07-21-2014, 11:59 AM | #621 |
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Poem: "Morning Swim," by Maxine Kumin from Selected Poems 1960-1990 (Norton).
Morning Swim Into my empty head there come a cotton beach, a dock wherefrom I set out, oily and nude through mist, in chilly solitude. There was no line, no roof or floor to tell the water from the air. Night fog thick as terry cloth closed me in its fuzzy growth. I hung my bathrobe on two pegs. I took the lake between my legs. Invaded and invader, I went overhand on that flat sky. Fish twitched beneath me, quick and tame. In their green zone they sang my name and in the rhythm of the swim I hummed a two-four-time slow hymn. I hummed "Abide With Me." The beat rose in the fine thrash of my feet, rose in the bubbles I put out slantwise, trailing through my mouth. My bones drank water; water fell through all my doors. I was the well that fed the lake that met my sea in which I sang "Abide With Me." |
07-28-2014, 10:25 PM | #622 |
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Love Poem to a Butch Woman
BY DEBORAH A. MIRANDA This is how it is with me: so strong, I want to draw the egg from your womb and nourish it in my own. I want to mother your child made only of us, of me, you: no borrowed seed from any man. I want to re-fashion the matrix of creation, make a human being from the human love that passes between our bodies. Sweetheart, this is how it is: when you emerge from the bedroom in a clean cotton shirt, sleeves pushed back over forearms, scented with cologne from an amber bottle—I want to open my heart, the brightest aching slit of my soul, receive your pearl. I watch your hands, wait for the sign that means you’ll touch me, open me, fill me; wait for that moment when your desire leaps inside me. |
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07-28-2014, 10:29 PM | #623 |
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Hold Back
Stinging my brain like a million sharp needles Under my skin’s confines You rise up against me Full and warm with dripping wet desires I fight the urges back To just take you now Ripping against the mental confines To tear you apart I hold back every ounce Until I cannot take it any longer Bent, twisted thoughts Must I take you with force and lash Swift crushing blows Like waves crashing on rocky shores Deafened ears can only hear One whimper from far below… |
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07-28-2014, 10:37 PM | #624 |
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New Age
via Linebreak by J. P. Dancing Bear on 3/22/11 As surely as architects fall in love with angles and lines I come to you adjusting my buttons and lapel fascinated by the hover of your dress as though you floated into the room a jellyfish a single bulb She's not on the same field of play they'd all whispered to me yet I lean forward closer to you and away from my secured counsel As you speak whole cities blossom within my chest a new age out of the slow bone and flesh existence and here ideas are rivering through As surely as highways pulse between major metropolises sex is a subtext I imagine sliding down each ravine and ripple within your dress the touch of your hand changes an avenue of traffic lights to green lust With you I dream of new equations how y might multiply with x a new proof effervescing beneath our formalities I don't care who's watching I come to you wanting to build structures together not to gaze dumbly into your eyes |
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08-08-2014, 09:48 AM | #625 |
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poet Robert Frost#2 on top 500 poetsPoet's PagePoemsCommentsStatsE-BooksBiographyQuotationsShare on FacebookShare on Twitter
Poems by Robert Frost : 114 / 138 « The PastureThe Rose Family » The Road Not Taken Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim Because it was grassy and wanted wear, Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference. Robert Frost |
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08-08-2014, 09:49 AM | #626 |
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I recited this in a contest when I was in middle school
By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea; But we loved with a love that was more than love- I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsman came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me- Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we- Of many far wiser than we- And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea, In her tomb by the sounding sea. Edgar Allan Poe |
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08-08-2014, 09:51 AM | #627 |
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I can't remember if this was posted before
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size But when I start to tell them, They think I'm telling lies. I say, It's in the reach of my arms The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. I walk into a room Just as cool as you please, And to a man, The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees. Then they swarm around me, A hive of honey bees. I say, It's the fire in my eyes, And the flash of my teeth, The swing in my waist, And the joy in my feet. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. Men themselves have wondered What they see in me. They try so much But they can't touch My inner mystery. When I try to show them They say they still can't see. I say, It's in the arch of my back, The sun of my smile, The ride of my breasts, The grace of my style. I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. Now you understand Just why my head's not bowed. I don't shout or jump about Or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing It ought to make you proud. I say, It's in the click of my heels, The bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, The need of my care, 'Cause I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That's me. Maya Angelou |
