Favourite Poem?

[electricladyland]

Excerpts from ODA AL LIBRO (I) by (guess who…) Neruda

Libro, cuando te cierro
abro la vida.

***
Líbro, déjame libre.
Yo no quiero ir vestido
de volumen,
yo no vengo de un tomo,
mis poemas
no han comido poemas,
devoran
apasionados acontecimientos,
se nutren de intemperie,
extraen alimento
de la tierra y los hombres.
Libro, déjame andar por los caminos
con polvo en los zapatos
y sin mitología:
vuelve a tu biblioteca,
yo me voy por las calles.

He aprendido la vida
de la vida,
el amor lo aprendí de un solo beso,
y no pude enseñar a nadie nada
sino lo que he vivido,
cuanto tuve en común con otros hombres,
cuanto luché con ellos:
cuanto expresé de todos en mi canto.

Para una colega…

 

[humor]

To be nobody but yourself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you like everybody else means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight; and never stop fighting. ~e.e. cummings, 1955

 

[*~stix~*]

WARMING HER PEARLS
Carol Ann Duffy

Next to my own skin, her pearls. My mistress
bids me wear them, warm them, until evening
when I'll brush her hair. At six, I place them
round her cool, white throat. All day I think of her,

resting in the Yellow Room, contemplating silk
or taffeta, which gown tonight? She fans herself
whilst I work willingly, my slow heat entering
each pearl. Slack on my neck, her rope.

She's beautiful. I dream about her
in my attic bed; picture her dancing
with tall men, puzzled by my faint, persistent scent
beneath her French perfume, her milky stones.

I dust her shoulders with a rabbit's foot,
watch the soft blush seep through her skin
like an indolent sigh. In her looking-glass
my red lips part as though I want to speak.

Full moon. Her carriage brings her home. I see
her every movement in my head ... Undressing,
taking off her jewels, her slim hand reaching
for the case, slipping naked into bed, the way

she always does ... And I lie here awake,
knowing the pearls are cooling even now
in the room where my mistress sleeps. All night
I feel their absence and I burn.

 

[*~stix~*]

STANDING FEMALE NUDE
Carol Ann Duffy

Six hours like this for a few francs.
Belly nipple **** in the window light,
he drains the colour from me. Further to the right,
Madame. And do try to be still.
I shall be represented analytically and hung
in great museums. The bourgeoisie will coo
at such an image of a river-bunny. They call it Art.

Maybe. He is concerned with volume, space.
I with the next meal. You're getting thin,
Madame, this is not good. My breasts hang
Slightly low, the studio is cold. In the tea-leaves
I can see the Queen of England gazing
on my shape. Magnificent, she murmurs
moving on. It makes me laugh. His name

is Georges. They tell me he's a genius.
There are times he does not concentrate
and stiffens for my warmth. Men think of their mothers.
he possesses me on canvas as he dips the brush
repeatedly into the paint. Little man,
you've not the money for the arts I sell.
Both poor, we make our living how we can.

I ask him. Why do you do this? Because
I have to. There's no choice. Don't talk.
My smile confuses him. These artists
take themselves too seriously. At night I fill myself
with wine and dance around the bars. When it's finished
he shows me proudly, lights a cigarette. I say
Twelve francs and get my shawl. It does not look like me.


The picture I hold of my dear multitudes

 

[*~stix~*]

Echoes of a Broken Child

Today's the day.
The day I'm going to unlock the door and bury the past.
The day I'm going to let go.

You smile,
I just turn away, looking up to meet the icy glare of the smug moon.
The geese attack my skin, but not with the same gentle pecks as before; they're angry now.
You look confused as you watch my sweat cool under the soft light of the stars.

The Earth stands motionless as we lie on Eden's bed, wrapped in my shell
that cracked when I pulled you to your knees.
The tiger marked my back, its lips greeted my sweet Paradise with a kiss;
its firm touch met with symphony and song from an arch-backed deceiver
with dancing fingers.

