Monday, December 14, 2009

Just some poems I like


From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
~Edgar Allen Poe

What If I Say I Shall Not Wait

WHAT if I say I shall not wait?
What if I burst the fleshly gate
And pass, escaped, to thee?
What if I file this mortal off,
See where it hurt me,—that ’s enough,
And wade in liberty?
They cannot take us any more,—
Dungeons may call, and guns implore;
Unmeaning now, to me,
As laughter was an hour ago,
Or laces, or a travelling show,
Or who died yesterday!
~Emily Dickinson

Love Should Grow Up Like A Wild Iris In the Fields

Love should grow up like a wild iris in the fields,
unexpected, after a terrible storm, opening a purple
mouth to the rain, with not a thought to the future,
ignorant of the grass and the graveyard of leaves
around, forgetting its own beginning.
Love should grow like a wild iris
but does not.

Love more often is to be found in kitchens at the dinner hour,
tired out and hungry, lingers over tables in houses where
the walls record movements, while the cook is probably angry,
and the ingredients of the meal are budgeted, while
a child cries feed me now and her mother not quite
hysterical says over and over, wait just a bit, just a bit,
love should grow up in the fields like a wild iris
but never does
really startle anyone, was to be expected, was to be
predicted, is almost absurd, goes on from day to day, not quite
blindly, gets taken to the cleaners every fall, sings old
songs over and over, and falls on the same piece of rug that
never gets tacked down, gives up, wants to hide, is not
brave, knows too much, is not like an
iris growing wild but more like
staring into space
in the street
not quite sure
which door it was, annoyed about the sidewalk being
slippery, trying all the doors, thinking
if love wished the world to be well, it would be well.

Love should
grow up like a wild iris, but doesn't, it comes from
the midst of everything else, sees like the iris
of an eye, when the light is right,
feels in blindness and when there is nothing else is
tender, blinks, and opens
face up to the skies.

~ Susan Griffin ~

A Dream

In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.

Ah! what is not a dream by day
To him whose eyes are cast
On things around him with a ray
Turned back upon the past?

That holy dream- that holy dream,
While all the world were chiding,
Hath cheered me as a lovely beam
A lonely spirit guiding.

What though that light, thro' storm and night,
So trembled from afar-
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth's day-star?
~Edgar Allen Poe

Dear Knight in Shining Armor,

Dear Knight In Shining Armor,
Why do you make me wait?  Why am I sitting here, and you there?  I need you next to me, beside me, part of me.  I need to feel your warmth, your body, your heartbeat.  I need to know that you love me and that I don't wait in vain.  Please don't make me wait anymore, close the distance between us.  Kiss my lips, let me taste you, your love, your lust, your passion.  Let me lay in your arms as well as your heart.  Let me feel your finger tips pressing on my body.  I want to trace lines over your entire body.  I want to watch you while you sleep.  Please don't make me wait any longer dreaming, fantasizing.  Make my dreams a reality.  Let me be everything you've ever wanted and more, and make you the happiest Knight of all.  Let me do that. . .that is all I ask.  I love you dear Knight, as I always have. 

I Can No Longer Write

I can no longer write
about the sun in the sky
the moon and the stars
the water in your eye.
There is no more darkness
and yet no more light
not in my head or on paper
I can no longer write.
No emotion or feeling
no pain nor love
no words come from my mouth
no sounds from up above.
It no longer comes to my hands
mouth, eyes, or ears
it doesn't come to me anymore
like in previous years.
Perhaps it is me
or maybe it was you
but I cannot write beautiful things
that come out of the blue. 
Instead my hands and mind argue
how they yell and they fight
about the nothingness that comes
I can no longer write.


When it pours all over the world,
I'm there to catch the drops.
I rock away the thunderous cries
and the fits of lightening.
I rub until the clouds disappear
until it is once again silent.

But when my rain clouds burst,
the world runs away.
I'm left alone to my shaking thunder
while my clouds hang low.
Then hold myself until I drift away,
another storm for the world tomorrow holds.