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09-04-2014, 09:58 AM | #628 |
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Mary Oliver ~ The Journey
Mary Oliver ~ The Journey
One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice-- though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. "Mend my life!" each voice cried. But you didn't stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do-- determined to save the only life you could save. |
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11-17-2014, 10:53 AM | #629 |
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On the Eve of 1947
by Walter Benton With four and some years lost playing war . . . cancel another. Cross out a year of seasons, of nights and mornings___ a wasted year of radio and movie evenings . . . Sundays of pointless solitaire. And this . . . the richest of our expectant time, with youth enough still to be strong and years just right to be wiser than we really are___ and never a greater need for the therapy of love. We built a house and locked ourselves out. We kindled a fire and sought chance firesides for warmth. We lighted a lamp then followed jack-o'-latern in the night. I wonder . . . some late day, when all your world has shrunk into a pinch of dust between a miser's fingers____ will remembering comfort you, my dear ? |
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11-17-2014, 03:25 PM | #630 | |
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12-01-2014, 12:02 PM | #631 |
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In 1943 Althea was a welder
very dark very butch and very proud loved to cook, sew, and drive a car and did not care who knew she kept company with a woman who met her every day after work in a tight dress and high heels light-skinned and high-cheekboned who loved to shoot, fish, play poker and did not give a damn who knew her ‘man’ was a woman. Althea was gay and strong in 1945 and could sing a good song from underneath her welder’s mask and did not care who heard her sing her song to a woman Flaxie was careful and faithful mindful of her Southern upbringing watchful of her tutored grace long as they treated her like a lady she did not give a damn who called her a ‘bulldagger.’ In 1950 Althea wore suits and ties Flaxie’s favorite colors were pink and blue People openly challenged their flamboyance but neither cared a fig who thought them ‘queer’ or ‘funny.’ When the girls bragged over break of their sundry loves Flaxie blithely told them her old lady Althea took her dancing every weekend and did not give a damn who knew she clung to a woman. When the boys on her shift complained of their wives, Althea boasted how smart her ‘stuff’ Flaxie was and did not care who knew she loved the mind of a woman. In 1955 when Flaxie got pregnant and Althea lost her job Flaxie got herself on relief and did not care how many caseworkers threatened midnight raids. Althea was set up and sent to jail for writing numbers in 1958. Flaxie visited her every week with gifts and hungered openly for her thru the bars and did not give a damn who knew she waited for a woman. When her mother died in 1968 in New Orleans Flaxie demanded that Althea walk beside her at the funeral procession and did not care how many aunts and uncles knew she slept with a woman. When she died in 1970 Flaxie’s fought Althea’s proper family not to have her laid out in lace and dressed the body herself and did not care who knew she’d made her way with a woman. by Cheryl Clarke |
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12-01-2014, 12:20 PM | #632 |
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Want
She wants a house full of cups and the ghosts of last century's lesbians;p I want a spotless apartment, a fast computer.p She wants a woodstove, three cords of ash, an axe;p I want a clean gas flame.p She wants a row of jars: oats, coriander, thick green oil; I want nothing to store.p She wants pomianders, linens, baby quilts, scrapbooks.p She wants Wellesley reunions.p I want gleaming floorboards, the river's reflection.p She wants shrimp and sweat and salt; she wants chocolate.p I want a raku bowl, steam rising from rice.p She wants goats, chickens, children.p Feeding and weeping.p I want wind from the river freshening cleared rooms. She wants birthdays, theaters, flags, peonies. I want words like lasers.p She wants a mother's tenderness.p Touch ancient as the river. I want a woman's wit swift as a fox. She's in her city, meeting her deadline; I'm in my mill village out late with the dog, listening to the pinging wind bells thinking of the twelve years of wanting, apart and together. We've kissed all weekend; we want to drive the hundred miles and try it again. From COLD RIVER (Painted Leaf Press, 1997) |
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12-01-2014, 12:56 PM | #633 |
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Excerpts - My Lover is a Woman
