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curvygalore
Posted: Sunday, April 7, 2013 4:21:13 PM

Rank: Story Verifier
Moderator

Joined: 11/22/2010
Posts: 999
Location: United Kingdom
Thank you TXGirl, I was just about to suggest some Donne!
BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school-boys and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices ;
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Thy beams so reverend, and strong
Why shouldst thou think ?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long.
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and to-morrow late tell me,
Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."

She's all states, and all princes I ;
Nothing else is ;
Princes do but play us ; compared to this,
All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the world's contracted thus ;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, that's done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ;
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.
Chrissy123
Posted: Saturday, April 27, 2013 9:11:04 AM

Rank: Forum Guru

Joined: 7/9/2012
Posts: 4,867
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost

The real fountain of youth is a dirty mind

and a naughty smile!
Dirty_D
Posted: Wednesday, June 19, 2013 9:36:12 PM

Rank: Head Nurse
Moderator

Joined: 4/15/2011
Posts: 7,543
Location: Soaking up the sun, United States
LauraLee_sugah wrote:
this one my favorite today... who knows about tomorrow... it is by rosemarie urquico


Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.





HAHA!!


Dirty_D
Posted: Wednesday, June 19, 2013 9:36:49 PM

Rank: Head Nurse
Moderator

Joined: 4/15/2011
Posts: 7,543
Location: Soaking up the sun, United States
My favorite:

I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air -
Between the Heaves of Storm -

The Eyes around - had wrung them dry -
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset - when the King
Be witnessed - in the Room -

I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable - and then it was
There interposed a Fly -

With Blue - uncertain - stumbling Buzz -
Between the light - and me -
And then the Windows failed - and then
I could not see to see -
Emily Dickinson, “I Heard a Fly buzz—when I died” from The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson,


Dirty_D
Posted: Sunday, June 23, 2013 5:27:20 AM

Rank: Head Nurse
Moderator

Joined: 4/15/2011
Posts: 7,543
Location: Soaking up the sun, United States
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.


scarlet
Posted: Saturday, June 29, 2013 5:38:12 PM

Rank: Forum Guru

Joined: 12/18/2011
Posts: 3,342
Location: United Kingdom
“Still I Rise,” Maya Angelou
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Guest
Posted: Saturday, June 29, 2013 6:22:16 PM

Rank: Lurker

Joined: 12/1/2006
Posts: 781,109

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.


William Ernest Henley
Thatgurl
Posted: Wednesday, July 3, 2013 5:25:30 PM

Rank: Advanced Wordsmith

Joined: 1/25/2013
Posts: 61
Location: USA, United States
Cant remember who its by but its not mines.

Love is....

Love is passion
Love is lust
Love is something
You cant trust
Love will life
Your spirits high
Love will also
Make you cry
You gain a partner
Or lose your heart
Because there is pain
When love must part
Love is not
In ones control
Love too much
And lose your soul
Love brings pleasure
And sometimes pain
But after love
Just you remain


This is my fav because I feel it holds so much meaning and truth
Agrippa
Posted: Thursday, August 8, 2013 3:58:51 PM

Rank: Advanced Wordsmith

Joined: 7/29/2013
Posts: 50
Location: United Kingdom
The Listeners

"Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grass
Of the forest's ferny floor;
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
Above the Traveller's head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
"Is there anybody there?" he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes,
Where he stood perplexed and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirred and shaken
By the lonely Traveller's call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
'Neath the starred and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
Louder, and lifted his head:--
"Tell them I came, and no one answered,
That I kept my word," he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
When the plunging hoofs were gone.

Walter de la Mare (1873-1956)
Ace1047
Posted: Wednesday, August 28, 2013 9:56:50 PM

Rank: Forum Guru

Joined: 8/24/2013
Posts: 143
Location: Elsworlds and What Ifs
The Bard by Vasily Zhukovsky

My friends, can you descry that mound of earth
Above clear waters in the shade of trees?
You can just hear the babbling spring against the bank;
You can just feel a breeze that's wafting in the leaves;
A wreath and lyre hang upon the boughs…
Alas, my friends! This mound's a grave;
Here earth conceals the ashes of a bard;
Poor bard!

