Your Favorite Poems

[Diva]

Another favorite from Christina Rossetti



In The Lane

When my love came home to me,
Pleasant summer bringing,
Every tree was out in leaf,
Every bird was singing.

There I met her in the lane
By those waters gleamy,
Met her toward the fall of day,
Warm and dear and dreamy.
Did I loiter in the lane?
None was there to see me.

Only roses in the hedge,
Lilies on the river,
Saw our greeting fast and fond,
Counted gift and giver,
Saw me take her to my home,
Take her home forever.

[atomiczombie]

I Am A Beggar Always


i am a beggar always
who begs in your mind

(slightly smiling, patient, unspeaking
with a sign on his
chest
BLIND)yes i

am this person of whom somehow
you are never wholly rid(and who

does not ask for more than
just enough dreams to
live on)
after all, kid

you might as well
toss him a few thoughts

a little love preferably,
anything which you can't
pass off on other people: for
instance a
plugged promise-

the he will maybe (hearing something
fall into his hat)go wandering
after it with fingers;till having

found
what was thrown away
himself
taptaptaps out of your brain, hopes, life
to(carefully turning a
corner)never bother you any more

e. e. cummings

[Passionaria]

I love this woman, follow it all the way through and see where she takes it...

[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pYdmABW59Ds"]YouTube- "WTC" La Bruja[/ame]
I hope I can deliver live readings this well some day
Pashi

[Passionaria]

This is wonderful!Pashi

[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KyqwvC5s4n8"]YouTube- Poetry by Langston Hughes - The Weary Blues[/ame]

[Passionaria]

[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oWSe4t9v62I"]YouTube- Madonna - Bittersweet [RWB Video Mix][/ame]

Pashi

[Mister Bent]

the flesh covers the bone
and they put a mind
in there and
sometimes a soul,
and the women break
vases against the walls
and the men drink too
much
and nobody finds the
one
but keep
looking
crawling in and out
of beds.
flesh covers
the bone and the
flesh searches
for more than
flesh.

there's no chance
at all:
we are all trapped
by a singular
fate.

nobody ever finds
the one.

the city dumps fill
the junkyards fill
the madhouses fill
the hospitals
fill
the graveyards fill

nothing else
fills.

- Charles Bukowski

[violaine]

Gray, quiet and tired and mean
Picking at a worried seam
I try to make you mad at me over the phone
Red eyes and fire and signs
Im taken by a nursery rhyme
I want to make a ray of sunshine and never leave home

No amount of coffee, no amount of crying
No amount of whiskey, no amount of wine
No, nothing else will do
I've gotta have you, I've gotta have you

The road gets cold
Theres no spring in the middle this year
Im the new chicken clucking open hearts and ears
Oh, such a prima donna, sorry for myself
But green, it is also summer
And I wont be warm till Im lying in your arms

I see it all through a telescope:
Guitar, suitcase, and a warm coat
Lying in the back of the blue boat
Humming a tune...

- weepies

[atomiczombie]

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

Edward Estlin Cummings

[Tess]

Love Song
by Henry Dumas


Beloved,
I have to adore the earth:


The wind must have heard
your voice once.
It echoes and sings like you.


The soil must have tasted
you once.
It is laden with your scent.


The trees honor you
in gold
and blush when you pass.


I know why the north country
is frozen.
It has been trying to preserve
your memory.


I know why the desert
burns with fever.
It was wept too long without you.


On hands and knees,
the ocean begs up the beach,
and falls at your feet.


I have to adore
the mirror of the earth.
You have taught her well
how to be beautiful.

[kix4funchick]

The Moon by Emily Dickinson

The moon was but a chin of gold
A night or two ago,
And now she turns her perfect face
Upon the world below.
Her forehead is of amplest blond;
Her cheek like beryl stone;
Her eye unto the summer dew
The likest I have known.
Her lips of amber never part;
But what must be the smile
Upon her friend she could bestow
Were such her silver will!
And what a privilege to be
But the remotest star!
For certainly her way might pass
Beside your twinkling door.
Her bonnet is the firmament,
The universe her shoe,
The stars the trinkets at her belt,
Her dimities of blue.

[little_ms_sunshyne]

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close

[atomiczombie]

O hour of my muse: why do you leave me,
Wounding me by the wingbeats of your flight?
Alone: what shall I use my mouth to utter?

How shall I pass my days? And how my nights?

I have no one to love. I have no home.
There is no center to sustain my life.
All things to which I give myself grow rich
and leave me spent, impoverished, alone.

Rainer Maria Rilke