Night On The Town When I step into my red silk panties and swivel into the matching strapless bra my butch bought me for Valentine's Day When I slide on my black mesh stockings with toes pointed, sitting on the edge of the bed like some Hollywood movie queen When I shimmy into my spandex dress that sparkles and turns over the tops of my thighs like a disco ball over a snappy crowd When I puff on my pink clouds of blush, brush my eyelashes long and lush, smear my lips and nails richer than ruby red When I step into my sky high heels, snap on some shiny earrings and slip seventeen silver bracelets halfway up my arm When I dab my shoulders and neck, earlobes and wrists, cleavage and thighs with thick, musky perfume When I curl my hair into ringlets that dip over one eye and bounce off my shoulder like a Clairol girl gone wild When I turn from the mirror, pick up my purse and announce to my butch that I'm ready to go When I see her kick the door shut, hear her declare, "We're not going anywhere, tonight" When I whine and say, "But we never go out," following her back to the bedroom, my lips in a pout When I give in and let her have her way with me pretending that wasn't my plan all along ©1996 Lesléa Newman |
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12-22-2014, 11:15 AM | #634 |
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Samurai Song
By Robert Pinsky When I had no roof I made Audacity my roof. When I had no supper My eyes dined. When I had no eyes I listened. When I had no ears I thought. When I had no thought I waited. When I had no father I made Care my father. When I had no mother I embraced order. When I had no friend I made Quiet my friend. When I had no enemy I opposed my body. When I had no temple I made My voice my temple. I have no priest, my tongue is my choir. When I've had no means Fortune is my means. When I have Nothing, death will be my fortune. Need is my tactic, detachment Is my strategy. When I had No lover I courted my sleep. |
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12-24-2014, 08:37 AM | #635 |
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Christmas Bells
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men! And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom Had rolled along The unbroken song Of peace on earth, good-will to men! Till, ringing, singing on its way, The world revolved from night to day, A voice, a chime, A chant sublime Of peace on earth, good-will to men! Then from each black, accursed mouth The cannon thundered in the South, And with the sound The carols drowned Of peace on earth, good-will to men! It was as if an earthquake rent The hearth-stones of a continent, And made forlorn The households born Of peace on earth, good-will to men! And in despair I bowed my head; “There is no peace on earth,” I said: “For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men!” Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: “God is not dead; nor doth he sleep! The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail, With peace on earth, good-will to men!” |
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12-31-2014, 11:22 AM | #636 |
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On Thought in Harness
By Edna St. Vincent Millay My falcon to my wrist Returns From no high air. I sent her towards the sun that burns Above the mist, But she has not been there. Her talons are not cold, her beak Is closed upon no wonder, Her head stinks of its hood, her feathers reek Of me, that quake at the thunder. Degraded bird, I give you back your eyes forever, ascend now whither you are tossed, Forsake this wrist, forsake this rhyme, Soar, eat ether, see what has never been seen, depart, be lost, But climb. |
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01-05-2015, 10:08 PM | #637 |
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Rinse and repeat
Still I Rise - Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may tread me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries. Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise. Maya Angelou |
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01-05-2015, 10:37 PM | #638 |
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Wiliam Wordsworth - Daffodills
I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee; A poet could not be but gay, In such a jocund company! I gazed—and gazed—but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. |
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01-06-2015, 07:56 AM | #639 |
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My favorite writers will always be Poe, Dickenson, and Lovecraft
My favorite poem is anonymous, tho Early late one night, 2 dead boys got up to fight Back to back They faced each other Drew their swords and shot one another The deaf policeman heard the noise And came to arrest the 2 dead boys If you dont think this story to be true Ask the blind man He saw it too Theres a slightly longer version out there, but this is the one we learned in school. The only Poem ive ever memorized
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01-12-2015, 11:20 AM | #640 |
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The Sea~
by Tu Yun-Hsieh Because you are infinitely deep and immense The melancholic dark blue, a bit mysterious, Has become your natural complexion. As night descends, the scattered fishing lights Vanish from the horizon: the sorrow, filling your bosom, Condenses into loneliness, hard and black as coal. The stars in heaven and the lighthouses on shore perhaps Will comfort you, but you only feel this is too much ado. Thus you turn to lean on the beaches and sigh, still more silent. Only the sun and moon can make you glitter, Can make your inexhaustible gold, silver, and jewels. As light breezes plume your pride with crested glory. When the buffeting wind excites you, You roll and roar in frenzy, waving back and forth The white blossoms plucked from your heart. But all these are only for an instant. The permanent is the infinite silence And that immense, melancholic dark blue. Sometimes you reach into a delicate bay or lake Where there are turf, cattle, and youthful laughter, But it only makes you realize that this is not your world. |
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