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26-01-2007
  361
rêverie
 
Join Date: Mar 2006
Location: norcal / the philippines
Gender: homme
Posts: 5,471
Ode to Sadness / Pablo Neruda
Sadness, scarab
with seven crippled feet,
spiderweb egg,
scramble-brained rat,
bitch's skeleton:
No entry here.
Don't come in.
Go away.
Go back
south with your umbrella,
go back
north with your serpent's teeth.
A poet lives here.
No sadness may
cross this threshold.
Through these windows
comes the breath of the world,
fresh red roses,
flags embroidered with
the victories of the people.
No.
No entry.
Flap
your bat's wings,
I will trample the feathers
that fall from your mantle,
I will sweep the bits and pieces
of your carcass to
the four corners of the wind,
I will wring your neck,
I will stitch your eyelids shut,
I will sew your shroud,
sadness, and bury your rodent bones
beneath the springtime of an apple tree.

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... they lived and laughed and loved and left ...
pseudo-oz~ tintin!
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26-01-2007
  362
V.I.P.
 
electricladyland's Avatar
 
Join Date: Sep 2005
Location: The red hot center of my beating heart.
Gender: femme
Posts: 8,981
The Revolution Will Not Be Televised, Gil Scott Heron

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le rêve est réalité...
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26-01-2007
  363
V.I.P.
 
electricladyland's Avatar
 
Join Date: Sep 2005
Location: The red hot center of my beating heart.
Gender: femme
Posts: 8,981
Dis Poem, Mutabaruka

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02-02-2007
  364
V.I.P.
 
jennifer~'s Avatar
 
Join Date: Aug 2004
Gender: homme
Posts: 8,307
You, Doctor Martin, walk
from breakfast to madness. Late August,
I speed through the antiseptic tunnel
where the moving dead still talk
of pushing their bones against the thrust
of cure. And I am queen of this summer hotel
or the laughing bee on a stalk

of death. We stand in broken
lines and wait while they unlock
the doors and count us at the frozen gates
of dinner. The shibboleth is spoken
and we move to gravy in our smock
of smiles. We chew in rows, our plates
scratch and whine like chalk

in school. There are no knives
for cutting your throat. I make
moccasins all morning. At first my hands
kept empty, unraveled for the lives
they used to work. Now I learn to take
them back, each angry finger that demands
I mend what another will break

tomorrow. Of course, I love you;
you lean above the plastic sky,
god of our block, prince of all the foxes.
The breaking crowns are new
that Jack wore.
Your third eye
moves among us and lights the separate boxes
where we sleep or cry.

What large children we are
here. All over I grow most tall
in the best ward. Your business is people,
you call at the madhouse, an oracular
eye in our nest. Out in the hall
the intercom pages you. You twist in the pull
of the foxy children who fall

like floods of life in frost.
And we are magic talking to itself,
noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins
forgotten. Am I still lost?
Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself,
counting this row and that row of moccasins
waiting on the silent shelf.


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03-02-2007
  365
rising star
 
julz_nz's Avatar
 
Join Date: Jan 2006
Location: Auckland, NZ
Gender: femme
Posts: 104
I have 2:
Mirage - Christina Rossetti


The hope I dreamed of was a dream,
Was but a dream; and now I wake
Exceeding comfortless, and worn, and old,
For a dream's sake.

I hang my harp upon a tree,
A weeping willow in a lake;
I hang my silenced harp there, wrung and snapt
For a dream's sake.

Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart;
My silent heart, lie still and break:
Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed
For a dream's sake.


XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.





They are both soooo beautiful!

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10-02-2007
  366
The future is stupid
 
MissMagAddict's Avatar
 
Join Date: Feb 2005
Gender: femme
Posts: 25,303
When Death Comes Mary Oliver
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins
from his purse
to buy me,
and snaps the purse shut;
when death comes
like the measles-pox;

when death comes
like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering:
what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything
as a brotherhood and a sisterhood,
and I look upon time as no more than an idea,
and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common
as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth
tending as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something
precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it is over, I don't want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened,
or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

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13-02-2007
  367
The future is stupid
 
MissMagAddict's Avatar
 
Join Date: Feb 2005
Gender: femme
Posts: 25,303
Surplus Wislawa Szymborska


A new star has been discovered,
which doesn't mean it's gotten any brighter
or something missing has been gained.
The star is large and distant,
so distant, that it's small,
even smaller than others
a lot smaller than itself.
Surprise would be nothing surprising if we only had time for it.
Star's age, star's mass, star's position,
all of that may be enough
for one doctoral thesis
and a modest glass of wine
in the circles close to the sky:
an astronomer, his wife, relatives, and colleages,
a casual ambience, no dress code,
local topics fuel a down-to-earth conversation
and people are munching on terra chips.
A wonderful star,
but that's still no reason
not to drink to the ladies,
incomparably closer.
Star without consequences.
Without influence on weather, fashion, the score of the game,
changes in government, income, or the crisis of values.
With no effort on propoganda or heavy industry.
Without reflection in the finish of the conference table.
An excess number for life's numbered days.
Why need we ask
under how many stars someone is born
and under how many they die a little while later?
A new one.
"At least show me where it is."
"Between the edge of that jagged grayish cloud
and the twig of that locust tree on the left." "Oh," I say.

