Your Favorite Poems

[Strappie]

This wasn't supposed to happen
Thoughts, Feelings, emotions ...

For months I've longed
Wondering what it would feel like
Your touch, your kiss, your soul
To know and to feel you
Completely

Warmth, comfort, safety
Things that I've found in you
Your smile, your laughter, your beauty are
a thousand sensations

A moment away seems like a thousand
Anxiousness, excitement, longing
Then the moment comes
What it would be like with you
Warmth, comfort, safety
Wrapped around you
Flooding thoughts of
Fear, sadness, heartbreak

Reality hits me hard
How could I feel so much in such a little time?
But it did
And here is where I'll stay
Wanting to give you more
Even though
This wasn't supposed to happen

Author: Unknown

[Mitmo01]

THE BIG HEART

"Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold."
From an essay by W. B. Yeats

Big heart,
wide as a watermelon,
but wise as birth,
there is so much abundance
in the people I have:
Max, Lois, Joe, Louise,
Joan, Marie, Dawn,
Arlene, Father Dunne,
and all in their short lives
give to me repeatedly,
in the way the sea
places its many fingers on the shore,
again and again
and they know me,
they help me unravel,
they listen with ears made of conch shells,
they speak back with the wine of the best region.
They are my staff.
They comfort me.

They hear how
the artery of my soul has been severed
and soul is spurting out upon them,
bleeding on them,
messing up their clothes,
dirtying their shoes.
And God is filling me,
though there are times of doubt
as hollow as the Grand Canyon,
still God is filling me.
He is giving me the thoughts of dogs,
the spider in its intricate web,
the sun
in all its amazement,
and a slain ram
that is the glory,
the mystery of great cost,
and my heart,
which is very big,
I promise it is very large,
a monster of sorts,
takes it all in--
all in comes the fury of love.


Anne Sexton

[Strappie]

I need and want to talk
You don't see anything to talk about.

I long to touch you, caress you
You don't need my touch

I ache to hold you, feel your heat
You don't need my arms

I have a desire that burns
You don't have the desire

I wish to speak to your soul
You don't need my wishes

I dream of your passion
You don't need my dreams

I would love all of you
You don't need my love

I want to be your lover
You want to be my friend

Can you feel my passion
You can't feel me

I can see your heart and soul
You don't want to see mine

But I will forever see her's

[Semantics]

Tragic Rabbit


Tragic rabbit, a painting.
The caked ears green like rolled corn.
The black forehead pointing at the stars.
A painting on my wall, alone

as rabbits are
and aren’t. Fat red cheek,
all Art, trembling nose,
a habit hard to break as not.

You too can be a tragic rabbit; green and red
your back, blue your manly little chest.
But if you’re ever goaded into being one
beware the True Flesh, it

will knock you off your tragic horse
and break your tragic colors like a ghost
breaks marble; your wounds will heal
so quickly water

will be jealous.
Rabbits on white paper painted
outgrow all charms against their breeding wild;
and their rolled corn ears become horns.

So watch out if the tragic life feels fine –
caught in that rabbit trap
all colors look like sunlight’s swords,
and scissors like The Living Lord.


Stan Rice
Some Lamb