A gentle soul, a simple heart
He was a sojourner in the world;
He'd barely bloomed, yet lost his taste for life
He craved his end with yearning and excitement;
And early on he met his end,
He found the grave's desired sleep.
Your time was but a moment - a moment sad
Poor bard!

He sang with tenderness of friendship to his friend, -
His loyal friend cut down in his life's bloom;
He sang of love - but in a doleful voice;
Alas! Of love he knew naught but its woe;
Now all has met with its demise,
Your soul partakes of peace eternal;
You slumber in your silent grave,
Poor bard!

Here, by this stream one eventide
He sang his doleful farewell song:
"O lovely world, where blossomed I in vain;
Farewell forever; with a soul deceived
For happiness I waited - but my dreams have died;
All's perished; lyre, be still;
To your serene abode, o haste,
Poor bard!

What's life, when charm is lacking?
To know of bliss, with all the spirit's striving,
Only to see oneself cut off by an abyss;
Each moment to desire and yet fear desiring…
O refuge of vexatious hearts,
O grave, sure path to peace,
When will you call to your embrace
The poor bard?"

The bard's no more… his lyre's silent…
All trace of him has disappeared from here;
The hills and valleys mourn;
And all is still… save zephyrs soft,
That stir the faded wreath,
And waft betimes above the grave,
A woeful lyre responds:
Poor bard!

And I've only begun fucking with you people.
At the end of the day, it's all math.
Ace1047
Posted: Wednesday, August 28, 2013 9:56:52 PM

Rank: Forum Guru

Joined: 8/24/2013
Posts: 143
Location: Elsworlds and What Ifs
The Bard by Vasily Zhukovsky

My friends, can you descry that mound of earth
Above clear waters in the shade of trees?
You can just hear the babbling spring against the bank;
You can just feel a breeze that's wafting in the leaves;
A wreath and lyre hang upon the boughs…
Alas, my friends! This mound's a grave;
Here earth conceals the ashes of a bard;
Poor bard!

A gentle soul, a simple heart
He was a sojourner in the world;
He'd barely bloomed, yet lost his taste for life
He craved his end with yearning and excitement;
And early on he met his end,
He found the grave's desired sleep.
Your time was but a moment - a moment sad
Poor bard!

He sang with tenderness of friendship to his friend, -
His loyal friend cut down in his life's bloom;
He sang of love - but in a doleful voice;
Alas! Of love he knew naught but its woe;
Now all has met with its demise,
Your soul partakes of peace eternal;
You slumber in your silent grave,
Poor bard!

Here, by this stream one eventide
He sang his doleful farewell song:
"O lovely world, where blossomed I in vain;
Farewell forever; with a soul deceived
For happiness I waited - but my dreams have died;
All's perished; lyre, be still;
To your serene abode, o haste,
Poor bard!

What's life, when charm is lacking?
To know of bliss, with all the spirit's striving,
Only to see oneself cut off by an abyss;
Each moment to desire and yet fear desiring…
O refuge of vexatious hearts,
O grave, sure path to peace,
When will you call to your embrace
The poor bard?"

The bard's no more… his lyre's silent…
All trace of him has disappeared from here;
The hills and valleys mourn;
And all is still… save zephyrs soft,
That stir the faded wreath,
And waft betimes above the grave,
A woeful lyre responds:
Poor bard!

And I've only begun fucking with you people.
At the end of the day, it's all math.
Guest
Posted: Saturday, August 31, 2013 3:51:27 AM

Rank: Lurker

Joined: 12/1/2006
Posts: 781,109
If I had to go with a single poem, it would have to be a vast piece of work: Homer's Illyad & Odyssey in the original. Later I will post more modest poems I am drawn to, and most of them in English.
discountstripper
Posted: Sunday, September 1, 2013 6:55:07 PM

Rank: Rookie Scribe

Joined: 8/5/2013
Posts: 7
Beautiful!

Guest wrote:
Soneto XVII

No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.

Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,

sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.

*****

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, when, or where from;
I love you straightforwardly, with neither problems nor pride:
I love you thus, not knowing how to love you otherwise

than this way whereby neither ‘you’ nor ‘I’ exist…
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.


