockwork dream. The biggest stars look at me with your eyes. And as I love you, the pines in the wind want to sing your name with their leaves of wire. |
Sonnet 10 Yet Love, Mere Love, is Beautiful Indeed - Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright, Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed: And love is fire. And when I say at need I love thee . . . mark! . . . I love thee—in thy sight I stand transfigured, glorified aright, With conscience of the new rays that proceed Out of my face toward thine. There's nothing low In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures Who love God, God accepts while loving so. And what I feel, across the inferior features Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show How that great work of Love enhances Nature's. |
Rememberance - Maya Angelou
Your hands easy
weight, teasing the bees hived in my hair, your smile at the slope of my cheek. On the occasion, you press above me, glowing, spouting readiness, mystery rapes my reason When you have withdrawn your self and the magic, when only the smell of your love lingers between my breasts, then, only then, can I greedily consume your presence. |
Barefoot - Anne Sexton
Loving me with my shoes off
means loving my long brown legs, sweet dears, as good as spoons; and my feet, those two children let out to play naked. Intricate nubs, my toes. No longer bound. And what's more, see toenails and all ten stages, root by root. All spirited and wild, this little piggy went to market and this little piggy stayed. Long brown legs and long brown toes. Further up, my darling, the woman is calling her secrets, little houses, little tongues that tell you. There is no one else but us in this house on the land spit. The sea wears a bell in its navel. And I'm your barefoot wench for a whole week. Do you care for salami? No. You'd rather not have a scotch? No. You don't really drink. You do drink me. The gulls kill fish, crying out like three-year-olds. The surf's a narcotic, calling out, I am, I am, I am all night long. Barefoot, I drum up and down your back. In the morning I run from door to door of the cabin playing chase me. Now you grab me by the ankles. Now you work your way up the legs and come to pierce me at my hunger mark |
A Dream Pang - Robert Frost
I had withdrawn in forest, and my song
Was swallowed up in leaves that blew always; And to the forest edge you came one day (This was my dream) and looked and pondered long, But did not enter, though the wish was strong: You shook your pensive head as who should say, 'I dare not--too far in his footsteps stray-- He must seek me would he undo the wrong. Not far, but near, I stood and saw it all Behind low boughs the trees let down outside; And the sweet pang it cost me not to call And tell you that I saw does still abide. But 'tis not true that thus I dwelt aloof, For the wood wakes, and you are here for proof. |
Dream Love by George William Russell
I did not deem it half so sweet
To feel thy gentle hand, As in a dream thy soul to greet Across wide leagues of land. Untouched more near to draw to you Where, amid radiant skies, Glimmered thy plumes of iris hue, My Bird of Paradise. Let me dream only with my heart, Love first, and after see: Know thy diviner counterpart Before I kneel to thee. So in thy motions all expressed Thy angel I may view: I shall not on thy beauty rest, But beauty’s self in you. |
Have You Got A Brook in your Little Heart - Emily Dickinson
Have you got a brook in your little heart,
Where bashful flowers blow, And blushing birds go down to drink, And shadows tremble so? And nobody, knows, so still it flows, That any brook is there; And yet your little draught of life Is daily drunken there. Then look out for the little brook in March, When the rivers overflow, And the snows come hurrying from the hills, And the bridges often go. And later, in August it may be, When the meadows parching lie, Beware, lest this little brook of life Some burning noon go dry! |
The Moment - Margaret Atwood
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage you stand in the centre of your room, house, half-acre, square mile, island, country, knowing at last how you got there, and say, I own this, is the same moment when the trees unloose their soft arms from around you, the birds take back their language, the cliffs fissure and collapse, the air moves back from you like a wave and you can't breathe. No, they whisper. You own nothing. You were a visitor, time after time climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming. We never belonged to you. You never found us. It was always the other way round. |
HYMN TO APHRODITE
by: Sappho
THRONED in splendor, immortal Aphrodite! Child of Zeus, Enchantress, I implore thee Slay me not in this distress and anguish, Lady of beauty. <<disallowed word>> Hither come as once before thou camest, When from afar thou heard'st my voice lamenting, Heard'st and camest, leaving thy glorious father's Palace golden, <<disallowed word>> Yoking thy chariot. Fair the doves that bore thee; Swift to the darksome earth their course directing, Waving their thick wings from the highest heaven Down through the ether. <<disallowed word>> Quickly they came. Then thou, O blessed goddess, All in smiling wreathed thy face immortal, Bade me tell thee the cause of all my suffering, Why now I called thee; <<disallowed word>> What for my maddened heart I most was longing. "Whom," thou criest, "dost wish that sweet Persuasion Now win over and lead to thy love, my Sappho? Who is it wrongs thee? <<disallowed word>> Come then now, dear goddess, and release me From my anguish. All my heart's desiring Grant thou now. Now too again as aforetime, Be thou my ally. |
Clenched Soul - Neruda
We have lost even this twilight.
