I GO INSIDE THE TREE

Indoors for this ash
is through the bark:
notice its colour – asphalt
or slate in the rain

then go inside, tasting
weather in the tree rings,
scoffing years of drought and storm,
moving as fast as a woodworm

who finds a kick of speed
for burrowing into the core,
for mouthing pith and sap,
until the o my god at the heart. 

 

By: Jo Shapcott

My Mother's Perfume

Strange how her perfume used to arrive long before she did,
       a jade cloud that sent me hurrying
first to the loo, then to an upstairs window to watch for her taxi.
       I’d prepare myself
by trying to remember her face, without feeling afraid. As she drew
      nearer I’d get braver
until her scent got so strong I could taste the coins in the bottom
       of her handbag.
And here I am forty years on, still half-expecting her. Though now
       I just have to open
the stopper of an expensive French bottle, daring only a whiff of
       Shalimar
which Jacques Guerlain created from the vanilla orchid vine.
       Her ghostly face
might shiver like Christ’s on Veronica's veil – a green-gold blossom
       that sends me back
to the first day of the school holidays, the way I used to practise
       kissing her cheek
by kissing the glass. My eyes scanned the long road for a speck
       while the air turned amber.
Even now, the scent of vanilla stings like a cane. But I can also smell
       roses and jasmine
in the bottle’s top notes, my legs wading through the fragrant path,
       to the gloved hand emerging
from a black taxi at the gate of Grandmother’s garden. And for a
       moment I think I am safe.
Then Maman turns to me with a smile like a dropped
       perfume bottle, her essence spilt. 

 

By: Pascale Petit

Without Me

Once, in the hiatus of a difficult July,

down Eskra’s lorryless roads from sweet fuck all,

we were flinging – such young sophisticates – like a giant frisbee 

this plastic lid of an old rat poison bin.

 

We were flinging it from you to me, me to you, you to me;

me-you, you-me, me-you, you back again.

And you would have sworn that its flat arc was a pendulum,

compassing Tyrone’s prosey horizon.

 

And I would have sworn that our throw and catch had such momentum

that its rhythm might survive, somehow, without me.

By: Leontia Flynn 

DARK LOOKS

Who anyone is or I am is nothing to the work. The writer
properly should be the last person that the reader or the listener need think about
yet the poet with her signature stands up trembling, grateful, mortally embarrassed
and especially embarrassing to herself, patting her hair and twittering If, if only
I need not have a physical appearance! To be sheer air, and mousseline!
and as she frets the minute wars scorch on through paranoias of the unreviewed
herded against a cold that drives us in together – then pat me more, Coventry
to fall from Anglo-Catholic clouds of drifting we’s high tones of feeling down
to microscopic horror scans of tiny shiny surfaces rammed up against the nose
cascading on Niagara, bobbed and jostled, racing rusted cans of Joseph Cotten reels
charmed with his decent gleam: once we as incense-shrouded ectoplasm gets blown
fresh drenched and scattered units pull on gloss coats to preen in their own polymer:
still it’s not right to flare and quiver at some fictive ‘worldly boredom of the young’
through middle-aged hormonal pride of Madame, one must bleed; it’s necessary . . .
Mop mop georgette. The only point of holding up my blood is if you’d think So what?
We’ve all got some of that: since then you’d each feel better; less apart. – Hardly:
it’s more for me to know that I have got some, like a textbook sexual anxiety
while the social-worker poet in me would like her revenge for having been born and left.
What forces the lyric person to put itself on trial though it must stay rigorously uninteresting?
Does it count on its dullness to seem human and strongly lovable; a veil for the monomania
which likes to feel itself helpless and touching at times? Or else it backs off to get sassy
since arch isn’t far from desperate: So take me or leave me. No, wait, I didn’t mean leave
me, wait, just don’t – or don’t flick and skim to the foot of a page and then get up to go – 

 

By: Denise Riley

RAIN

It started unremarkably,
like many regimes. We sat like children
making quiet things indoors. The rivers

burst their staves and soaked the folds mid-
country; they were schlepping people out in pedalos,
and punting through cathedrals saving cats. One lad

clearing out his granddad’s drain was still caught
when the waters lapped the record set in 1692.
Imagine. News-teams donned their somberer cagoules.

The house had more floors than we knew. In twenty years
we’d never spent so much time in one room. I’d no idea
you had a morbid fear of orange pips, or found French novelists

oppressive. On the seventh day, completely hoarse,
we took to drawing on the walls and staging tableaux.
In delirium all actions feel like role-play –

protein-strands against the ooze, the animals we made –
and rain, a steady broadcast on all wavelengths,
taught us everything we know about the tango. Only

when we grew too thin for metaphors was rain just rain.
We thought about the drowned boy, how he watched
the lid of water seal him in, for all his bright modernity.

Was it a Monday morning when the garden was returned,
tender with slugs, astonished at itself? Our joined hands
were the last toads in the ark. We walked, we needed news.


By: Tiffany Atkinson

TIME AND MATERIALS

Gerhard Richter: Abstrakte Bilder

1
To make layers,
As if they were a steadiness of days:

It snowed; I did errands at a desk;
A white flurry out the window thickening; my tongue
Tasted of the glue on envelopes.

On this day sunlight on red brick, bare trees,
Nothing stirring in the icy air.

On this day a blur of color moving at the gym
Where the heat from bodies
Meets the watery, cold surface of the glass.

Made love, made curry, talked on the phone
To friends, the one whose brother died
Was crying and thinking alternately,
Like someone falling down and getting up
And running and falling and getting up.

2
The object of this poem is not to annihila

To not annih

The object of this poem is to report a theft,
In progress, of everything
That is not these words
And their disposition on the page.

The object o   f this poem is to report a theft,
            In progre   ss of everything that exists
That is not th   ese words
            And their d   isposition on the page.

The object     of his poe is t     repor a theft
           In rogres f ever hing at xists
Th is no ese w rds
           And their disp sit on o the pag

3
To score, to scar, to smear, to streak,
To smudge, to blur, to gouge, to scrape.

“Action painting,” i.e.,
The painter gets to behave like time.

4
The typo would be “paining.”

(To abrade.)

5
Or to render time and stand outside
The horizontal rush of it, for a moment
To have the sensation of standing outside
The greenish rush of it.

6
Some vertical gesture then, the way that anger
Or desire can rip a life apart,

Some wound of color. 

 

 

By: Robert Hass

What To Do

Places we leave
slick our bodies
with silky air
or foam we feel
faithful and tickly
(even somehow taste)
but can't clearly see.
We wear its weight
like atmosphere—
runs, blots
of what we’ve done
in and with
each place
—what to do
with it now?—
and what it does
to us still. 

