09-18-2010, 01:38 PM | #61 |
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Fire and Ice
Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice. Robert Frost |
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09-20-2010, 10:38 PM | #62 |
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Moan (a little long)
No woman in this world is feelin me right now
But I know why. Because every woman here can smell you on my breath And the reality of the truth is, We haven't even met yet. But we will. And when we do, I want you to think back to every night you were lonely Back to every woman you were with And when you feel my lips massaging your body I want you to take a deep breath ~ For every woman who has ever made you cry. And when you feel my breath against your neck I want you to take my hand I want you to squeeze it like you're trying to keep a grenade from exploding. And when you feel my lips against your soul And your muscles relax while letting the fluid tension flow I want you to moan. I want you to moan me a song For every back stabbin best friend And twist and turn.... and moan. I want you to moan for every time you have played dumb To a woman so that she would feel less of one. I want you to moan for every time you lied about how much you make So that others would feel intimidated I want you to moan for every time you thought another woman Could keep your mind 100% stimulated See I want you to just let go and moan. For all the times you were so depressed For the times you looked in the mirror Because you thought you would lose that figure Moan because.... I mean, it's perfect. I mean, whenever you want, whenever you're here.... it's perfect. If you want to squeeze your thighs til your thighs close my eyes... it's perfect. And if you want to roll your eyes to the back of your soul and scream so loud.... that's perfect. And if you want to grab the back of my head and pull me closer to swim in you like you were the river, I promise I will taste you like I praise you. Cuz it's perfect. I just want you to moan and want you to scream I just want you to let go and and know that this universe here, Wasn't made for you to suffer.... alone. ~J~
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09-27-2010, 08:22 PM | #63 |
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For My Beautiful Love.....
Naked, you are simple as a hand,
smooth, earthy, small...transparent, round. You have moon lines and apple paths; Naked, you are slender as the wheat. Naked, Cuban blue midnight is your color, Naked, I trace the stars and vines in your hair; Naked, you are spacious and yellow As a summer's wholeness in a golden church. Naked, you are tiny as your fingernail; Subtle and curved in the rose-colored dawn And you withdraw to the underground world As if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores: your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves, And becomes a naked hand again. Pablo Neruda (1904 – 1973) |
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01-18-2011, 09:04 PM | #64 |
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There is love, and it is a deep thing
but there are deeper things than love. � First and last, man is alone. He is born alone, and alone he dies and alone he is while he lives, in his deepest self. � Love, like the flowers, is life, growing. But underneath are the deep rocks, the living rock that lives alone and deeper still the unknown fire, unknown and heavy, heavy and alone. � Love is a thing of twoness. But underneath any twoness, man is alone. � And underneath the great turbulent emotions of love, the violent herbage, lies the living rock of a single creature's pride, the dark, naif pride. And deeper even than the bedrock of pride lies the ponderous fire of naked life with its strange primordial consciousness of justice and its primordial consciousness of connection, connection with still deeper, still more terrible life-fire and the old, old final life-truth. � Love is of twoness, and is lovely like the living life on the earth but below all roots of love lies the bedrock of naked pride, subterranean, and deeper than the bedrock of pride is the primordial fire of the middle which rests in connection with the further forever unknowable fire of all things and which rocks with a sense of connection, religion and trembles with a sense of truth, primordial consciousness and is silent with a sense of justice, the fiery primordial imperative. � All this is deeper than love deeper than love. --DH Lawrence |
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01-18-2011, 09:08 PM | #65 |
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IN A BOAT
SEE the stars, love, In the water much clearer and brighter Than those above us, and whiter, Like nenuphars. Star-shadows shine, love, How many stars in your bowl? How many shadows in your soul, Only mine, love, mine? When I move the oars, love, See how the stars are tossed, Distorted, the brightest lost. --So that bright one of yours, love. The poor waters spill The stars, waters broken, forsaken. --The heavens are not shaken, you say, love, Its stars stand still. There, did you see That spark fly up at us; even Stars are not safe in heaven. --What of yours, then, love, yours? What then, love, if soon Your light be tossed over a wave? Will you count the darkness a grave, And swoon, love, swoon? --DH Lawrence |
01-18-2011, 09:11 PM | #66 |
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DRUNK