The tingles dissolve.
I feel sick. I don't let people this close to my soul.
How did you climb over the wall that surrounds this private property? Regrets.
I sometimes wander why I carry all this guilt ...
it was him who laid the foundations for all these walls I've built.
Time healed my black eye, but my heart will remain forever bruised.

People wander why I have a padlock bolted around my heart ...
my actions are the echoes of a broken child.

Today's not the day.
I can't let go.
But one day I'll find the key that fits the lock.

 

[electricladyland]

^^^ phew! wow...

 

[*~stix~*]

^^^ phew! wow...

see that exactly why I don't go to class much...

 

[electricladyland]

who wrote that?

 

[KatjaR]

My 'poem of the day' thread perhaps

From whom is this poem??

 

[*~stix~*]

who wrote that?

I wrote it a couple of years ago when I was bored in History... I must have had a lot on my mind cos I sound so depressed ... i don't know, it makes no sense to me now.

 

[electricladyland]

^^ makes sense to me too... love it

 

[*~stix~*]

^^^ awww, you're sweet so you can have karma!

EDIT: but I have to spread a little reputation first

 

[elin_a]

My favourite poet Edith Södergran.
Her poem called "Love"

My soul was a light blue dress the color of the sky;
I left it on a rock by the sea
and naked I came to you, looking like a woman.
And like a woman I sat at your table
and drank a toast in wine, inhaling the scent of
some roses.
You found me beautiful, like something you saw in
a dream,
I forgot everything, I forgot my childhood and my
homeland,
I only knew that your caresses held me captive.
And smiling you held up a mirror and asked me
to look.
I saw that my shoulders were made of dust and
crumbled away,
I saw that my beauty was sick and wished only to –
disappear.
Oh, hold me tight in your arms so close that
I need nothing

 

[frozen_rain]

^^^ Love that one

 

[lemeray]

I hate poems.

 

[electricladyland]

Soneto XLVIII

Dos amantes dichosos hacen un solo pan,
una sola gota de luna en la hierba,
dejan andando dos sombras que se reúnen,
dejan un solo sol vacío en una cama.
De todas las verdades escogieron el día:
no se ataron con hilos sino con un aroma,
y no despedazaron la paz ni las palabras.
La dicha es una torre transparente.
El aire, el vino van con los dos amantes,
la noche les regala sus pétalos dichosos,
tienen derecho a todos los claveles.
Dos amantes dichosos no tienen fin ni muerte,
nacen y mueren muchas veces mientras viven,
tienen la eternidad de la naturaleza.

 

[jennifer~]

From whom is this poem??

Sara Teasdale ^

I've got an arrow here.
Loving the hand that sent it
I the dart revere.

Fell, they will say, in "skirmish"!
Vanquished, my soul will know
By but a simple arrow
Sped by an archer's bow.

- Emily Dickinson

 

[northernsky]

La fin de la journée​

Sous une lumière blafarde
Court, danse et se tord sans raison
La Vie, impudente et criarde.
Aussi, sitôt qu'à l'horizon​

La nuit voluptueuse monte,
Apaisant tout, même la faim,
Effaçant tout, même la honte,
Le Poète se dit : " Enfin !​

Mon esprit, comme mes vertèbres,
Invoque ardemment le repos ;
Le cœur plein de songes funèbres,​

Je vais me coucher sur le dos
Et me rouler dans vos rideaux,
Ô rafraîchissantes ténèbres ! "​

The End of the Day


Under the pale sunlight,
Life runs, dances, and twists
Without reason, impudent and noisy.
Likewise, as soon as

The voluptuous night rises on the horizon,
Appeasing everything, even hunger,
Wiping away everything, even shame,
The Poet says to himself: "Finally!

My spirit, like my vertebrae,
Ardently invokes rest;
With my heart full of funereal thoughts,

I will go to sleep on my back
And roll myself in your curtains,
Oh refreshing shadows!"

​

 

[travis_nw8]

its cheesy but im a fan of marlowe's the passionate shepherd to his love- the classic fun love poem

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of th purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

 

[taismith82]

Stopping by Woods On A Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely,dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.