 

By: W.S. Di Piero

Sales

Miguel might, if he speaks English, call the colors
of ukuleles stretching their necks from yards
of canvas duffel yoked across his shoulders,
auroral azul, cherry pop, or mojito green,
under this Pac Heights sky where the awful rich
snap their heels past shop windows, past goatskin bags
and spiked heels that bring them closer to heaven,
fibristic sheets of celadon paper from Zhejiang,
FIAT cremini, and Cinco de Mayo gelato.
Smiling past them, he passes with his happy load,
a display model whole and nude in his hand,
on sale to no one, uplifted like a Stratocaster
sacramental from mahogany forests in Paraguay.

By: W.S. Di Piero

Two Girls

Eighteen-sixty eighteen sixty-four,
six hundred ten thousand men
gaseous gray, blackened body parts
like chopped wood in Virginia sunshine.
Or nineteen-fourteen nineteen-eighteen,
trench rats, thousands, big as badgers,
rip chines from horse and human flesh.
IED’s, cluster bombs, punji sticks,
primed to shred feet, thighs, spine, sack,
yesterday, when we were countless.
Conscience says Count them up and be good,
suck on me like red candy stick
in casual lookaway moments.
Protected by neighbors, two girls
villagers know to be deficient
doll themselves up as bombs
for market day’s chickens and yams,
and like a world-body neural surge,
their protectors fly into fatty parts. 

 

By: W.S. Di Piero

I HATE

I hate how this unsummoned sigh-sound, sob-sound,
not sound really, feeling, sigh-feeling, sob-feeling,
keeps rasping in me, not in its old guise as nostalgia,
sweet crazed call of blackbird in spring;

not as remembrance, grief for so many gone;
nor either that other tangle of recall: regret
for unredeemed wrongs, errors, omissions,
petrified root too deeply hooked to ever excise;

a mingling rather, a melding, inextricable mesh
of delight in astonishing being, of being in being,
with a fear of and fear for I can barely think what,
not non-existence, of self, loved ones, love;

not even war, fuck war, sighing for war,
sobbing for war, for no war, peace, surcease;
more than all that, some ground-sound, ground-note,
sown in us now, that swells in us, all of us,

echo of love we had, have, for world, our world,
on which we seem finally mere swarm, mere deluge,
mere matter self-altered to tumult, to noise,
cacophonous blitz of destruction, despoilment,

din from which every emotion henceforth emerges,
and into which falters, slides, sinks, and subsides:
sigh-sound of lament, of remorse; sob-sound of rue,
of, still, always, ever sadder and sadder sad joy. 

 

By: C.K. Williams

FEAR OF HAPPINESS

Looking back, it’s something I’ve always had:
As a kid, it was a glass-floored elevator
I crouched at the bottom of, my eyes squinched tight,
Or staircase whose gaps I was afraid I’d slip through,
Though someone always said I’d be all right—
Just don’t look down or See, it’s not so bad
(The nothing rising underfoot). Then later
The high-dive at the pool, the tree-house perch,
Ferris wheels, balconies, cliffs, a penthouse view,
The merest thought of airplanes. You can call
It a fear of heights, a horror of the deep;
But it isn’t the unfathomable fall
That makes me giddy, makes my stomach lurch,
It’s that the ledge itself invents the leap. 

 

By: A.E. Stallings

FISHING

The two of them stood in the middle water,
The current slipping away, quick and cold,
The sun slow at his zenith, sweating gold,
Once, in some sullen summer of father and daughter.
Maybe he regretted he had brought her—
She'd rather have been elsewhere, her look told—
Perhaps a year ago, but now too old.
Still, she remembered lessons he had taught her:
To cast towards shadows, where the sunlight fails
And fishes shelter in the undergrowth.
And when the unseen strikes, how all else pales
Beside the bright-dark struggle, the rainbow wroth,
Life and death weighed in the shining scales,
The invisible line pulled taut that links them both.

By: A.E. Stallings

COLD CLEAR NORWEGIAN SEA

the water was clear so clear.
the water was as clear as water that is clear.
as clear as water that to be clear appears.
just as if.
just like water you’d like to hug, pile high,
or mail off as a letter.
as clear as the Pythagorean Theorem.
the first Law of Thermodynamics.
which you wish also applied to water.
as very clear as it is blue, green, fluid, statically dynamic.
as clear as the right side of the universe.
so clear that you seem to be watching it (water) through a pane
of clear to almost clear water.
like as if.
clear as a fish of clear water.
clear as the effect of unreal terror on reality.
clear the way it’s clear that fish are edible
locomotion and ships
inedible journeys.
mostly.
not as clear as H2O.
clear, as if the water (it) doesn’t multiply
with itself.
so clear, it’s as if water weren’t transcendence
but in fact substance.
so clear that the comparative value Jellyfish appears unclear.
and actually even
much clearer than
as if. 

 

By: Ron Winkler

Romantic Poems about Life

Romantic Poems about Life

Singing, serenading,

Mesmerizing, and regaling.

You draw me into you

With those mysterious eyes.

Enchanting, enthralling,

Entangling, and haunting.

As you whisper a lullaby

With that honey-tongued voice.

Submitting, surrendering,

Succumbing, and subsuming.

So, I fall love-sick, beholden

To my one heart’s desire.

Drowning, desiring,

Smoldering, and aspiring.

And I die one million deaths

Just from the wanting of you.

Touched by An Angel

Touched by An Angel

We, unaccustomed to courage

exiles from delight

live coiled in shells of loneliness

until love leaves its high holy temple

and comes into our sight

to liberate us into life.

Love arrives

and in its train come ecstasies

old memories of pleasure

ancient histories of pain.

Yet if we are bold,

love strikes away the chains of fear

from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity

In the flush of love’s light

we dare be brave

And suddenly we see

that love costs all we are

and will ever be.

Yet it is only love

which sets us free.

The journey of life

The journey of life

Walkin along the street,weary and down.

Unhappy at heart,my face had a frown.

The path was long,but i had to walk,

Lost in the world and no one to talk.

Suddenly there was a sound,

That was familiar to my ears

With an urge to hear it,

I had waited for years.

Seated on your bike,

You passed by my side.

My heart skipped a beat,

And I silently cried.

The time had stopped,

My eyes were wet.

Flashing came the thoughts,

Which i wanted to forget.

Two long years without your sight,

I had faced with all my might,

Oh God!!So long is this night,

And a battle so difficult to fight.

But never lose hopeis my belief,

Your thought is my greatest relief.

So true,a double edged knife,

Oh friend,that is the journey of life…….

I never get to say

I never get to say 

Happy Birthday” means much more
Than have a happy day.

Within these words lie lots of things
I never get to say.

It means I love you first of all,
Then thanks for all you do.

It means you mean a lot to me,
And that I’m proud of you.

But most of all, I guess it means
That I am thinking of you
on this very special day,
Happy Birthday.

You brighten all of my days

You brighten all of my days 

Teddy bears and seas of blue
Smiling in honor of you
An infant, not long ago
Now, one candle is aglow
You are growing up so fast
How quickly a year has passed
You are special, sweet, and wise
A present before our eyes.

