Your Favorite Poems

[FeminineAllure]

Cien Sonetos de Amor - XVII
Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as one loves the salt-rose, or topaz,
or carnations, those darts of crimson struck from the fire.
I love you as certain things are loved: darkly
and in secret, between dusk and the soul.

I love you - like a plant that does not bloom
but bears within itself, concealed, the light of flowers.
Because of your love, a fierce essence,
arisen from the earth, is alive within my flesh.

I love you - without knowing how, when, where;
I love you simply, without question, without pride.
I love you thus because I know no other way of loving
except this, where there is neither You nor I--

so intimate that your hand laid upon my chest is my own,
so intimate that when I dream it is your eyes that close.

[Softhearted]

Paul VERLAINE
(1844-1896)
( Poèmes saturniens)

Chanson d'automne

Les sanglots longs
Des violons
De l'automne
Blessent mon coeur
D'une langueur
Monotone.

Tout suffocant
Et blême, quand
Sonne l'heure,
Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure

Et je m'en vais
Au vent mauvais
Qui m'emporte
Deçà, delà,
Pareil à la
Feuille morte.

A litteral translation (translating a poem is always difficult and never really do it justice):

http://www.textetc.com/workshop/wt-verlaine-1.html
Song of Autumn

The long sobs
Of the violins
Of autumn
Wound my heart
With a monotonous
[Lethargy].

All suffocating
And pale when
The hour strikes
I remember
The old days
And weep

And I go away
In the ill wind
that carries me off
This side and beyond
Like the
Dead leaf.

[Soon]

Sex Without Love

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health--just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

by Sharon Olds

[Soon]

Beneath My Hands

Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.
Wherever you move
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.
I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.
I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.
When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.
I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.
When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.

--Leonard Cohen

[Kobi]

An Invisible Connection


What is this magical bond we share?
Amidst the constant circus like avalanche of words,
How did you know?
Once like you stable and secure,
He is older, yet betrothed to your dream,
Faithful to uncertainty,
A spirit yearning to be free.
His subtle words lodge in your thought.
Why did you pick this stranger
With a hunger that you can not see?

A young woman's hair kisses the breeze,
Her dignity conceals the distance in her gaze.
Is it possible that a simple innocent radiant smile,
Or a crazy serendipitous verse,
Could bring two people so diverse
To where we find ourselves today?
Strangers once to our own lives,
At ease with the depth of our own emptiness,
How unlikely it is that we are here

It's quiet tonight, light raindrops filter through the leaves
Washing away the dust, releasing fragrances
On which the gentle breeze sweetens
The kind of night you wish you were with the one you love
Nestled close to the open fire
Watching the moon duck in and out of the white cotton clouds
Caressing and holding each other gently
Breath silently quivering collect;

Once locked away behind iron clad doors,
Feelings and emotions stir,
Disguised by layers of pain and ruin
Two hearts awaken.
A gentle, loving, knowing kiss;
Bound together forever.

Jeff Demos

[femmeInterrupted]

Sick by Shel Silverstein


Sick "I cannot go to school today,"
Said little Peggy Ann McKay.
"I have the measles and the mumps,
A gash, a rash and purple bumps.
My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,
I'm going blind in my right eye.
My tonsils are as big as rocks,
I've counted sixteen chicken pox
And there's one more - that's seventeen,
And don't you think my face looks green?
My leg is cut, my eyes are blue -
It might be instamatic flu.
I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,
I'm sure that my left leg is broke -
My hip hurts when I move my chin,
My belly button's caving in,
My back is wrenched, my ankle's sprained,
My 'pendix pains each time it rains.
My nose is cold, my toes are numb,
I have a sliver in my thumb.
My neck is stiff, my spine is weak,
I hardly whisper when I speak.
My tongue is filling up my mouth,
I think my hair is falling out.
My elbow's bent, my spine ain't straight,
My temperature is one-o-eight.
My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,
There is a hole inside my ear.
I have a hangnail, and my heart is -
what? What's that? What's that you say?
You say today is ... Saturday?
G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

[Kätzchen]

Beneath My Hands

Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.
Wherever you move
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.
I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.
I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.
When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.
I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.
When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.

--Leonard Cohen

[kittygrrl]

Originally Posted by Kätzchen

Beneath My Hands

Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.
Wherever you move
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.
I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.
I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.
When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.
I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.
When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.

--Leonard Cohen

Kat ..Beautiful