Pablo Neruda
GardenerGuy
Posted: Tuesday, December 31, 2013 12:09:31 PM

Rank: Forum Guru

Joined: 10/29/2013
Posts: 1,092
Location: Victoria, BC
DLizze wrote:
Too many to ever narrow it down to just one. I love Robert Frost, A. A Milne, Lewis Carroll, Carl Sandburg, and William Carlos Williams. Walt Whitman's Song of Myself, from his larger work, Leaves of Grass is another favorite. Who could ever read, then forget the likes of E.E. Cummings, or William Blake? Sometimes, the despair of Emily Dickenson is what I need to fulfill my mood. At other times, all I want is a good, rousing story in iambic pentameter by William Shakespeare, or an epic by Homer. Sometimes, it is the wry humor and comment on riches of Richard Corey, or Miniver Cheever that I crave; and others, something more along the lines of the Cremation of Sam Magee. I think the only pieces of poetry I ever totally detested were Dante 's Divine Comedy, Colleridge's Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, and Scott's Ivanhoe, but even those had their immmortal lines, which I shall never forget.


always liked Richard Cory - trying to imagine how he "fluttered pulses".

actually it's "Miniver Cheevy" (you thinking of John C. Cheever? - one of my faves) (or former Bruins goalie Gerry Cheevers, right?)

how come you detest DC and Mariner?

immortal lines, indeed - “The devil is not as black as he is painted.” - DC
Guest
Posted: Tuesday, December 31, 2013 1:12:24 PM

Rank: Lurker

Joined: 12/1/2006
Posts: 781,109
Words

He lets me listen, when he moves me,
Words are not like other words
He takes me, from under my arms
He plants me, in a distant cloud
And the black rain in my eyes
Falls in torrents, torrents
He carries me with him, he carries me
To an evening of perfumed balconies

And I am like a child in his hands
Like a feather carried by the wind
He carries for me seven moons in his hands
and a bundle of songs
He gives me sun, he gives me summer
and flocks of swallows
He tells me that I am his treasure
And that I am equal to thousands of stars
And that I am treasure, and that I am
more beautiful than he has seen of paintings
He tells me things that make me dizzy
that make me forget the dance and the steps

Words…which overturn my history
which make me a woman…in seconds
He builds castles of fantasies
which I live in…for seconds…
And I return…I return to my table
Nothing with me…
Nothing with me…except words
Nizar Qabbani
Met this poem in a song and fell in love, and still feel excited when I read or hear this poem.
DeepBlue
Posted: Sunday, January 5, 2014 5:52:31 PM

Rank: Active Ink Slinger

Joined: 1/1/2014
Posts: 13
Location: Toronto, Canada
Here's mine
***
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death. Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806 - 1861)

***
"What is important is here and now. " - Chögyam Trungpa 1939 - 1987


Tequila_Sunrise
Posted: Sunday, January 5, 2014 6:11:08 PM

Rank: Active Ink Slinger

Joined: 12/24/2013
Posts: 27
Location: The dark of night, Canada
Thank you, Agrippa. I hadn't read the listeners in a long time - I love that poem. "silence surged softly backward" Priceless.
Guest
Posted: Thursday, January 23, 2014 5:49:38 AM

Rank: Lurker

Joined: 12/1/2006
Posts: 781,109
I Have No Power

'I have no power to change you
or explain your ways
Never believe a man can change a woman
Those men are pretenders
who think
that they created woman
from one of their ribs
Woman does not emerge from a man's rib's, not ever,
it's he who emerges from her womb
like a fish rising from depths of water
and like streams that branch away from a river
It's he who circles the sun of her eyes
and imagines he is fixed in place

I have no power to tame you
or domesticate you
or mitigate your first instincts
This task is impossible
I've tested my intelligence on you
also my dumbness
Nothing worked with you, neither guidance
nor temptation
Stay primitive as you are

I have no power to break your habits
for thirty years you have been like this
for three hundred years
a storm trapping in a bottle
a body by nature sensing the scent of a man
assaults it by nature
triumphs over it by nature