For a year, I have watched you shine
An angel I can call mine
Sent from Heaven, just for me
Filled with hope and dignity
A blessing, now and always
You brighten all of my days
Precious child, I love you so
More than anyone could know.

Baby's breath and sun-filled skies
Ladybugs and lullabies
Starry nights and bright moonbeams
Tender hearts and lasting dreams
Each, a gift within your view
During this time, made for you
May only good things come your way
On this, your very first birthday

Do not feel down at your birthday

Do not feel down at your birthday

It is your birthday, so do not feel down;
Do not think bad stuff and frown;
Your life should be filled with mirth;
Just look what you have done since your birth.

You started out really small,
Now you are really filled out and tall.
In the beginning you would just cry,
Now you can laugh if you try.

You have done quite well since your start,
So as you grow older take heart;
Keep up the good work and do not be a jerk;

All these for our who is just year old

 All these for our who is just year old 

One candle for ……..Baby,
On her (his) birthday cake,
One love pat – a soft one,
One hug and one shake;
Then one kiss with love
That can never be told,
All these for our ………Baby
Who’s just ……. year old.

May the world rise to greet you

May the world rise to greet you

Happy Birthday, gentle friend have a blessed day May your heart be filled with wonders as you travel on life’s way I pray your day is filled with love and joy of every kind May the world rise to greet you I hope these things you find Joy, peace and happiness contentment in your heart May u find all these spirit fruits the ones that you impart

Poem Library

Bluebird

Bluebird

Charles Bukowski

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.


then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

The Starry Night

The Starry Night

Anne Sexton

That does not keep me from having a terrible need of -- shall I say the word -- religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars.

--Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother

The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.
The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die.

It moves. They are all alive.
Even the moon bulges in its orange irons
to push children, like a god, from its eye.
The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die:

into that rushing beast of the night,
sucked up by that great dragon, to split
from my life with no flag,
no belly,
no cry.

Alone With Everybody

Alone With Everybody

Charles Bukowski

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. 

The Hollow Men

The Hollow Men

T.S. Eliot

Mistah Kurtz -- he dead.

A penny for the Old Guy

I

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

II

Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death's dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind's singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.

Let me be no nearer
In death's dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer --

Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom

III

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man's hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

Is it like this
In death's other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.

IV

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river

Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death's twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.

V

Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o'clock in the morning.

Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow

Life is very long

Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow

For Thine is the Kingdom

For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Because I could not stop for Death

Because I could not stop for Death

Emily Dickinson

712

Because I could not stop for Death—
He kindly stopped for me—
The Carriage held but just Ourselves—
And Immortality.

We slowly drove—He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility—

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess—in the Ring—
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain—
We passed the Setting Sun—

Or rather—He passed Us—
The Dews drew quivering and chill—
For only Gossamer, my Gown—
My Tippet—only Tulle—

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground—
The Roof was scarcely visible—
The Cornice—in the Ground—

Since then—'tis Centuries—and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity—

The Whitsun Weddings

The Whitsun Weddings

Philip Larkin

That Whitsun, I was late getting away:
  Not till about
One-twenty on the sunlit Saturday 
Did my three-quarters-empty train pull out,
All windows down, all cushions hot, all sense
Of being in a hurry gone. We ran 
Behind the backs of houses, crossed a street
Of blinding windscreens, smelt the fish-dock; thence 
The river's level drifting breadth began, 
Where sky and Lincolnshire and water meet.

All afternoon, through the tall heat that slept 
  For miles inland, 
A slow and stopping curve southwards we kept. 
Wide farms went by, short-shadowed cattle, and 
Canals with floatings of industrial froth; 
A hothouse flashed uniquely: hedges dipped 
And rose: and now and then a smell of grass 
Displaced the reek of buttoned carriage-cloth 
Until the next town, new and nondescript, 
Approached with acres of dismantled cars.

At first, I didn't notice what a noise
  The weddings made
Each station that we stopped at: sun destroys
The interest of what's happening in the shade,
And down the long cool platforms whoops and skirls
I took for porters larking with the mails,
And went on reading. Once we started, though,
We passed them, grinning and pomaded, girls
In parodies of fashion, heels and veils,
All posed irresolutely, watching us go,

As if out on the end of an event
  Waving goodbye
To something that survived it. Struck, I leant
More promptly out next time, more curiously,
And saw it all again in different terms:
The fathers with broad belts under their suits
And seamy foreheads; mothers loud and fat;
An uncle shouting smut; and then the perms,
The nylon gloves and jewellery-substitutes,
The lemons, mauves, and olive-ochres that

Marked off the girls unreally from the rest. 
  Yes, from cafés
And banquet-halls up yards, and bunting-dressed 
Coach-party annexes, the wedding-days 
Were coming to an end. All down the line 
Fresh couples climbed aboard: the rest stood round; 
The last confetti and advice were thrown, 
And, as we moved, each face seemed to define 
Just what it saw departing: children frowned
At something dull; fathers had never known

Success so huge and wholly farcical;
 The women shared
The secret like a happy funeral;
While girls, gripping their handbags tighter, stared
At a religious wounding. Free at last,
And loaded with the sum of all they saw,
We hurried towards London, shuffling gouts of steam.
Now fields were building-plots, and poplars cast
Long shadows over major roads, and for
Some fifty minutes, that in time would seem

Just long enough to settle hats and say 
  I nearly died,
A dozen marriages got under way. 
They watched the landscape, sitting side by side
- An Odeon went past, a cooling tower, And 
someone running up to bowl - and none 
Thought of the others they would never meet 
Or how their lives would all contain this hour. 
I thought of London spread out in the sun, 
Its postal districts packed like squares of wheat:

There we were aimed. And as we raced across 
  Bright knots of rail 
Past standing Pullmans, walls of blackened moss 
Came close, and it was nearly done, this frail 
Travelling coincidence; and what it held
stood ready to be loosed with all the power
That being changed can give. We slowed again,
And as the tightened brakes took hold, there swelled 
A sense of falling, like an arrow-shower 
Sent out of sight, somewhere becoming rain.

The Genius Of The Crowd

The Genius Of The Crowd

Charles Bukowski

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

Cinderella

Cinderella

Anne Sexton

You always read about it:
the plumber with the twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
From toilets to riches.
That story.

Or the nursemaid,
some luscious sweet from Denmark
who captures the oldest son's heart.
from diapers to Dior.
That story.

Or a milkman who serves the wealthy,
eggs, cream, butter, yogurt, milk,
the white truck like an ambulance
who goes into real estate
and makes a pile.
From homogenized to martinis at lunch.

Or the charwoman
who is on the bus when it cracks up
and collects enough from the insurance.
From mops to Bonwit Teller.
That story.