Too far away, oh love, I know, To save me from this haunted road, Whose lofty roses break and blow On a night-sky bent with a load Of lights: each solitary rose, Each arc-lamp golden does expose Ghost beyond ghost of a blossom, shows Night blenched with a thousand snows. Of hawthorn and of lilac trees, White lilac; shows discoloured night Dripping with all the golden lees Laburnum gives back to light And shows the red of hawthorn set On high to the purple heaven of night, Like flags in blenched blood newly wet, Blood shed in the noiseless fight. Of life for love and love for life, Of hunger for a little food, Of kissing, lost for want of a wife Long ago, long ago wooed. . . . . . . Too far away you are, my love, To steady my brain in this phantom show That passes the nightly road above And returns again below. The enormous cliff of horse-chestnut trees Has poised on each of its ledges An erect small girl looking down at me; White-night-gowned little chits I see, And they peep at me over the edges Of the leaves as though they would leap, should I call Them down to my arms; "But, child, you're too small for me, too small Your little charms." White little sheaves of night-gowned maids, Some other will thresh you out! And I see leaning from the shades A lilac like a lady there, who braids Her white mantilla about Her face, and forward leans to catch the sight Of a man's face, Gracefully sighing through the white Flowery mantilla of lace. And another lilac in purple veiled Discreetly, all recklessly calls In a low, shocking perfume, to know who has hailed Her forth from the night: my strength has failed In her voice, my weak heart falls: Oh, and see the laburnum shimmering Her draperies down, As if she would slip the gold, and glimmering White, stand naked of gown. |
01-18-2011, 09:20 PM | #67 |
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this is beautiful, like you my magnificent creature
FLAPPER
LOVE has crept out of her sealéd heart As a field-bee, black and amber, Breaks from the winter-cell, to clamber Up the warm grass where the sunbeams start. Mischief has come in her dawning eyes, And a glint of coloured iris brings Such as lies along the folded wings Of the bee before he flies. Who, with a ruffling, careful breath, Has opened the wings of the wild young sprite? Has fluttered her spirit to stumbling flight In her eyes, as a young bee stumbleth? Love makes the burden of her voice. The hum of his heavy, staggering wings Sets quivering with wisdom the common things That she says, and her words rejoice. --DH Lawrence |
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02-03-2011, 04:36 PM | #68 |
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I love William Blake's Poetry
Auguries of Innocence
by William Blake To see a world in a grain of sand And a heaven in a wild flower, Hold infinity in the palm of your hand And eternity in an hour. A robin redbreast in a cage Puts all heaven in a rage. A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons Shudders hell through all its regions. A dog starved at his master's gate Predicts the ruin of the state. A horse misused upon the road Calls to heaven for human blood. Each outcry of the hunted hare A fibre from the brain does tear. A skylark wounded in the wing, A cherubim does cease to sing. The game-cock clipped and armed for fight Does the rising sun affright. Every wolf's and lion's howl Raises from hell a human soul. The wild deer wandering here and there Keeps the human soul from care. The lamb misused breeds public strife, And yet forgives the butcher's knife. The bat that flits at close of eve Has left the brain that won't believe. The owl that calls upon the night Speaks the unbeliever's fright. He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men. He who the ox to wrath has moved Shall never be by woman loved. The wanton boy that kills the fly Shall feel the spider's enmity. He who torments the chafer's sprite Weaves a bower in endless night. The caterpillar on the leaf Repeats to thee thy mother's grief. Kill not the moth nor butterfly, For the Last Judgment draweth nigh. He who shall train the horse to war Shall never pass the polar bar. The beggar's dog and widow's cat, Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat. The gnat that sings his summer's song Poison gets from Slander's tongue. The poison of the snake and newt Is the sweat of Envy's foot. The poison of the honey-bee Is the artist's jealousy. The prince's robes and beggar's rags Are toadstools on the miser's bags. A truth that's told with bad intent Beats all the lies you can invent. It is right it should be so: Man was made for joy and woe; And when this we rightly know Through the world we safely go. Joy and woe are woven fine, A clothing for the soul divine. Under every grief and pine Runs a joy with silken twine. The babe is more than swaddling bands, Throughout all these human lands; Tools were made and born were hands, Every farmer understands. Every tear from every eye Becomes a babe in eternity; This is caught by females bright And returned to its own delight. The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar Are waves that beat on heaven's shore. The babe that weeps the rod beneath Writes Revenge! in realms of death. The beggar's rags fluttering in air Does to rags the heavens tear. The soldier armed with sword and gun Palsied strikes the summer's sun. The poor man's farthing is worth more Than all the gold on Afric's shore. One mite wrung from the labourer's hands Shall buy and sell the miser's lands, Or if protected from on high Does that whole nation sell and buy. He who mocks the infant's faith Shall be mocked in age and death. He who shall teach the child to doubt The rotting grave shall ne'er get out. He who respects the infant's faith Triumphs over hell and death. The child's toys and the old man's reasons Are the fruits of the two seasons. The questioner who sits so sly Shall never know how to reply. He who replies to words of doubt Doth put the light of knowledge out. The strongest poison ever known Came from Caesar's laurel crown. Nought can deform the human race Like to the armour's iron brace. When gold and gems adorn the plough To peaceful arts shall Envy bow. A riddle or the cricket's cry Is to doubt a fit reply. The emmet's inch and eagle's mile Make lame philosophy to smile. He who doubts from what he sees Will ne'er believe, do what you please. If the sun and moon should doubt, They'd immediately go out. To be in a passion you good may do, But no good if a passion is in you. The whore and gambler, by the state Licensed, build that nation's fate. The harlot's cry from street to street Shall weave old England's winding sheet. The winner's shout, the loser's curse, Dance before dead England's hearse. Every night and every morn Some to misery are born. Every morn and every night Some are born to sweet delight. Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night. We are led to believe a lie When we see not through the eye Which was born in a night to perish in a night, When the soul slept in beams of light. God appears, and God is light To those poor souls who dwell in night, But does a human form display To those who dwell in realms of day. |
