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Old 01-12-2012, 08:00 PM   #1
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Default New Body

There’s a sort of eternity
when we’re in bed together
whether silently you awaken
me with the flat of your hand
or sleep breathing with a small scratch
in your throat, or quietly attach
a bird to the sky I dream
as a way in to my body—

Now you have made me excited
to accept heaven as an idea
inside us, perpetual
waters, because you let yourself
fall from a sky you invented
to a sea I vaulted
when it was small rain
accumulating—My heart drained

there and fills now in time
to sketch in the entire
desert landscape we remember
as an ocean port,
that part of me accepting
your trust, a deep
voluptuous thrust into my hours,
that has no earthly power

but lives in believing you were made for me
to give in to completely,
every entry into you the lip
of water that is in itself scant hope
broken into like sleep
by kisses—Policed in the desert
by a shooting star, we are the subversive
love scratched out of the sky, o my visitor.

~ Jane Miller
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Old 01-12-2012, 08:05 PM   #2
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Default

I will love you.
And you will have no say in the matter.
You will be sitting reading. I will step through the wall
and take you by the ears.
Gold Latin will come out of your mouth.
Years will pass.
We will be old.
I will have loved you, against my nature,
no other being worthy,
thrown as I am on my own powers,
alone there.
And as we sit together reading you will say
“Did you really love me?”
And I will be terrified.


-Stan Rice
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Old 01-12-2012, 09:35 PM   #3
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Default

They say that 'Time assuages'
by Emily Dickinson

They say that "Time assuages"—
Time never did assuage—
An actual suffering strengthens
As Sinews do, with age—

Time is a Test of Trouble—
But not a Remedy—
If such it prove, it prove too
There was no Malady—
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Old 01-16-2012, 08:00 PM   #4
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Default

Sympathy
by Paul Laurence Dunbar

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats its wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings!
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Old 01-17-2012, 07:26 PM   #5
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Default

New Year's
by Dana Gioia

Let other mornings honor the miraculous.
Eternity has festivals enough.
This is the feast of our mortality,
The most mundane and human holiday.

On other days we misinterpret time,
Pretending that we live the present moment.
But can this blur, this smudgy in-between,
This tiny fissure where the future drips

Into the past, this flyspeck we call now
Be our true habitat? The present is
The leaky palm of water that we skim
From the swift, silent river slipping by.

The new year always brings us what we want
Simply by bringing us along—to see
A calendar with every day uncrossed,
A field of snow without a single footprint.
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Old 01-17-2012, 07:37 PM   #6
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Default Syllables

And somewhere,
inside the usual grammar
of morning,

between all the shortest syllables
of clock ring & water boil
egg tap & salt shake

you discover
you are
this body
that loves her

Even though
your finest words are gone
leaving only the smallest bones
the metatarsals
the humble feet
of your love
to beat out their passions
on two rough heels

It happens here
over tea,
sun shoots one flawless arrow
across the tip of your spoon
and into hers
-the way she looks up
over the rim of her cup
one green eye,
then two

& suddenly
all four corners
of your world
meet here;
in the central moon
of your saucer

perfect alchemy

and it is then
that you swap
the ordinary floss
of morning
for a glimpse
of what the love
of this body
will be

~ Chaia Heller
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Old 01-18-2012, 12:51 AM   #7
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Default


A Beautiful Stranger

At a mirror, naked, pleasing to herself

You really were pretty; let that moment last.
The rose-brown shield of your breasts,
A belly with a black tuft just recently grown.
And they would dress you immediately in languishing
Blouses, slips, wispy robes with trains.
You wore a corset in a fashionable shade of lilac,
On your thighs garters like the straps on armor.
They hung on you layers of ridiculous fabrics
So that you could take part in their theater
of pretended ecstasies, smutty allusions.
A slave; and such you remained in the photograph
Dimmed by emulsion and the coloring of time.
Did you rebel? Yes, it is quite possible.
To know for yourself, not to tell anybody
And from the nothingness of their words,
To protect the wisdom of your mocking body.

And I; am I now liberated
from those rituals, masks, the floodlights of the ball?
Have I escaped the law that draws me
into frozen fashions, half-dead manners?

I would like to save you, beautiful stranger.
Together we depart for eternal meadows.
You are naked again, and fifteen years old.
I take you by the hand, your promised one.
Think that nothing will happen to you
That was suppose to happen,
That you can be different,
That you are your own,
And not arrested by the exactness of fate.


Czeslaw Milosz
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“In the end, it’s not about how much stuff you have, it’s about how many hearts you touched,” — Iva Ursano.


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