Once
the wife of a rich man was on her deathbed
and she said to her daughter Cinderella:
Be devout. Be good. Then I will smile
down from heaven in the seam of a cloud.
The man took another wife who had
two daughters, pretty enough
but with hearts like blackjacks.
Cinderella was their maid.
She slept on the sooty hearth each night
and walked around looking like Al Jolson.
Her father brought presents home from town,
jewels and gowns for the other women
but the twig of a tree for Cinderella.
She planted that twig on her mother's grave
and it grew to a tree where a white dove sat.
Whenever she wished for anything the dove
would drop it like an egg upon the ground.
The bird is important, my dears, so heed him. 

Next came the ball, as you all know.
It was a marriage market.
The prince was looking for a wife.
All but Cinderella were preparing
and gussying up for the event.
Cinderella begged to go too.
Her stepmother threw a dish of lentils
into the cinders and said: Pick them
up in an hour and you shall go.
The white dove brought all his friends;
all the warm wings of the fatherland came,
and picked up the lentils in a jiffy.
No, Cinderella, said the stepmother,
you have no clothes and cannot dance.
That's the way with stepmothers.

Cinderella went to the tree at the grave
and cried forth like a gospel singer:
Mama! Mama! My turtledove,
send me to the prince's ball!
The bird dropped down a golden dress
and delicate little slippers.
Rather a large package for a simple bird.
So she went. Which is no surprise.
Her stepmother and sisters didn't
recognize her without her cinder face
and the prince took her hand on the spot
and danced with no other the whole day.

As nightfall came she thought she'd better
get home. The prince walked her home
and she disappeared into the pigeon house
and although the prince took an axe and broke
it open she was gone. Back to her cinders.
These events repeated themselves for three days.
However on the third day the prince
covered the palace steps with cobbler's wax
and Cinderella's gold shoe stuck upon it.
Now he would find whom the shoe fit
and find his strange dancing girl for keeps.
He went to their house and the two sisters
were delighted because they had lovely feet.
The eldest went into a room to try the slipper on
but her big toe got in the way so she simply
sliced it off and put on the slipper.
The prince rode away with her until the white dove
told him to look at the blood pouring forth.
That is the way with amputations.
They just don't heal up like a wish.
The other sister cut off her heel
but the blood told as blood will.
The prince was getting tired.
He began to feel like a shoe salesman.
But he gave it one last try.
This time Cinderella fit into the shoe
like a love letter into its envelope.

At the wedding ceremony
the two sisters came to curry favor
and the white dove pecked their eyes out.
Two hollow spots were left
like soup spoons.

Cinderella and the prince
lived, they say, happily ever after,
like two dolls in a museum case
never bothered by diapers or dust,
never arguing over the timing of an egg,
never telling the same story twice,
never getting a middle-aged spread,
their darling smiles pasted on for eternity.
Regular Bobbsey Twins.
That story.

Some People

Some People

Charles Bukowski

some people never go crazy.
me, sometimes I'll lie down behind the couch
for 3 or 4 days.
they'll find me there.
it's Cherub, they'll say, and
they pour wine down my throat
rub my chest
sprinkle me with oils.
then, I'll rise with a roar,
rant, rage -
curse them and the universe
as I send them scattering over the
lawn.
I'll feel much better,
sit down to toast and eggs,
hum a little tune,
suddenly become as lovable as a
pink
overfed whale.
some people never go crazy.
what truly horrible lives
they must lead.

Mirror

Mirror

Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful --
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair

I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair

Pablo Neruda

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps. 

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond. 

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes, 

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.


Translated by Stephen Tapscott

Saddest Poem

Saddest Poem

Pablo Neruda

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. 

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance." 

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings. 

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. 

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky. 

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes? 

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her. 

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass. 

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me. 

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her. 

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me. 

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer. 

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear. 

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes. 

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long. 

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her. 

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

My Last Duchess

My Last Duchess

Robert Browning

That's my last duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will't please you sit and look at her? I said
"Frà Pandolf" by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so, not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not
Her husband's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps
Frà Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps
"Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint
"Must never hope to reproduce the faint
"Half-flush that dies along her throat": such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart--how shall I say?--too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate'er
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.

Sir, 'twas all one! My favor at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace--all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men--good! but thanked
Somehow--I know not how--as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech--which I have not--to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say, "Just this
"Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
"Or there exceed the mark"--and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, nor plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and make excuse,
--E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The Count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretense
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay we'll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

A Bird came down the Walk

A Bird came down the Walk

Emily Dickinson

328

A Bird came down the Walk—
He did not know I saw—
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw,

And then he drank a Dew
From a convenient Grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the Wall
To let a Beetle pass—

He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroa—
They looked like frightened Beads, I thought—
He stirred his velvet head

Like one in danger, Cautious,
I offered him a Crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home—

Than Oars divide the Ocean,
Too silver for a seam—
Or Butterflies, off Banks of Noon,
Leap, plashless as they swim.

Mad Girl's Love Song

Mad Girl's Love Song

Sylvia Plath

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

Daddy

Daddy

Sylvia Plath

You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.

Daddy, I have had to kill you.
You died before I had time ----
Marble-heavy, a bag full of God,
Ghastly statue with one gray toe
Big as a Frisco seal

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

In the German tongue, in the Polish town
Scraped flat by the roller
Of wars, wars, wars.
But the name of the town is common.
My Polack friend 

Says there are a dozen or two.
So I never could tell where you
Put your foot, your root,
I never could talk to you.
The tongue stuck in my jaw.

It stuck in a barb wire snare.
Ich, ich, ich, ich,
I could hardly speak.
I thought every German was you.
And the language obscene

An engine, an engine,
Chuffing me off like a Jew.
A Jew to Dachau, Auschwitz, Belsen.
I began to talk like a Jew.
I think I may well be a Jew.

The snows of the Tyrol, the clear beer of Vienna
Are not very pure or true.
With my gypsy ancestress and my weird luck
And my Taroc pack and my Taroc pack
I may be a bit of a Jew.

I have always been scared of you,
With your Luftwaffe, your gobbledygoo.
And your neat mustache
And your Aryan eye, bright blue.
Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You ----

Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.

You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who

Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.

But they pulled me out of the sack,
And they stuck me together with glue.
And then I knew what to do.
I made a model of you,
A man in black with a Meinkampf look

And a love of the rack and the screw.
And I said I do, I do.
So daddy, I'm finally through.
The black telephone's off at the root,
The voices just can't worm through.

If I've killed one man, I've killed two ----
The vampire who said he was you
And drank my blood for a year,
Seven years, if you want to know.
Daddy, you can lie back now.

There's a stake in your fat black heart
And the villagersnever liked you.
They are dancing and stamping on you.
They always knew it was you.
Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through.

The Mower

The Mower

Philip Larkin

The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed.  It had been in the long grass.

I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably.  Burial was no help:

Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful

Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.

If You Forget Me

If You Forget Me

Pablo Neruda

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
remember
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land. 