Never believe what a man says about himself
that he is the one who makes the poems
and makes the children
It is the woman who writes the poems
and the man who signs his name to them
It is the woman who bears the children
and the man who signs at the maternity hospital
that he is the father

I have no power to change your nature
my books are of no use to you
and my convictions do not convince you
nor does my fatherly council do you any good
you are the queen of anarchy, of madness, of belonging
to no one
Stay that way
You are the tree of femininity that grows in the dark
needs no sun or water
you the sea princess who has loved all men
and loved no one
slept with all men… and slept with no one
you are the Bedouin woman who went with all the tribes
and returned a virgin
Stay that way.'
Nizar Qabbani
DLizze
Posted: Friday, January 24, 2014 9:55:16 PM

Rank: Advanced Wordsmith

Joined: 4/23/2011
Posts: 2,568
GardenerGuy wrote:
actually it's "Miniver Cheevy" ... how come you detest DC and Mariner?

immortal lines, indeed - “The devil is not as black as he is painted.” - DC


Yes, Miniver Cheevy - senior moment there - or brain fart - same thing.

But "Whenever Richard Cory came to town, we people on the sidewalk looked at him. He was a gentleman from sole to crown; well mannered, and imperially slim" That just conjures up such a vivid image for me. :)

I found both Dante and Coleridge ponderous; they spent far too much time flogging the dead horse. beat_deadhorse
I have the same complaint with Fennimore Cooper's prose. Okay, so the trees are large and the undergrowth is dense; move on already.

I like John Cleese's version of the Mariner:
"Albatross! AL-batross! fucking AL-batross!"

"There's only three tempos: slow, medium and fast. When you get between in the cracks, ain't nuthin' happenin'." Ben Webster
MostPreciousLittle
Posted: Saturday, February 15, 2014 10:31:30 AM

Rank: MostPreciousLittle

Joined: 11/14/2013
Posts: 8,784
Location: An angel dropped down from heaven
Twofish1way
Posted: Friday, March 14, 2014 8:29:28 AM

Rank: Forum Guru

Joined: 1/28/2014
Posts: 549
Location: United States
One of countless...
"You are in my blood, my bones, my heart; I'd have to tear myself open to let you go"
angieseroticpen
Posted: Friday, March 14, 2014 10:05:48 AM

Rank: Story Verifier
Moderator

Joined: 8/24/2011
Posts: 1,416
Location: United Kingdom
High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, --and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of --Wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air...
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark or even eagle flew --
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.


John Gillespie Magee, Jr

“When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door that we do not see the one which has opened for us.”
tom8o
Posted: Wednesday, May 21, 2014 2:28:32 PM

Rank: Forum Guru

Joined: 3/10/2014
Posts: 547
Location: United States
From
Tintern Abbey
by William Wordsworth

These beauteous forms,
Through a long absence, have not been to me
As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:
But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;
And passing even into my purer mind,
With tranquil restoration:--feelings too
Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,
As have no slight or trivial influence
On that best portion of a good man's life,
His little, nameless, unremembered, acts
Of kindness and of love.
1LovelyKinkyKitsune
Posted: Wednesday, May 21, 2014 3:23:34 PM

Rank: Forum Guru

Joined: 3/5/2014
Posts: 947
Location: ♥
She Walks in Beauty
By Lord Byron (George Gordon) 1788–1824

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.


One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.


And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!




avrgblkgrl
Posted: Friday, May 30, 2014 9:43:43 PM

Rank: In-House Sapiosexual
Moderator

Joined: 9/28/2011
Posts: 2,219
Location: Where you need me most, United States
why some people be mad at me sometimes
by Lucille Clifton

they ask me to remember
but they want me to remember thier memories
and i keep on remembering
mine.




(Yes, she wrote it in all lower case.)

💋My latest effort and a Recommended Read💋
avrgblkgrl
Posted: Friday, May 30, 2014 9:52:23 PM

Rank: In-House Sapiosexual
Moderator

Joined: 9/28/2011
Posts: 2,219
Location: Where you need me most, United States
I couldn't just choose one today... I love this one because it is about the power of words, the denial of speech and finding your own voice. ~ABG


Spelling
by Margaret Atwood

My daughter plays on the floor
with plastic letters,
red, blue & hard yellow,
learning how to spell,
spelling,
how to make spells.

