Your Favorite Poems

[StillettoDoll]

Bequest.

You left me , sweet , two legacies,-
A legacy of love
A heavenly Father would content,
Had He the offer of;

You left me boundaries of pain
Capacious as the sea ,
Between eternity and time ,
Your consciousness and me.

Emily Dickinson

[Stone-Butch]

It was a noble Roman,
In Rome's imperial day,
Who heard a coward croaker
Before he castle say,-
"They're safe in such a fortress:
There is no way to shake it!"
"On! on!" exclaimed the hero;
"I'll find a way, or make it!"

Is fame your asperation?
Her path is steep and high;
In vain he seeks her temple,
Content to gaze and sigh.
The shining throne is waiting,
But he alone can take it
Who says, with Roman firmness,
"I'll find a way , or make it!"

Is learning your ambition?
There is no royal road;
Alike the peer and peasant
Must climb to her abode;
Who feels the thirst for knowledge,
In Helicon may slake it,
If he hs still the Roman will
"To find a way, or make it!;

Are riches worth the getting?
They must be bravely sought;
With wishing and with fretting
The boon can not be bought;
To all the prize is open,
But only he can take it,
Who says, with Roman courage,
"I'll find a way, or make it!"

[kittygrrl]

Whatever happens with us, your body
will haunt mine—tender, delicate
your lovemaking, like the half-curled frond
of the fiddlehead fern in forests
just washed by sun. Your traveled, generous thighs
between which my whole face has come and come—

[Truly Scrumptious]

Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
a thousand deliciously ill-adivsed ways
I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
estimate, though I keep this from my children.
For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
For every loved child, a child broke, bagged,
sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
is at least half terrible, and for every kind
stranger, there is one who would break you,
though I keep this from my children. I am trying
to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
about good bones: This place could be beautiful
right? You could make this place beautiful.


~ Maggie Smith

[Reach *BANNED*]

Justice is the only worship.
Love is the only priest.
Ignorance is the only slavery.
Happiness is the only good.
The time to be happy is now,
the place to be happy is here.
The way to be happy is to make
others so.
Wisdom is the science of happiness.

- Robert G. Ingersoll

[Reach *BANNED*]

Always For The First Time


Always for the first time
Hardly do I know you by sight
You return at some hour of the night to a house at an angle to my window
A wholly imaginary house
It is there that from one second to the next
In the inviolate darkness
I anticipate once more the fascinating rift occurring
The one and only rift
In the facade and in my heart
The closer I come to you
In reality
The more the key sings at the door of the unknown room
Where you appear alone before me
At first you coalesce entirely with the brightness
The elusive angle of a curtain
It's a field of jasmine I gazed upon at dawn on a road in the vicinity of Grasse
With the diagonal slant of its girls picking
Behind them the dark falling wing of the plants stripped bare
Before them a T-square of dazzling light
The curtain invisibly raised
In a frenzy all the flowers swarm back in
It is you at grips with that too long hour never dim enough until sleep
You as though you could be
The same except that I shall perhaps never meet you
You pretend not to know I am watching you
Marvelously I am no longer sure you know
You idleness brings tears to my eyes
A swarm of interpretations surrounds each of your gestures
It's a honeydew hunt
There are rocking chairs on a deck there are branches that may well scratch you in the forest
There are in a shop window in the rue Notre-Dame-de-Lorette
Two lovely crossed legs caught in long stockings
Flaring out in the center of a great white clover
There is a silken ladder rolled out over the ivy
There is
By my leaning over the precipice
Of your presence and your absence in hopeless fusion
My finding the secret
Of loving you
Always for the first time


- Andre Breton

[AlexF]

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain

[AlexF]

In a realm where hearts embrace the night, Two souls entwined in love's soft light. Butch and femme, their spirits dance, A symphony of passion and romance.

Butch, strong and fierce, like a tempest's rage, A lioness in a tender cage. Her heart beats wild, her spirit free, Yet, in love's presence, she finds tranquility.

Femme, gentle as a whispered breeze, Her love a balm that eases, appease. With grace and charm, she draws them near, A goddess, captivating, without peer.

In their union, a balance formed, A love that's daring, yet adorned. Strength and tenderness intertwined, In each other's arms, they find peace of mind.

Their love defies the world's decree, Breaking chains that sought to decree. For love knows not the bounds they seek, In every shade and hue, it finds its peak.

Their hearts alight with passion's flame, Butch and femme, they are not the same. Yet, together, they create a tapestry rare, A love so bold, a love so fair.

Through judgment's eyes, they face the storm, But true love weathers, like the oak stands strong. Their souls entwined, they find their way, Bound by love's force, come what may.

In the beauty of butch and femme's embrace, Two halves converge, two hearts in chase. For love knows not the names we wear, It sees the soul, the love we share.

So let them love, and let them be, In this world of infinite diversity. For in the tapestry of love's grand art, Butch and femme etch their names on the heart.

Alex

[StillettoDoll]

I know not how it falls on me
This summer evening, hushed and lone
Yet the faint wind comes soothingly
With something of an olden tone

Forgive me if I've shunned so long
Your gentle greeting earth and air
But sorrow weathers even the strong
And who can fight against despair.

Emily Bronte

[StillettoDoll]

What use is it to slumber here:
Though the heart may be sad and weary
What use is it just slumber here
Though the day rise dark and dreary


For the mist may break and the sun is high
And this soul forget it sorrow
And the rosy ray of the closing day
May promise a brighter morrow.

Emily Bonte

[StillettoDoll]

First flower of spring pressing
through snow like plum trumpet
proud young mouths awaiting rain.
A waxy and delicate promise
for earthworm month, sparrow season.
Last flower of winter pressing
through snow like end credits
grand gesture, the urgent purpling
wound necessary for a warm
glossy blossoming that will follow.

-Rao

[StillettoDoll]

No matter how often you
are called beautiful, it is
still possible to remain shy
She removed her moonbeam robe
first, Then the dew dress.
Now in glaring light she
reveals the reserved purr of
yellow ochre in her throat
She blushes while I stare
and quitely record my observations.


-Rao

[AlexF]

One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII
By Pablo Neruda
Translated by Mark Eisner

I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as one loves certain obscure things,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries
the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,
and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose
from the earth lives dimly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,
except in this form in which I am not nor are you,
so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,
so close that your eyes close with my dreams.

[StillettoDoll]

The moon was so full tonight
the waves
rolled over laughing.
They're in cahoots .

as soon as the sky
runs out of blue
the waves call
the moon over and
raise up thier skirts
for a wild night.

After they quiet down
a glistening white stripe
appears on the wet sand.

Listen: after the tide slip out
a drunken chorus arises.
When everything is spent
a love song remains.
They are singing
a sweet song about you.
They all love you.

Like the rest of us
They'd do anything
to bring your radiance
a little closer.

Ellen O'Brian