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24-02-2007
  368
V.I.P.
 
Join Date: Dec 2005
Gender: femme
Posts: 5,773
I don't know whether I can post these here, but her we go...
I, like many others here, like Sylvia Plath's poetry very much. Here is Plath reading some of her poems (from youtube):

"Lady Lazarus"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=esBLx...related&search=

"Daddy"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6hHjc...related&search=

"Fever 103"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nfgti...related&search=

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17-03-2007
  369
The future is stupid
 
MissMagAddict's Avatar
 
Join Date: Feb 2005
Gender: femme
Posts: 25,303
As I Walked Out One Evening
W. H. Auden


As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

'I'll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

'The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.'

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
'O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

'In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

'In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

'Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver's brilliant bow.

'O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you've missed.

'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

'O look, look in the mirror,
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

'O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.'

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.

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19-03-2007
  370
fashion icon
 
kellynjane's Avatar
 
Join Date: Jul 2005
Location: dear chicago
Gender: femme
Posts: 3,125
"The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart," by Jack Gilbert

How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,
God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words
get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according
to which nation. French has no word for home,
and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people
in northern India is dying out because their ancient
tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost
vocabularies that might express some of what
we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would
finally explain why the couples on their tombs
are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands
of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated,
they seemed to be business records. But what if they
are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve
Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light.
O Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper,
as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind's labor.
Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts
of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred
pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what
my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this
desire in the dark. Perhaps the spiral Minoan script
is not laguage but a map. What we feel most has
no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds.

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05-04-2007
  371
V.I.P.
 
snowqueen's Avatar
 
Join Date: Jun 2004
Location: London
Gender: femme
Posts: 6,321

this seemed rather apt ... i love poetry i not going to say my favorite as its always changing

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05-04-2007
  372
rêverie
 
Join Date: Mar 2006
Location: norcal / the philippines
Gender: homme
Posts: 5,471
l'infinito (english translation)
This solitary hill has always been dear to me
And this hedge, which prevents me from seeing most of
The endless horizon.
But when I sit and gaze, I imagine, in my thoughts
Endless spaces beyond the hedge,
An all encompassing silence and a deeply profound quiet,
To the point that my heart is almost overwhelmed.
And when I hear the wind rustling through the trees
I compare its voice to the infinite silence.
And eternity occurs to me, and all the ages past,
And the present time, and its sound.
Amidst this immensity my thought drowns:
And to flounder in this sea is sweet to me.

~ Count Giacomo Leopardi ~

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... they lived and laughed and loved and left ...
pseudo-oz~ tintin!
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26-04-2007
  373
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Diamond Star's Avatar
 
Join Date: Apr 2005
Location: UK
Gender: femme
Posts: 4,927
To the Evening Star by William Blake

Thou fair-hair'd angel of the evening,
Now, while the sun rests on the mountains, light
Thy bright torch of love; thy radiant crown
Put on, and smile upon our evening bed!
Smile on our loves; and, while thou drawest the
Blue curtains of the sky, scatter thy silver dew
On every flower that shuts its sweet eyes
In timely sleep. Let thy west wind sleep on
The lake; speak silence with thy glimmering eyes,
And wash the dusk with silver. Soon, full soon,
Dost thou withdraw; then the wolf rages wide,
And the lion glares thro' the dun forest:
The fleeces of our flocks are cover'd with
Thy sacred dew: protect them with thine influence.

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26-04-2007
  374
rêverie
 
Join Date: Mar 2006
Location: norcal / the philippines
Gender: homme
Posts: 5,471
my last duchess
That's my last Duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now: Fra Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will't please you sit and look at her? I said
"Fra 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
Fra 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 favour 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 made 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 pretence
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!
~ robert browning ~

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01-05-2007
  375
The future is stupid
 
MissMagAddict's Avatar
 
Join Date: Feb 2005
Gender: femme
Posts: 25,303
Annabelle Lee
Edgar Allen Poe

It was many and many a year ago
In a kingdom by the sea
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabelle Lee
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me

I was a child and she was a child
In this kingdom by the sea
But we loved with a love that was more than love
I and my Annabelle Lee
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me
And this was the reason that, long ago
In this kingdom by the sea
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabelle Lee
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me
To shut her up in a sepulcher
In this kingdom by the sea

It was many and many a year ago
In a kingdom by the sea
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabelle Lee

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