But
if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

My Papa's Waltz

My Papa's Waltz

Theodore Roethke

The whiskey on your breath 
Could make a small boy dizzy; 
But I hung on like death: 
Such waltzing was not easy. 

We romped until the pans 
Slid from the kitchen shelf; 
My mother's countenance 
Could not unfrown itself. 

The hand that held my wrist 
Was battered on one knuckle; 
At every step you missed 
My right ear scraped a buckle. 

You beat time on my head 
With a palm caked hard by dirt, 
Then waltzed me off to bed 
Still clinging to your shirt. 

Lady Lazarus

Lady Lazarus

Sylvia Plath

I have done it again.
One year in every ten
I manage it----

A sort of walking miracle, my skin
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin
0 my enemy.
Do I terrify?----

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.
The peanut-crunching crowd
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot
The big strip tease.
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.
The first time it happened I was ten.
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else,
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call.

It's easy enough to do it in a cell.
It's easy enough to do it and stay put.
It's the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute
Amused shout:

'A miracle!'
That knocks me out.
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge
For the hearing of my heart----
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge
For a word or a touch
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.
So, so, Herr Doktor.
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash ---
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there----

A cake of soap,
A wedding ring,
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.

Love

Love

Pablo Neruda

What's wrong with you, with us, 
what's happening to us? 
Ah our love is a harsh cord 
that binds us wounding us 
and if we want 
to leave our wound, 
to separate, 
it makes a new knot for us and condemns us 
to drain our blood and burn together. 

What's wrong with you? I look at you 
and I find nothing in you but two eyes 
like all eyes, a mouth 
lost among a thousand mouths that I have kissed, more beautiful, 
a body just like those that have slipped 
beneath my body without leaving any memory. 

And how empty you went through the world 
like a wheat-colored jar 
without air, without sound, without substance! 
I vainly sought in you 
depth for my arms 
that dig, without cease, beneath the earth: 
beneath your skin, beneath your eyes, 
nothing, 
beneath your double breast scarcely 
raised 
a current of crystalline order 
that does not know why it flows singing. 
Why, why, why, 
my love, why?

One Art

One Art

Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant 
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

--Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied.  It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

Dream Deferred

Dream Deferred

Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore--
And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Acquainted With The Night

Acquainted With The Night

Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-by;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Variation On The Word Sleep

Variation On The Word Sleep

Margaret Atwood

I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and as you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You

I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You

Pablo Neruda

I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it's you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.

Maybe January light will consume
My heart with its cruel
Ray, stealing my key to true calm.

In this part of the story I am the one who
Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,
Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.

I'll meet you in my dreams

by Leah j

As i close my eyes and drifed off to sleep.
i find you in my dreams waiting for me,
i see you in my dreams each and every nite,
and you seem so real to me,

i hear you whisper softly come with me my love,
as we dance the nite away,
i reach for your extended hand and suddenly,
a symphoney begins to play for just us; the most
beautiful music i have ever heard,
you take me lovely into your arms
holding me as if i were royalty as we begin to dance the nite away,

romanticaly we gaze into one and other's eyes
only seeng the beauty of the love we share,
i then feel a kiss gently placed upon my forhead with your tender lips as i return a kiss back replacing it on your cheek.

with words spoken deep with in my heart i look directly into your eyes and tell you,
"my darling, my knight in shining armor,my lover and my friend,
will you ever know how deep my love flows for you? for i will love
you more tomorrow then i love you today" for no other can make me feel this way but you.

i kiss your lips tenderly once more as the dawn of the new day quickly arrives as i softly whisper in you ear, i must leave you now my darling but i'll see you in my dreams tomorrow. till we meet again,
goodbye my love.

In Search Of You

In Search Of You
Author: Himanshu Deshpande

At times in life, when I stop distressed,
To find my wounds, lying undressed;
And pain is all that I can feel,
With no one around, to get me to heal.

At times in life, when I do tire,
Whose company do I admire?
I search  in vain, for a lap to lie,
If not that, just a shoulder to cry.

At times in life, whom do I blame?
When fate plays a nasty game.
Best friends turn bitter foes,
And leave behind a string of throes.

At times in life, when everything's good,
I'm enjoying good wine and delicious food.
Just when I have, forgotten to cry,
With whom do I share this ample joy?

At times in life, when I'm trudging along,
With no one to whom I can belong;
I need nothing, but love that's true,
Which is why I am, in search of you!

No Words

No Words
Author: Richard Hayman Ricky

What is there left
When there is nothing left to say
When you are faced with a choice
Of whether to stay or walk away.

What is there left
When there is nothing left to feel
When you let pride get in the way
And when the problems seem too real.

What is there left
When there is nothing left to be spoken
When you realize it's a new day
But your heart remains broken.

What is there left
When you lose touch
When you finally realize
That she loved you so much.

What is there left
When you cry for her gentle memory
When you cherish all you had
Before her untimely tragedy.

Love Abides

Love Abides
Author: Michelle Misty Hamlin

You picked me up and wrapped me 
in a warm blanket of love.
You swept me up and dusted off 
webs of hurts inside.

You gave me warmth
you sheltered me
from life's stormy skies.
Now I live in a home where love abides.

You held me tight.
Where there was darkness,
you gave me light.
Now the world seems real bright.

In the place where love abides,
you showered me with kisses,
saw through my heart to love,
chased away the darkness 
with unconditional love.

Together we dwell forever
in the place where love abides.

The Hill Of Love

The Hill Of Love
Author: Bernard Pennington

I dream of the hill that we shared
I only then realised how much you cared,
your smiling face your warm embrace
mean the world to me.

The touch of your hand upon my face,
your true love is full of grace.
You touched my inner most feelings,
like you did from the begining.

So much love ,you opened my eyes,
and for me such a beautiful supprise,
I think im dreaming.
We walk down the hill hand in hand
and I think of flower blossoms all around.

Oh my love for you is so honest and true,
just like the first morning dew.
And if dreams can come true,
my love will only be of you.

How I love you my  darling,
If I could make time stand still,
my love would be only of you and the hill.

A Rose Without You

A Rose Without You
Author: Jonathan Magueflor Cruz

With this rose, I not only give you merely a rose, 
but I give you my heart and soul. 
I send to you all the love I have to give,
and anything else that would give me the 
chance to touch your heart.
   
With this rose, I reveal all my
thoughts and feelings about you
that I have withheld for so long.
I feel when I am with you... I am like a rose, 
not because of it?s beauty, 
but because I am able to bloom and grow with you.
   
To me you are like a rose's sunshine, 
so full of energy and light, 
that never does it fail to lift my spirits. 
Just by the sound of your voice and that look in your eye.
 
I could never tear my eyes from you,
you are able to make my life worth living. 
But, without you, just like a rose, 
I would wither and die. 
Not all at once, but little by little, 
petal by petal. 

