My Default Blog
Monday, February 27, 2006
My love is of a birth as rare
As 'tis for object strange and high;
It was begotten by Despair
Upon Impossibility.
Magnanimous Despair alone
Could show me so divine a thing
Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown,
But vainly flapp'd its tinsel wing.
And yet I quickly might arrive
Where my extended soul is fixt,
But Fate does iron wedges drive,
And always crowds itself betwixt.
For Fate with jealous eye does see
Two perfect loves, nor lets them close;
Their union would her ruin be,
And her tyrannic pow'r depose.
And therefore her decrees of steel
Us as the distant poles have plac'd,
(Though love's whole world on us doth wheel)
Not by themselves to be embrac'd;
Unless the giddy heaven fall,
And earth some new convulsion tear;
And, us to join, the world should all
Be cramp'd into a planisphere.
As lines, so loves oblique may well
Themselves in every angle greet;
But ours so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.
Therefore the love which us doth bind,
But Fate so enviously debars,
Is the conjunction of the mind,
And opposition of the stars.
Andrew Marvell
Monday, February 27, 2006
Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here":
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
George Herbert
Monday, February 27, 2006
I ne'er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet.
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.
My face turned pale, a deadly pale.
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked what could I ail
My life and all seemed turned to clay.
And then my blood rushed to my face
And took my eyesight quite away.
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday.
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start.
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.
Are flowers the winter's choice
Is love's bed always snow
She seemed to hear my silent voice
Not love appeals to know.
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling place
And can return no more.
John Clare
Monday, February 27, 2006
My lady's presence makes the roses red,
Because to see her lips they blush for shame.
The lily's leaves, for envy, pale became,
And her white hands in them this envy bred.
The marigold the leaves abroad doth spread,
Because the sun's and her power is the same.
The violet of purple colour came.
Dyed in the blood she made my heart to shed.
In brief: all flowers from her their virtue take;
From her sweet breath their sweet smells do proceed;
The living heat which her eyebeams doth make
Warmeth the ground and quickeneth the seed.
The rain, wherewith she watereth the flowers,
Falls from mine eyes, which she dissolves in showers.
Henry Constable
Monday, February 27, 2006
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loaf and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents
the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
Creeds and school in abeyance,
Retiring back a while sufficed at what they are, but never forgotten,
I harbor for good or bad, I permit to speak at every hazard,
Nature without check with original energy.
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Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded with
perfumes,
I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it,
The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it.
The atmosphere is not a perfume, it has no taste of the distillation, it is
odorless,
It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,
I will go to the bank by the wood and become undisguised and naked,
I am mad for it to be in contact with me.
The smoke of my own breath,
Echoes, ripples, and buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine,
My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my heart, the passing of blood
and air through my lungs,
The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and dark-color'd
sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn,
The sound of the belch'd words of my voice, words loos'd to the eddies of the wind,
A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,
The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supple boughs wag,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides,
The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and
meeting the sun.
Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much? Have you reckon'd the earth much?
Have you practiced so long to learn to read?
Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems?
Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin of all poems,
You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions of suns
left,)
You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through
the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books,
You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,
You shall listen to all sides and filter them from yourself
Walt Whitman (1819–1892)
Monday, February 13, 2006
What do you do
when there is nothing you can do?
all you can do is wait
wait for a miracle, a chance
something to happen
wait for a glance
wait until he finally notices
notices that I actually exist
he might find out
that there is something he missed
missed our on what I could give him
I would give him the stars and the moon if I could
but would he accept them
I just don't think that he would
I know what it is he wants
he just wants a piece of ass
doesn't want any commitment
doesn't want anyone with class
he's so quiet
there’s not much to say
we rarely talk
but we did the other day
I want to get to know you
know what you're all about
I don't know what to say
except that I have a problem with self-doubt
I don't think I'm good enough
you seem so perfect and flawless
I swear I would do anything
anything for just one kiss
After everything you've done
I find myself coming back to you
so now what do you do
when there is nothing you can do?
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Published by kermit_is_pink: 11:09 AM
Updated On: 2/21/2006 at 11:18 AM
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Monday, February 13, 2006
Written with a pen, sealed with a kiss,
If you are my friend, please answer me this:
Are we friends, or are we not?
You told me once, but I forgot.
So tell me now, and tell me true,
So I can say "I'm here for you."
Of all the friends I've ever met,
Your the one I won't forget,
And if I die before you do,
I'll go to heaven and wait for you,
I'll give the angels back their wings,
And risk the loss of everything.
There isn't a thing I wouldn't do,
To have a friend just like you!
Monday, February 13, 2006
He lies awake at night and wonders will life ever be the same
Maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow and see her beautiful smile again
Or maybe he’ll never wake up at all to feel the pain of a broken heart
Shattered dreams and long lost memories of a love now torn apart
Ill be yours forever, she said, as her train started rolling away
No matter how hard he tries he just can’t seem to forget that day
The tears keep coming like a rainstorm to wash away the pain inside
But the hurting just won’t stop no matter how many tears he’s cried
Waiting each day for the postman to deliver a letter he’ll never receive
Every time he looks at her picture he hates himself for letting her leave
Years go by and he keeps on hoping maybe she’ll show up at his door
He holds on to faith, still thinking that she’ll be in his arms once more
But time slips away and his hair turns all gray and still he’s all alone
Yet he never gives in to despair waiting for her to call on the phone
He lies awake at night and wonders is she thinking about him too
As he closes his eyes he finally gives in and whispers “I miss you”
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