What Poetry Moved You?

[pussycatdoll]

ahem sis, parang kakapost ko lang niyan sa mail box nung isang araw a.

 

at para hindi off topic, will repost another poem that i posted in the mail box here. this is one of my all time favorites, and one that i feel embodies the sentiments of most women i know at the beginning of a relationship. enjoy!

 

 

++++++++++++++

 

Kung Ibig Mo Akong Makilala

tula ni Ruth Elynia Mabanglo

 

Kung ibig mo akong makilala,

lampasan mo ang guhit ng mahugis na balat,

ang titig kong dagat --

yumayapos nang mahigpit sa bawat saglit

ng kahapon ko't bukas.

 

Kung ibig mo akong makilala,

sunduin mo ako sa himlayang dilim

at sa madlang pagsukol ng inunang hilahil,

ibangon ako at saka palayain.

 

Isang pag-ibig na lipos ng lingap,

tahanang malaya sa pangamba at sumbat

may suhay ng tuwa't ang kaluwalhatia'y

walang takda --

ialay mong lahat ito sa akin

kung mahal mo ako't ibig kilalanin.

 

Kung ibig mo akong kilalanin,

sisirin mo ako hanggang buto,

liparin mo ako hanggang utak,

umilanglang ka hanggang kaluluwa --

hubad ako roon: mula ulo hanggang paa.

[Y-ohhh-Y]

Ei sis pussycatdoll! Hehehe... Really? I didn't know... Alam mo naman ang connection natin...

 

So as not to go off-topic... Here's another piece I love... I hope you guys like it, too...

 

 

Wild Geese

by Mary Oliver

 

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

[Blue_Harbour]

Tears to Wash You Away

by Tara

 

Endless tears drop down my face,

One for each memory I can't erase.

 

I close my eyes to search for some relief,

But all I see is you, and all I feel is grief.

 

Should your memory leave, or should it stay?

Would it be better if it just washed away?

 

But I know it won't, I can't let you go,

These things I feel inside are things you'll never know.

 

So I'll let them come down, these tears every day,

But I won't let them wash your memory away.

 

:cry:

[iwalkalone]

It was in the valley of clover

so pretty and green

That the earth gave birth to

a beautiful flower and she

named it Spring.

While high above the valley soared an eagle

and from his mighty wing flew a feather

that gently fell from above

that landed in the heart of that beautiful flower

and the flower fell in Love.

Though winter came cold and long

the snow fell day by day around the flower

and the feather it just simply melted away.

It was a flame of Love that glowed so bright

it was seen from the mountains high

that lined the land and touched the sky.

http://www.gifszone.com/content/icon/mini_icons/mini_icon_64.gif

[Black Lace]

I Do Not Love You...

Pablo Neruda

 

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

 

that this: where I do 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.

[pussycatdoll]

here's a classic that i love.

 

 

Sonnet 29

 

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself, and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,

Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least:

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee,--and then my state

(Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven's gate;

For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings'.

[russ]

Dead tears

 

I see doom ahead,

my love,

soon it is all dead...

 

I can't anymore stop and turn,

my heart - my love,

soon they will burn...

 

Moist fill my eyes - dead soul without fears,

my burnt heart,

I buried it in the sea of dead tears..

[Lord Superb]

i cant remember all the poems that have moved me. but this one i recall:

 

Hope is the pillar that holds up the world

Hope is the dream of a waking man.

 

--Pliny the Elder

(an ancient roman historian)

[Lipstick]

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it's alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempest and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come:

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

 

 

Will's Sonnet 116. This is how love is ... should be; this is how it exists in people around me. It's good to be alive each day.

Yes, for all tomorrows plus a day my heart ... this is how I love you because I know of no other way. :heart:

[Mobius Stripper]

What would you have me do?

 

Find a powerful protector: and choose a patron,

like the dark ivy that creeps round a tree-trunk,

and gains its support by licking at its length,

to climb by a ruse instead of rise by strength?

No, thank you!

 

Dedicate, as others do

my poetry to bankers? Become a buffoon

in the base hope of seeing a less than sinister

smile quiver on the lips of some Minister?

No, thank you!

 

Dine each day on a toad?

Own a belly worn out with crawling?

Show a skin that's dirtied quicker than my knees,

and with a supple spine do tricks to please?

No, thank you!

 

Pat the goat's neck all over,

with one hand, water the lettuce with the other,

a dealer in senna for rhubarb lovers, I suppose

always wafting a censer under someone's nose?

No, thank you!