02-03-2011, 04:38 PM | #69 |
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1794 - Songs of Experience
Songs of Experience Introduction by William Blake Hear the voice of the Bard! Who Present, Past, & Future sees Whose ears have heard, The Holy Word, That walk'd among the ancient trees. Calling the lapsed Soul And weeping in the evening dew: That might controll The starry pole: And fallen fallen light renew! O Earth O Earth return! Arise from out the dewy grass; Night is worn, And the morn Rises from the slumberous mass. Turn away no more: Why wilt thou turn away The starry floor The watry shore Is giv'n thee till the break of day. |
02-03-2011, 04:41 PM | #70 |
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Come not, when I am dead
by Lord Alfred Tennyson Come not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry; But thou, go by. Child, if it were thine error or thy crime I care no longer, being all unblest: Wed whom thou wilt, but I am sick of Time, And I desire to rest. Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie: Go by, go by. |
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02-04-2011, 01:54 PM | #71 |
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Bright Star--John Keats
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art-- Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors-- No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever--or else swoon to death. |
02-04-2011, 01:56 PM | #72 |
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When on my bed the moonlight falls,
I know that in thy place of rest By that broad water of the west, There comes a glory on the walls: Thy marble bright in dark appears, As slowly steals a silver flame Along the letters of thy name, And o'er the number of thy years. The mystic glory swims away; From off my bed the moonlight dies; And closing eaves of wearied eyes I sleep till dusk is dipt in gray: And then I know the mist is drawn A lucid veil from coast to coast, And in the dark church like a ghost Thy tablet glimmers to the dawn. --Alfred Lord Tennyson |
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02-04-2011, 01:58 PM | #73 |
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I have always loved this poem...
The Charge of The Light Brigade
Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. 'Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!' he said: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. 'Forward, the Light Brigade!' Was there a man dismay'd ? Not tho' the soldier knew Some one had blunder'd: Their's not to make reply, Their's not to reason why, Their's but to do and die: Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well, Into the jaws of Death, Into the mouth of Hell Rode the six hundred. Flash'd all their sabres bare, Flash'd as they turn'd in air Sabring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wonder'd: Plunged in the battery-smoke Right thro' the line they broke; Cossack and Russian Reel'd from the sabre-stroke Shatter'd and sunder'd. Then they rode back, but not Not the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them Volley'd and thunder'd; Storm'd at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well Came thro' the jaws of Death, Back from the mouth of Hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred. When can their glory fade ? O the wild charge they made! All the world wonder'd. Honour the charge they made! Honour the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred! Alfred Lord Tennyson |
02-04-2011, 01:59 PM | #74 |
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The Doubt of Future Foes
The doubt of future foes exiles my present joy, And wit me warns to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy; For falsehood now doth flow, and subjects' faith doth ebb, Which should not be if reason ruled or wisdom weaved the web. But clouds of joys untried do cloak aspiring minds, Which turn to rain of late repent by changed course of winds. The top of hope supposed the root upreared shall be, And fruitless all their grafted guile, as shortly ye shall see. The dazzled eyes with pride, which great ambition blinds, Shall be unsealed by worthy wights whose foresight falsehood finds. The daughter of debate that discord aye doth sow Shall reap no gain where former rule still peace hath taught to know. No foreign banished wight shall anchor in this port; Our realm brooks not seditious sects, let them elsewhere resort. My rusty sword through rest shall first his edge employ To poll their tops that seek such change or gape for future joy. Queen Elizabeth I |
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02-13-2011, 12:03 PM | #75 |
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Leonard Cohen
Don't matter if the road is long
Don't matter if it's steep Don't matter if the moon is gone And the darkness is complete Don't matter if we lose our way It's written that we'll meet At least, that's what I heard you say A thousand kisses deep... |
04-14-2011, 12:32 AM | #76 |
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Absence
When you go in me, crystalline, Or trembling, Or uneasy, wounded by me Or overwhelmed with love, as when your eyes Close upon the gift of life That without cease I give you. My love, We have found each other Thirsty and we have Drunk up all the water and the Blood, We found each other Hungry And we bit each other As fire bites, Leaving wounds in us. But wait for me, Keep for me your sweetness. I will give you too A rose. - Pablo Neruda |