Slowly at first, because you have made me 
stronger and stronger each day you're with me.
But eventually, without you, I will loose 
all those beautiful petals you have given me.

A BETTER TOMORROW

A BETTER TOMORROW
Author: Yvonne Warren

I never knew there would be a better tomorrow 
But you've come into my life and taken away all my sorrow 

My days of sadness are a thing of the past 
Because I have found true love at last 

My days of emptiness are gone for good 
Because you fill a void in my heart that you should 

You've opened a window 
You've shown me the light 
And my love for you will continue to burn bright. 

A Wish

A Wish
Author: Randy Schutte

I lie on the ground,
and stare into space,
the stars start to move,
into the shape of your face.

I see you there now,
looking down at me,
with that cute little smile,
that I like to see.

You say "close your eyes",
"tell me what you see",
I see only two people,
just you and me.

We're walking the shoreline,
with our feet getting wet,
the horizon turns pink,
as the sun starts to set.

We make love through the night,
on that white sandy shore,
then I hold you while thinking,
I could want nothing more.

Oh I wish I could be,
in that one special place,
as I lie on the ground,
and I stare into space.

Comfort Of Your Love

Comfort Of Your Love
Author: Sunday B. Fakus

You buried my shame in the depth of the sea
And cast my fears to the bed of the ocean.
You carried my hopes to the end of the earth
And enriched my pride with the fruits of love.

As far as the east is from the west,
You removed past guilt from my mind.
As far as the heaven is from the earth,
You sever shame from the contents of my thoughts.

As you build up my faith, mountain high,
You deeply warm my heart with a wondrous smile.
And now, being crowned in the comfort of your love,
You make me rollick in the safety of your arms.

Give Me Your Word

Give Me Your Word

Author: Tennessee Ernie Ford

Give me your word Our love will never die.  Give me your word You feel the same as I.  My heart will beat a lifetime, just for you That’s all it wants to do.  Give me your lips And let your kiss remain.  Give me your word  I’m not in love in vain.  Give me one hope to guide me One vow you’ll be beside me.  Give me your word.

Heart To Heart

Heart To Heart

Author: Lilaneyah

Sometimes in this lifetime,
we meet a special soul,
who fills our very essence,
to almost overflow,
we drink the cup of friendship,
it tastes like ruby wine,
and you know within your heart,
this meeting was Divine.

This soul that lives within your heart,
no distance can prevail,
an inner spark, within the heart,
becomes a Holy Grail,
the starting of a journey,
in which you both shall be,
a reflection of each other,
for all eternity.

How To Kiss

How To Kiss
Author: Gabriel

How would I kiss you?
Let me describe the ways -

I would hold your gaze with mine
as I approach the corner of your mouth,
then softly kiss you there.

I would kiss your eyes, one by one,
with my fingers tease your chest
and press closer into your warmth
I would inhale the scent of your hair,
drawing a draught of you deeply
into my being, into my heart.

I would move to your ear and linger...
whispering your name with
the warmth of my breath,
then softly kiss you there.

I would kiss, lightly as a hush,
your cheek, then very slowly
returning to your mouth, pause,
then brush it with my burning lips.

Then softly I would kiss you there,
press you closer into my warmth
into my being, into my heart
and savour the aching anticipation
that wells in throbs within,
the want of more of you...

Hearts Desire

Hearts Desire
Author: Brynn

Brandish you, my hearts delight
I yield to you every night
And in the time I've spent alone
My love for you I've always known

Passion burns in lovers eyes
One look from you, my spirits rise
This flame inside, still burns bright
And from my soul, this light takes flight

Lately this rain seems less dreary 
Because of this, my hearts less weary
And if in fact we're meant to be
The sky will clear so I may see

A future bright and filled with love
Sends cleansing rain from above
To wash away the painful tears
And release my heart of once felt fears

Each time I look at you my dear
There seems nothing I should fear
Once locked up dreams come undone
A new life for me has begun

My life spins in tune with yours
Twirling and dancing through open doors
A cycle with a touch of fate
Our worlds entwined, creating hate 

Through our bond, we rose to fight
A love this strong can break the night
Through this fight, we mean no pain
Happiness is all we wish to gain.

LIE STILL MY LOVE

LIE STILL MY LOVE

Author: Michelle Marie Brazier-Huelsman

Lie still my love, sleep on til the morn,
As I lie here, let me watch you sleeping,
So quiet and so warm,
I cradle you in my loving arms, just like an innocent child,
A handsome man, so nice, so kind and with a manner so mild,
Beside me you lie as you dream,
Your loving heart beating slowly,
I whisper to you softly those three most precious words "I LOVE YOU",
Your endless dreams are yours to hold,
In the shadows of sleep, they continue to unfold,
But dream on my darling, until the morn,
As I lie beside you so quiet and so warm.

JUST FOR YOU

JUST FOR YOU

Author: Janet

As I sit here all alone
I think of only you
I think of how I love you
and how you make me feel
I think of what could be
a wish come true
for you to love me too

I'm holding on to my love for you
and hoping one day soon
you will love me
like I love you

I Want You to Know

I Want You to Know
Author: Jennifer Dinh

I want you to know...
That I love you so.
Deep in my heart is where you'll stay,
Each and everyday,
Now, forever, and always.

I want you to know...
That I'll always be there,
To show you how much I care.
I'll never let you down
I'll do anything to keep away your frown.

I want you to know...
How much you mean to me
You're my eyes to see,
My heart to beat, and my air to breathe,
Without you, there's no me.

I want you to know...
That "I Love You".

HIDDEN LOVE

HIDDEN LOVE
Author: Heather

Passion burning deep in my heart
Wishing that we were never apart
Coming together hand in hand
Melted and pressed as grains of sand
Shaping a most beautiful pane of glass
Etchings abound and trimmed with brass
A beautiful display wanting all to see
Remains hidden and sheltered only for me

LONELY HEART

LONELY HEART
Author: Lady Of Knight

If I had a heart I'm sure it would say
How lonely its been since you went away,
With no one to snuggle and no one to hold.
I guess I'll adjust, or so I've been told.

It's hard to sit back as the line seems to grow
And watch all the flirting, when deep down I know
There's nobody there who can know your heart
Or feel your thoughts even though apart.

To know your thoughts with just one word
Without the others being heard.
To feel your heart and share what you love
Like some magic secret from up above.

The music flows and so do the smiles
From you to them across the miles.
Even our songs that were special there
Are followed by smiles for all to share.

I guess it's me... I just don't understand
You told me you loved me and held my hand.
How can I trust anything you say,
When I'm yesterdays news the very next day.

If I had a heart it would beat in place
Instead of having this empty space.
And yours would beat along with mine,
And I'd be yours til the end of time.

LOVE YOU IN SILENCE

LOVE YOU IN SILENCE
Author: Honey Cai

You came into my life
Quietly, simply, tenderly...
The world stood still
I could not say a word
Nor a single gestured showed.