 

Urge myself on from lap to lap:

be a little maestro pacing round in a trap,

or navigate with oars made from madrigals,

and old ladies' sighs the breezes in my sails?

No, thank you!

 

At some editor's in the City

edit his verse for pay?

No, thank you!

 

Try to get myself named the high Pope of councils

held in the taverns by imbecilic scoundrels?

No, thank you!

 

Work to be a presence known

for one sonnet, instead of writing many?

No, thank you!

 

Not reveal a talent that amazes?

Not be terrorized by the morning papers?

Not say endlessly: "Oh, could I but see

myself in small print in the 'Mercury'!"

No thank you!

 

Calculate, show fear, grow pallid,

prefer to make a visit than a ballad?

Get myself presented, write petitions to the king?

No, thank you! No, thank you! No, thank you!

 

But... to sing,

to dream, to smile, to walk, to be alone, be free,

with a voice that stirs, and an eye that still can see!

To cock your hat on one side, when you please

at a yes, a no, to fight, or ... make poetry!

 

To work without a thought of fame or fortune,

on that journey, that you dream of, to the moon!

 

Never to write a line that's not your own,

and, humble too, say to oneself:

My son, be satisfied with flowers, fruit, even leaves,

if they're from your own garden, your own trees!

 

And then should chance a little glory bring,

don't feel you need to render Caesar a thing,

but keep the merit to yourself, entirely

in short, don't deign to be the parasitic ivy,

even though you're not the oak tree or the elm,

rise not so high, maybe, but be there all alone!

Edited August 14, 2006 by Mobius Stripper

[Y-ohhh-Y]

Her's another by Mary Oliver...

 

The Journey

 

One day you finally knew

what you had to do, and began,

though the voices around you

kept shouting

their bad advice--

though the whole house

began to tremble

and you felt the old tug

at your ankles.

"Mend my life!"

each voice cried.

But you didn't stop.

You knew what you had to do,

though the wind pried

with its stiff fingers

at the very foundations,

though their melancholy

was terrible.

It was already late

enough, and a wild night,

and the road full of fallen

branches and stones.

But little by little,

as you left their voices behind,

the stars began to burn

through the sheets of clouds,

and there was a new voice

which you slowly

recognized as your own,

that kept you company

as you strode deeper and deeper

into the world,

determined to do

the only thing you could do--

determined to save

the only life you could save.

 

 

(Note: Highlight by poster. )

[simple minds]

my old reliable

 

Robert Frost: The Road Not Taken

 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth.

 

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same.

 

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

 

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

[extrarice3]

Paper Boats-to mother

 

Never willing to waste a sheet of paper,

I save and save

Then fold them into small, small boats

And throw them into the sea from my ship.

 

Some are blown back into the portholes,

Others are stuck on the stern, soaked by waves,

And I, undiscouraged, keep on folding and hoping

That one will finally reach its destination.

 

O mother, if you ever see a white tiny sail in your dream,

Don't be startled by its unexpected presence for

It was folded by your loving daughter to carry homeward

Across the sea and mountains her love and sorrow.

 

by : Fan Yang

[teio]

They f#&k you up, your mum and dad.

They may not mean to, but they do.

They fill you with the faults they had

And add some extra, just for you.

 

But they were f#&ked up in their turn

By fools in old-style hats and coats,

Who half the time were soppy-stern

And half at one another's throats.

 

Man hands on misery to man.

It deepens like a coastal shelf.

Get out as early as you can,

And don't have any kids yourself.

 

- Philip Larkin, "This be the Verse"

 

[iwalkalone]

Cupid and Psyche

 

 

Sprinkled a few drops of water from the fountain of bitterness on her lips,

Though her piteous sight moved you to compassion.

Lightly touching the point of your arrow against her side,

She awoke from deep slumber and looked right into your eyes.

Startled and hidden from sight, you were desirously fervent,

You had erroneously pricked yourself with the same point,

Heedless of your own wounds and over black silken strands,

You poured sweet scented perfume with your celestial hands.

Left to solitude and lamentations, abandoned to grief,

She was left condemned for she had failed to awaken love against all belief.

 

Satisfied that her destruction was at hand,

Designed to put an end to the rest of her days.

She was a coward and descending with a dreadful manner,

Into the shades to avert punishment for her ways.

But you were swift-footed and flew to her aid,

No longer able to bear her absence.

And with not a moment delayed,

Put an end to her long wandering torment and offence.

Divine Cupid holds fast to his beloved Psyche,

Perpetually reunited as two heavenly sprites, whose spirits were so alike.

 

Clara Jaemie Foo