Child, child, love while you can
The voice and the eyes and the soul of a man,
Never fear though it break your heart -
Out of the wound new joy will start;
Only love proudly and gladly and well
Though love be heaven or love be hell.
Child, child, love while you may,
For life is short as a happy day;
Never fear the thing you feel -
Only by love is life made real;
Love, for the deadly sins are seven,
Only through love will you enter heaven.
While you walk the water's edge,
turning over concepts
I can't envision, the honking buoy
serves notice that at any time
the wind may change,
the reef-bell clatters
its treble monotone, deaf as Cassandra
to any note but warning. The ocean,
cumbered by no business more urgent
than keeping open old accounts
Dream the wind over ancient bones
sounds of a woman as she moans
in tears that fall like weighted stones
through the ghost of a haunted night.
Hear the heart as it breaks in two
whose branches distil drops of dew.
Soft feathers fell and never flew
like a moth in the candlelight.
Diatribes are known for their intolerance- - which makes it difficult to tolerate them.
As you are Young, if you'l be also Wise,
Danger with Honour court, Quarrels despise;
Believe you then are truly Brave and Bold,
To Beauty when no Slave, and less to Gold;
When Vertue you dare own, not think it odd,
Or ungenteel to say, I fear a God.
Lovers whose lifted hands are candles in winter,
Whose gentle ways like streams in the easy summer,
For secret setting of a child, love what they do,
Thinking they make that candle immortal, those streams
And yet do better than they know.
So the first flutter of a baby felt in the womb,
Its little signal and promise of riches to come,
As dusk descends, the twilight paints its hue,
A canvas swathed in whispers of the night.
The heavens, like a curtain draped askew,
Reveal the stars, ablaze with golden light.
Each twinkle winks, a secret to unfold,
A tale of dreams that flicker in the dark.
The moon, a pearl amidst the vastness cold,
Serenades silence with its silver arc.
Award, and still in bonds, one day
I stole abroad,
It was high-spring, and all the way
Primros'd, and hung with shade;
Yet, was it frost within,
And surly winds
Blasted my infant buds, and sin
Like clouds eclips'd my mind.
Storm'd thus; I straight perceiv'd my spring
Mere stage, and show,
My walk a monstrous, mountain's thing
Rough-cast with rocks, and snow;
And as a pilgrim's eye
Far from relief,
Measures the melancholy sky
Then drops, and rains for grief,
So sigh'd I upwards still, at last
'Twixt steps, and falls
I reach'd the pinnacle, where plac'd
I found a pair of scales,
I took them up and laid
In th'one late pains,
August is coming
and the goose, I'm afraid,
is getting fat.
There have been
no golden eggs for some months now.
Straw has fallen well below market price
despite my frantic spinning
and the sedge is,
as you rightly point out,
Amidst the chaos of my soul,
A vision takes hold.
A dream born from within,
A story waiting to unfold.
A world of wonder and beauty,
Where love and peace prevail.
A place where kindness is currency,
And hate and anger fade.
A life of adventure is good health food for the imagination of a writer.
Your presence is near
I wish you were here
1. Take a shower you don't want to smell.
2. Pick out an outfit that will blend in with the latest trends and won't make you a laughing stock of the school more than you already are
3. Put on some makeup so you can't even recognize yourself and your face tingles with an unbelievable issue. You can't satisfy otherwise you'll have ruined the hours of meticulous painting you apply to your face.
I will never forget you my dearest soulmate..
these old meomries will never fade...
you've always laid me in your shade...
whenever I trembled or felt afraid....
............sitting here in the stillness
...............staring out the window
...at darkness my friend and my foe.
Poetry is sexy
Its lyrics aim to please
My pan head
Mine you are
And Yours I am
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Brest ce jour-là
Et tu marchais souriante
Épanouie ravie ruisselante
you put this pen
in my hand and you
take the pen from you put this pen
On this dry prepared path walk heavy feet.
This is not "dinner music." This is a power structure.
"Come, pretty birds, present your lays,
And learn to chaunt a goddess praise;
Ye wood-nymphs, let your voices be
Employ'd to serve her deity:
If you had the choice of two women to wed,
(Though of course the idea is quite absurd)
And the first from her heels to her dainty head
Was charming in every sense of the word:
A little while, a little while,
The weary task is put away,
And I can sing and I can smile,
Alike, while I have holiday.