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04-14-2011, 01:36 PM | #77 |
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And because love battles
not only in its burning agricultures but also in the mouth of men and women, I will finish off by taking the path away to those who between my chest and your fragrance want to interpose their obscure plant. About me, nothing worse they will tell you, my love, than what I told you. I lived in the prairies before I got to know you and I did not wait love but I was laying in wait for and I jumped on the rose. What more can they tell you? I am neither good nor bad but a man, and they will then associate the danger of my life, which you know and which with your passion you shared. And good, this danger is danger of love, of complete love for all life, for all lives, and if this love brings us the death and the prisons, I am sure that your big eyes, as when I kiss them, will then close with pride, into double pride, love, with your pride and my pride. But to my ears they will come before to wear down the tour of the sweet and hard love which binds us, and they will say: “The one you love, is not a woman for you, Why do you love her? I think you could find one more beautiful, more serious, more deep, more other, you understand me, look how she’s light, and what a head she has, and look at how she dresses, and etcetera and etcetera”. And I in these lines say: Like this I want you, love, love, Like this I love you, as you dress and how your hair lifts up and how your mouth smiles, light as the water of the spring upon the pure stones, Like this I love you, beloved. To bread I do not ask to teach me but only not to lack during every day of life. I don’t know anything about light, from where it comes nor where it goes, I only want the light to light up, I do not ask to the night explanations, I wait for it and it envelops me, And so you, bread and light And shadow are. You came to my life with what you were bringing, made of light and bread and shadow I expected you, and Like this I need you, Like this I love you, and to those who want to hear tomorrow that which I will not tell them, let them read it here, and let them back off today because it is early for these arguments. Tomorrow we will only give them a leaf of the tree of our love, a leaf which will fall on the earth like if it had been made by our lips like a kiss which falls from our invincible heights to show the fire and the tenderness of a true love. Pablo Neruda |
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04-14-2011, 01:49 PM | #78 |
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Poetry in an 80's movie :)
I'll sing to you of silver swans,
of kingdoms and carillons. I'll sing of bodies intertwined underneath an innocent sky. |
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04-14-2011, 10:01 PM | #79 |
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Here I Love You
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters. Days, all one kind, go chasing each other. The snow unfurls in dancing figures. A silver gull slips down from the west. Sometimes a sail. High, high stars. Oh the black cross of a ship. Alone. Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet. Far away the sea sounds and resounds. This is a port. Here I love you. Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain. I love you still among these cold things. Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels that cross the sea towards no arrival. I see myself forgotten like those old anchors. The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there. My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose. I love what I do not have. You are so far. My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights. But night comes and starts to sing to me. The moon turns its clockwork dream. The biggest stars look at me with your eyes. And as I love you, the pines in the wind want to sing your name with their leaves of wire. - Pablo Neruda |
04-15-2011, 12:15 AM | #80 |
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Poema 8 - Pablo Neruda
Abeja blanca zumbas --ebria de miel-- en mi alma
y te tuerces en lentas espirales de humo. White bee, you buzz in my soul, drunk with honey, and your flight winds in slow spirals of smoke. Soy el desesperado, la palabra sin ecos, el que lo perdió todo, y el que todo lo tuvo. I am the one without hope, the word without echoes, he who lost everything and he who had everything. Ultima amarra, cruje en ti mi ansiedad última. En mi tierra desierta eres la última rosa. Last hawser, in you creaks my last longing. In my barren land you are the final rose. Ah silenciosa! Ah you who are silent! Cierra tus ojos profundos. Allí aletea la noche. Ah desnuda tu cuerpo de estatua temerosa. Let your deep eyes close. There the night flutters. Ah your body, a frightened statue, naked. Tienes ojos profundos donde la noche alea. Frescos brazos de flor y regazo de rosa. You have deep eyes in which the night flails. Cool arms of flowers and a lap of rose. Se parecen tus senos a los caracoles blancos. Ha venido a dormirse en tu vientre una mariposa de sombra. Your breasts seem like white snails. A butterfly of shadow has come to sleep on your belly. Ah silenciosa! Ah you who are silent! He aquí la soledad de donde estás ausente. Llueve. El viento del mar caza errantes gaviotas. Here is the solitude from which you are absent. It is raining. The sea wind is hunting stray gulls. El agua anda descalza por las calles mojadas. De aquel árbol se quejan, como enfermos, las hojas. The water walks barefoot in the wet streets. From that tree the leaves complain as though they were sick. Abeja blanca, ausente, aún zumbas en mi alma. Revives en el tiempo, delgada y silenciosa. White bee, even when you are gone you buzz in my soul You live again in time, slender and silent. Ah silenciosa! Ah you who are silent!
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I'm a fountain of blood. In the shape of a girl. - Bjork What is to give light must endure burning. -Viktor Frankl
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