I wonder how many women
denied themselves daughters,
closed themselves in rooms,
drew the curtains
so they could mainline words.

A child is not a poem,
a poem is not a child.
there is no either/or.
However.

I return to the story
of the woman caught in the war
& in labour, her thighs tied
together by the enemy
so she could not give birth.

Ancestress: the burning witch,
her mouth covered by leather
to strangle words.

A word after a word
after a word is power.

At the point where language falls away
from the hot bones, at the point
where the rock breaks open and darkness
flows out of it like blood, at
the melting point of granite
when the bones know
they are hollow & the word
splits & doubles & speaks
the truth & the body
itself becomes a mouth.

This is a metaphor.

How do you learn to spell?
Blood, sky & the sun,
your own name first,
your first naming, your first name,
your first word.



💋My latest effort and a Recommended Read💋
Dancewithme
Posted: Friday, June 6, 2014 11:33:44 PM

Rank: Forum Guru

Joined: 10/22/2013
Posts: 3,082
Location: gypsy soul, Latchko Drom, United States
Dirty_D wrote:
My favorite:

I heard a Fly buzz - when I died -
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air -
Between the Heaves of Storm -

The Eyes around - had wrung them dry -
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset - when the King
Be witnessed - in the Room -

I willed my Keepsakes - Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable - and then it was
There interposed a Fly -

With Blue - uncertain - stumbling Buzz -
Between the light - and me -
And then the Windows failed - and then
I could not see to see -
Emily Dickinson, “I Heard a Fly buzz—when I died” from The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson,


I ADORE Emily Dickinson!

America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves. [President Abraham Lincoln]

I crave so much more than a physical connection. I crave your words and depth. I crave who you are and where you came from, your desires and fears. I yearn to know every inch of you beyond the surface.


Lady Astor to Churchill: "Winston, if you were my husband I would flavour your coffee with poison." Churchill: "Madame, if I were your husband, I should drink it."


Dancewithme
Posted: Friday, June 6, 2014 11:37:45 PM

Rank: Forum Guru

Joined: 10/22/2013
Posts: 3,082
Location: gypsy soul, Latchko Drom, United States
1LovelyKinkyKitsune wrote:
She Walks in Beauty
By Lord Byron (George Gordon) 1788–1824

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.


One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.


And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!




Now that was just gorgeous!! Great taste, Loving.

America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves. [President Abraham Lincoln]

I crave so much more than a physical connection. I crave your words and depth. I crave who you are and where you came from, your desires and fears. I yearn to know every inch of you beyond the surface.


Lady Astor to Churchill: "Winston, if you were my husband I would flavour your coffee with poison." Churchill: "Madame, if I were your husband, I should drink it."


HeraTeleia
Posted: Friday, June 6, 2014 11:46:25 PM

Rank: Top Shot

Joined: 1/25/2014
Posts: 1,609
Location: Canada
I did my minor in English lit, and developed quite the fondness for Coleridge. So, "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" it is.

Want to learn a new word? No dictionary at hand? Read "My Favourite Word", a Recommended Read: http://www.lushstories.com/stories/flash-erotica/my-favourite-word.aspx

Want it all? Masturbation, exhibitionism, seduction, and of course, sex? Read "Tension", a Recommended Read: http://www.lushstories.com/stories/straight-sex/tension-1.aspx

cherrycola703
Posted: Friday, June 6, 2014 11:49:16 PM

Rank: Forum Guru

Joined: 2/27/2014
Posts: 275
Location: United States
Today

Oh! kangaroos, sequins, chocolate sodas!
You really are beautiful! Pearls,
harmonicas, jujubes, aspirins! all
the stuff they've always talked about

still makes a poem a surprise!
These things are with us every day
even on beachheads and biers. They
do have meaning. They're strong as rocks.


"Find me the sweetest boy, with a heart
more hopeful than spun sugar on a hot day,
I will teach him the meaning of meaningless
nights. The whole time, every moment, wishing
he’d crack me open, rib by rib, to see
how I work. How I bleed.”
― Clementine von Radics
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