The feeling kept in my heart
So I've loved you in silence
Worshipped ypu from a distance
And dreamt of you so often.

I want to say I Love You,
But I'm afraid...
Afraid that you'll just take it for granted.
In silence then, I'll just love you.
In silence I'll find...
The fulfillment of my dreams.

My Heart Sings

My Heart Sings
Author: Bill Turner

A long, interesting life
Bringing me to this point
No longer upon the edge
Pulling out of my free fall
No longer feeling small

Your love pulling me back
It has been there all along
Life preserver upon my sea
Now that I have taken the ring
I can feel my heart sing

Candle light soft and flickering
Showing me the way
My hand searching for yours
Finding you within the infernal night
Your love making my world right

Comfort within your smile
Lost in the love light of your eyes
Mesmerized by all you do
Feeling all the love you have for me
Knowing that my heart runs free

Take my hand and do not let go
Guide me down the path aglow
Shimmering under the glorious light
Love bringing us together
Hearing the wind whisper "forever".

MISSING YOU LIKE CRAZY

MISSING YOU LIKE CRAZY

Author: Alice Garcia

Sometimes at night,
when I lay down to sleep,
I embrace myself,
I start to think...
Then I imagine
that you lie beside me...
hugs and kisses
all over my body.
I wish you
could really be here,
just to whisper,
"I love you," in my ear.
I would turn around and say,
"I love you, too."
But will it ever be true?
So I turn around
and I wonder some more,
still wanting your embrace,
so I close my eyes and picture your face...
I fall asleep dreaming of you.
In my dream it seems so true.
It's as if I can really feel
your kisses against my lips...
Then my eyes pop open
and you're nowhere to be seen,
And I feel so lonely
once AGAIN!!!

RUNNING AWAY

RUNNING AWAY

Author: Abigail

Oh hold me close just one more time Your perfect touch, your lips on mine because Perfect things- they never last We steal our moments, oh so fast.  Come with me, let's run away Hide awhile and there we'll stay. Cuddle close and hold me tight In your arms the world is right.  Leaning near, you steal a kiss My blushing cheeks tell all of this Your laugh, so sweet, as you watch me. Oh, we'll love forever... they'll just see.

MY LIFE WITH YOU

MY LIFE WITH YOU
Author: C.K

I've lived my life in a chaotic world
I see the darkness as my days unfold.
The trembling of my heart I feel,
As sadness embraces me from head to heel.

And now that I've found you
Everything so right and true.
You are the sparkle in my eyes
You've filled lovin' with all my cries.

You've mastered my fears 
And eradicated my tears.
My sun burns even brighter,
My life seems so much happier.

Because of you I've learned that life is no misery
Now I know love is kept for eternity.
I've searched even the deepest sea,
But there's nothing like the love you've given me
I LOVE YOU HONEY...

Secrets Of My Heart

Secrets Of My Heart
Author: Uwo Kiss

Why does my heart still hold on to you 
At every waking moment, in everything I do
Why do I have to see your face all day
And if you knew, what would you say?

My heart breaks in two when I see her with you
And I think to myself, what didn't I do
I wish I could somehow turn back the time
And relive one second when you were mine.

I wish no one ever had to know 
The feeling of lovesick pain from head to toe
Like someone rips out your heart and tears it in two
And sit back and watch is all you can do.

In my dreams you say those words I long to hear
And when I look in your eyes, I know you're sincere
So I'll see you later, when the day is through
When I'm asleep in my bed, dreaming of you.

PROMISE

PROMISE

Author: Diana Lynn

I will love you with all my heart,
To have forever - never to part.
This is a promise engrained in me,
Take my hand and let it be.
I will go to the ends of the earth if that is what you need,
Just say yes and let your soul take the lead.
This is a promise at the core of me,
Kiss my lips and let this be.
I will wipe your tears with no questions asked,
No more will your feelings be masked.
This is a promise I make to you,
Look into my eyes and follow through.
I will know how to hold you just by the look in your eye,
I will never forget - not even on the day that I die.
This is a promise of my passion for you,
smile at me and make it true.
I will support you even when I cannot support myself anymore,
I will dig deeper and find the hidden strength at my inner core.
This promise means I sacrifice all of me for you,
Understand this- and make our lives anew.
I will love you with everything so deep inside,
And to only you - this gift I shall confide.
This is a promise so incredibly real,
kiss me my love and you shall feel.

A BLUE STAR IN YOUR EYES

A BLUE STAR IN YOUR EYES
Author: Jo'Lene Tover

On the wings of an eagle,
My love for you flies.
Soaring higher and higher,
And touching the skies.

I reached up above,
And pulled a star from the sky.
To place it within,
Your precious minds eye.

To dwell there forever,
As my love for you.
On the wings of our love,
Enduring and true.

I honor you my darling,
With all that I am.
Please darling please,
Will you be my man?

There are so many things,
My heart wants to say.
I love you sweetheart,
There is no other way.

THE PICTURE IN MY DREAMS

THE PICTURE IN MY DREAMS

Author: Willie J. Edwards

Late at night when I'm in bed
What seems like a picture begins in my head.
And as my eyes begin to shut,
My body feels as it is fluttering up.
Then as amazing as it seems,
The picture becomes clearer and clearer in my dreams.

But what does the picture hold?
I still can't make it out.
But as it begins to unfold,
I know there is no doubt.

It's a picture of a man and a woman standing side by side,
With happiness in their eyes.
But suddenly the picture comes to a stop.
Then the man looks like me,
The woman I still can't make out.
But how can this be?
Everything was going right and I was going to see
The woman I loved and was going to be with for eternity.

The picture isn't coming out and I guess I will have to wait and see
To find out who the woman is standing next to me.
For maybe we might get together and I hope this dream comes true.

But now I know I won't have to wait for her;
Because the woman in my arms is you.

The Way You Make Me Feel

The Way You Make Me Feel
Author: Amanda Standridge

You make me feel special,
You make me feel new,
You make me feel loved,
With everything you do.

You hold me close when I am sad.
You wipe the tears from my face.
Every time we are together,
It seems like the perfect place.

My eyes light up when you enter a room.
I smile when we are together.
No matter how bad things are,
You always make them better.

I love the way you kiss me,
The way you hold me tight.
I love the way you touch me,
I could be with you all night.

I love the way you can make me laugh
For absolutely no reason at all.
I love how no matter what I do,
You will be there to catch me when I fall.

I just want you to know,
That even though we sometimes fight,
I will always love you!
No matter what, day or night.

What Is It About You?

What Is It About You?
Author: Cari Escobar

What is it about you  that I'm so attracted to?
Is it the tender look in your eyes?
Or your lips so soft and kissable?
Is it the way you call me baby?
Or the sweetness in you, which makes you so lovable?

What's there in you  that I've never felt before?
Is it your touch  or your warm embrace?
Is it the way you hold me  or your silky caress?
Or that every time your lips meet mine,
There's a sincere, special look in your face.