No one saw us this evening hand in hand while the blue night dropped on the world. I have seen from my window the fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops. Sometimes a piece of sun burned like a coin in my hand. I remembered you with my soul clenched in that sadness of mine that you know. Where were you then? Who else was there? Saying what? Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly when I am sad and feel you are far away? The book fell that always closed at twilight and my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet. Always, always you recede through the evenings toward the twilight erasing statues. |
Looking at Each Other
Muriel Rukeyser 1978 Yes, we were looking at each other Yes, we knew each other very well Yes, we had made love with each other many times Yes, we had heard music together Yes, we had gone to the sea together Yes, we had cooked and eaten together Yes, we had laughed often day and night Yes, we fought violence and knew violence Yes, we hated the inner and outer oppression Yes, that day we were looking at each other Yes, we saw the sunlight pouring down Yes, the corner of the table was between us Yes, our eyes saw each other's eyes Yes, our mouths saw each other's mouths Yes, our breasts saw each other's breasts Yes, our bodies entire saw each other Yes, it was beginning in each Yes, it threw waves across our lives Yes, the pulses were becoming very strong Yes, the beating became very delicate Yes, the calling the arousal Yes, the arriving the coming Yes, there it was for both entire Yes, we were looking at each other |
Surviving Life - Faith Elizabeth Brigham
i will speak
and speak out speak out loud if need be trying to reach you attempting to get through to you don't let the liars cheaters and despisers bring you down to their level tell you how to feel they are the losers the total opposite of you your love and compassion makes you rise high above the rest afterall, we are survivors you and i knowing full well our faith will see us through |
Stream of Life - Rabindranath Tagore
The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day
runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers. It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of death, in ebb and in flow. I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment. |
A Dream Pang - Robert Frost
I had withdrawn in forest, and my song
Was swallowed up in leaves that blew alway; And to the forest edge you came one day This was my dream and looked and pondered long, But did not enter, though the wish was strong: you shook your pensive head as who should say, 'I dare not--to far in his footsteps stray- He must seek me would he undo the wrong.' Not far, but near, I stood and saw it all behind low boughs the trees let down outside; And the sweet pang it cost me not to call And tell you that I saw does still abide. But 'tis not true that thus I dwelt aloof, For the wood wakes, and you are here for proof. |
Acceptance - Robert Frost
When the spent sun throws up its rays on cloud
And goes down burning into the gulf below, No voice in nature is heard to cry aloud At what has happened. Birds, at least must know It is the change to darkness in the sky. Murmuring something quiet in her breast, One bird begins to close a faded eye; Or overtaken too far from his nest, Hurrying low above the grove, some waif Swoops just in time to his remembered tree. At most he thinks or twitters softly, 'Safe! Now let the night be dark for all of me. Let the night be too dark for me to see Into the future. Let what will be, be.' |
Shadows of Love - Anne Taylor
I heard you call my name, I saw your smiling face.
When I turned around I couldn't find you. Where did you go? Why did you leave? For I do so miss all our bliss. We were as one, with promises to never leave. Standing tall and proud, we're now crumbling down. You smiled down at me, letting me know You're still around. Watching over me, Sometimes with a frown. Sometimes I still hear the whisper of your voice. Or was it the wind, just whistling my name. I turned around to see, the shadow of your frame. Or was that just the tree we planted for you and me. I knew you're still here guiding me. No matter how far I travel, wherever I roam. You'll always be beside me to love and guide me. Till I find my way back home. |
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