What Poetry Moved You?

[shhhhhh]

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 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.

[BettyConfidential]

O Captain! My Captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

 

But O heart! heart! heart!

O the bleeding drops of red,

Where on the deck my Captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;

For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

 

Here captain! dear father!

This arm beneath your head;

It is some dream that on the deck,

You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;

The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;

From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;

 

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!

But I, with mournful tread,

Walk the deck my captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

[blacklantern]

The first lines and last lines of a Tale of Two Cities. the last lines were read by Comm. Gordon for Bruce Wayne in the DKR

[blacklantern]

We are not now that strength which in old days moved Heaven and Earth;

That which we are, we are:

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

made weak by time and fate, but strong in will:

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

 

--Lord Alfred Tennyson

[Julianda]

"The Little Boy and the Old Man

Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."

Said the old man, "I do that too."

The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."

I do that too," laughed the little old man.

Said the little boy, "I often cry."

The old man nodded, "So do I."

But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems

Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."

And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.

I know what you mean," said the little old man."

- Shel Silverstein -

[Guest Dwayne Sanchez.]

Footprints in the Sand

Edited October 11, 2014 by Dwayne Sanchez.

[Leyna]

I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches,

only writes to, keeps little photographs of.

—Charles Bukowski, An Almost Made Up Poem

[ganjaman318]

Invictus...

[arep1632]

Great wide beautiful wonderful world.

[arep1632]

Great wide beautiful wonderful world.

[johnnynobody013]

"When Love Arrives"

 

I knew exactly what love looked like in seventh grade. Even though I hadn't met love yet, if love had wandered into my homeroom, I would have recognized her at first glance.

Love wore a hemp necklace. Love wore a tight French braid. Love played acoustic guitar and knew all my favorite Beatles songs. Love wasn't afraid to ride the bus with me. And I knew. I might have been searching the wrong classrooms, might have been checking the wrong hallways. But she was there. I was sure of it. If only I could find her.

But when love finally showed up, she had a bowl cut. She wore the same coat every day for a week. Love hated the bus. Love didn't know anything about the Beatles. Instead, every time I tried to kiss love, our teeth got in the way.

Love became the reason I lied to my parents ("I'm going to . . . Ben's house"). Love had terrible rhythm on the dance floor, but made sure we never missed a slow song. Love waited by the phone because she knew if her father picked up, my nerves would have been shot to pieces.

Love grew, stretched like a trampoline. Love changed. Love disappeared. Slowly, like baby teeth---parts of me lost that I thought I needed. Love vanished like an amateur magician. Everyone could see the trapdoor---but me. Love was like a flat tire. There were other places I had planned on going, but my plans didn't matter.

Love stayed away for years.

And when love finally reappeared, I barely recognized her. Love smelled different now, had darker eyes, a broader back. Love came with freckles I didn't recognize, new birthmarks, a softer voice. Now there were new sleeping patterns, new favorite books. Love had songs that reminded her of someone else, songs she didn't want to listen to. So did I. But we found a park bench that fit us perfectly. We found jokes that made us laugh.

And now, love makes me fresh homemade choclate chip cookies (but love will probably finish most of them as a midnight snack). Love looks great in lingerie, but still likes to wear her retainers. Love is a terrible driver, but a great navigator. Love knows where she's going---it just might take her two more hours to get there than she'd planned.

Love is messier now. Love is simpler. Love uses the words "boobs" in front of my parents. Love chews too loudly. Love leaves the cap off the toothpaste. Love hates the smilies I use in my text messages. And it turns out, love shits.

But love also cries. And love will tell you "You are beautiful" over and over again and mean it.

"You are beautiful" when you first wake up.

"You are beautiful" when you've just been crying.

"You are beautiful" when you don't want to hear it.

"You are beautiful" when you don't believe it.

"You are beautiful" when nobody else will tell you.

Love still thinks you are beautiful.

But love is not perfect and will sometimes forget.

When you need to hear it the most---"You are beautiful"---do not forget this: Love is notwho you are expecting. Love is not what you can predict.

Maybe love is in New York City, already asleep, while you are in California, wide awake. Maybe love is in the wrong time zone.

Maybe love is not ready for you.

Maybe you aren't ready for love.

Maybe love just isn't the marrying type. Maybe love meets you twenty years after the divorce---love looks older now, but just as beautiful as you remember. Maybe love is only there for a month. Maybe love is there for every firework, every birthday party . . . every hospital visit.

Maybe love stays.

Maybe love can't.

Maybe love shouldn't.

Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to. Love leaves exactly when love must.

When love arrives, say "Welcome, make yourself comfortable."

When love leaves, tell her to leave the door open. Then turn off the lights, listen to the quiet. Whisper "Thank you for stopping by."

---adapted from "When Love Arrives" by Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye

[MsDebauchery]

If I Should Have A Daughter

[monsiflor]

It Couldn't be Done by Edgar Albert Guest

[cutemike1975]

Tonight I can Write the Saddest Lines by Pablo Neruda

[lemon]

Stumbled upon this thread again, it's been years since I posted here last. Bored with work so here's one from weird Emily... as I remembered it.

 

I found the phrase to every thought


I ever had but one.


And that defies me as a hand


Did try to chalk the sun


 


To races nurtured in the dark,


How would your own begin?


Can blaze be done in cochineal,


Or noon in mazarin?