What is it about you  that makes me miss you so?
Is it that I can't imagine me without you?
Or that not hearing the sound of your voice,
Always makes me miss you more  makes me so blue.

What is it about you  that makes me long for more?
Is it your confident, yet kind and gentle way?
Is it that when we cuddle, my heart you always touch?
Or the way I urge to be with you night and day.
 
What is it about you  that frightens me so?
Is it that you may not feel exactly what I feel?
Is it that there's still a wall setting us apart?
Or that you're so afraid of opening your heart.

I have yet to find the answers,
to the questions which here lay.
All I know is when I'm with you,
all my worries fade away.

WANT YOU

WANT YOU

Author: Tamsin Kennard

Hot burning pain
Lovely eyes
And features that I want to break

Patterns emerge
Happiness won't
Stay too close

"Me and You"
No one says that anymore

Fires come back
Lights brighten
I CAN'T LEAVE YOU!
I can't see my life
If you aren't there to cling to and to love

Salute to fallen men
Respect them
But forget me

It seems you don't believe in love
That's so hollow!
You don't cry - I do that for you
I cry enough tears to fill the empty space
That you constantly keep between us!

YOUR EYES

YOUR EYES
Author: adieus50@hotmail.com

I love your eyes, those twinkling eyes,
They speak of a thousand things.

It glows and I drown in its intensity,
I would love to stay there forever.

It evokes myriad memories,
And leaves an imprint on me.

I consider myself lucky enough,
To have experienced its warmth.

When cupid's arrow strikes,
The world seems apparelled in celestial light,
Like the glory and freshness of your eyes.

Just like the morning dew,
Exotic and beautiful.

Every time I look into your eyes,
I'm lost in innumerable memories,
Thus forgetting the world behind me.

I wouldn't expect anything much,
Than just being the Apple of your eye!

Your Smile

Your Smile
Author: Yoly

Unimaginable to queens and doves
I was caught between soft gasps of delight
and the privileged serenity
of taking in your smile

That solicitous smile 
delivered hope to my soul
when soft swept words carried
dusk into nocturnal magic

Then a trickle of light nestled your hair
and I waited for the wind
and tiny bells to ring 
the anticipating sound of surrender.

why Do I Love You?

why Do I Love You?
Author: Meg

You make me smile
when I'm having a bad day.
You make me laugh
at everything you say.

You're always there
no matter where you are.
You come rushing towards me
even if you're very far.

You enjoy my company
You smile when you see me.
You're interested in what I have to say
You like me for more than what you see.
 
When I'm afraid
You're there to hold me tight.
You tell me you love me
and that everything is gonna be alright.

You give me so much
more that I could ever give.
I want you in my life forever
for as long as I live.

WHEN I SLEEP

WHEN I SLEEP

Author: Robert Kyle Newton

When the dawn turns to dusk,
My world suddenly feels right all over again,
For I know when I close my eyes,
You’ll be there next to me,
I could fall a million times and you would be there to lift me up,
I could cry the sorrows of my life,
And you would comfort me,
I could laugh and you’d be sharing my joy,
I could do all I wanted to do with you and you’ll be there,
And these are the times I treasure so much,
For the world will rejoice again at the break of a new day,
And you have left me, no longer there,
I would awake in tears for in my arms you no longer are,
And till the night comes again, would I see you,
Where the love of my life returns.

And Ut Pictura Poesis Is Her Name

By John Ashbery

You can’t say it that way any more.

Bothered about beauty you have to

Come out into the open, into a clearing,

And rest. Certainly whatever funny happens to you

Is OK. To demand more than this would be strange

Of you, you who have so many lovers,

People who look up to you and are willing

To do things for you, but you think

It’s not right, that if they really knew you . . .

So much for self-analysis. Now,

About what to put in your poem-painting:

Flowers are always nice, particularly delphinium.

Names of boys you once knew and their sleds,

Skyrockets are good—do they still exist?

There are a lot of other things of the same quality

As those I’ve mentioned. Now one must

Find a few important words, and a lot of low-keyed,

Dull-sounding ones. She approached me

About buying her desk. Suddenly the street was

Bananas and the clangor of Japanese instruments.

Humdrum testaments were scattered around. His head

Locked into mine. We were a seesaw. Something

Ought to be written about how this affects

You when you write poetry:

The extreme austerity of an almost empty mind

Colliding with the lush, Rousseau-like foliage of its desire to communicate

Something between breaths, if only for the sake

Of others and their desire to understand you and desert you

For other centers of communication, so that understanding

May begin, and in doing so be undone.

To My Dear and Loving Husband

Analysis of the Love Poem by Anne Bradstreet

If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women if you can.

I prize thy love more than whole Mines of gold,
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee, give recompence.

Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.
Then while we live, in love let's so persever,
That when we live no more, we may live ever.

What it is to live

by Jacqui Armstrong

He walked through the door a tear in his eye
He lifted his sleeve and wiped it dry
He took a deep breath and stepped into the room
He closed his eyes he saw the gloom

She was there so very quiet and still
She seemed as though she was never ill
He slowly walked closer to her
The few weeks before became a blur

He reached out for her small white hand
Held it tight but could not understand
He took his ring placed it on her chain
Took his sleeve and wiped his eyes again

He slowly sat on the small white chair
Put out his hand and touched her hair
So perfect and blonde so long and neat
Without you I am incomplete

He whispered, I love you in her ear
Although you're gone you're always here
And at that moment his hand moved from her hair
To his heart you're always there

He slowly stood up and again took her hand
Things were clear he could now understand
Even if she wasn't there with him
Inside his heart could never be dim

He placed her hand down by her side
Her imprint she left so deep inside
For the last time he softly kissed her
Still her body did not stir

He turned to walk toward the door
Then turned back to look once more
Her new small ring shone in the light
He closed the door she had lost her fight

And as surely as he said that day
In his heart she will always stay

© Jacqui Armstrong

* i have dedicated this poem to one of my friends who's girlfriend he lost to cancer*

The Movie of Our Life

by Darien

The Movie of Our Life

In the movie of our life,
starring you and me.
Hollywood is in for a treat,
wait until they see.

The stage is all ours,
so let's put on a good show.
We act these roles so well,
but they will never know.

Shakespeare seems out of date,
Romeo and Juliet got old.
Baby they have nothing on us,
so let our story be told.

We write romance scenes,
like forever had no end.
It all comes so natural,
with an amazing girlfriend.

We've only gotten started,
the end is far from now.
Nothing can break us up,
not even a broken vow.

People watch the notebook,
is that all Hollywood's got?
Girl, you and me alone,
make those scenes look hot.

They'll write a story one day,
and a movie to go with it.
Just get us to act it out,
It would be the greatest hit.

We may never be Hollywood's hottest,
Brad and Angelina will be in the past.
It will last as long as their careers,
but baby you and I will forever last.