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The day you left..
The rain came down
And donned my heart
With sorrows crown
Yet my mind did dwell
On warm summer days
When I held you close
And sweet music we made.
Wind in the leaves
Willows in the breeze
The sound of your laughter
Is a ghost in the trees
And so now alone
In this world...unkind
With a hole in my heart
That you leave behind
I saw all that I was
Or ever could be
Just out of reach A ghost....in the trees. Written on the coldest day I can remember...June of 1992. My heart healed some over time....but she left a ragged scar. And I can't help but still love her to this day. Good idea for a thread......gives folks a place to park those feelings that are hard to describe outside of prose. Thanks......
"She" as sung by Elvis Costello, one of our great contemporary poet IMO, as well as modern troubadour of course. He did not write this one but made it his own IMO. I prefer it to the original by Charles Aznavour. Hubby reads this at our Wedding :
She
May be the face I can't forget
The trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay
She
May be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day
She
May be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
The smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell
She
Who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry
She
May be the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I'll remember till the day I die
She
May be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the rough in ready years
Me
I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is
She
She, oh she
And still one of my favourite love poems of all time by W H Auden :
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Last edited by Mooseketeer; 08-10-2011 at 05:51 AM..
The poem that made me weak in the knees for my English prof. The man knew how to read this stuff.
To His Mistress Going to Bed
COME, madam, come, all rest my powers defy ;
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe ofttimes, having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing, though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glittering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear,
That th' eyes of busy fools may be stopp'd there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you that now it is bed-time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th' hill's shadow steals.
Off with your wiry coronet, and show
The hairy diadems which on you do grow.
Off with your hose and shoes ; then softly tread
In this love's hallow'd temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes heaven's angels used to be
Revealed to men ; thou, angel, bring'st with thee
A heaven-like Mahomet's paradise ; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know
By this these angels from an evil sprite ;
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O, my America, my Newfoundland,
My kingdom, safest when with one man mann'd,
My mine of precious stones, my empery ;
How am I blest in thus discovering thee !
To enter in these bonds, is to be free ;
Then, where my hand is set, my soul shall be.
Full nakedness ! All joys are due to thee ;
As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta's ball cast in men's views ;
That, when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem,
His earthly soul might court that, not them.
Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings made
For laymen, are all women thus array'd.
Themselves are only mystic books, which we
—Whom their imputed grace will dignify—
Must see reveal'd. Then, since that I may know,
As liberally as to thy midwife show
Thyself ; cast all, yea, this white linen hence ;
There is no penance due to innocence :
To teach thee, I am naked first ; why then,
What needst thou have more covering than a man?
The poem that made me weak in the knees for my English prof. The man knew how to read this stuff.
To His Mistress Going to Bed
COME, madam, come, all rest my powers defy ;
Until I labour, I in labour lie.
The foe ofttimes, having the foe in sight,
Is tired with standing, though he never fight.
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glittering,
But a far fairer world encompassing.
Unpin that spangled breast-plate, which you wear,
That th' eyes of busy fools may be stopp'd there.
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime
Tells me from you that now it is bed-time.
Off with that happy busk, which I envy,
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh.
Your gown going off such beauteous state reveals,
As when from flowery meads th' hill's shadow steals.
Off with your wiry coronet, and show
The hairy diadems which on you do grow.
Off with your hose and shoes ; then softly tread
In this love's hallow'd temple, this soft bed.
In such white robes heaven's angels used to be
Revealed to men ; thou, angel, bring'st with thee
A heaven-like Mahomet's paradise ; and though
Ill spirits walk in white, we easily know
By this these angels from an evil sprite ;
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright.
Licence my roving hands, and let them go
Before, behind, between, above, below.
O, my America, my Newfoundland,
My kingdom, safest when with one man mann'd,
My mine of precious stones, my empery ;
How am I blest in thus discovering thee !
To enter in these bonds, is to be free ;
Then, where my hand is set, my soul shall be.
Full nakedness ! All joys are due to thee ;
As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be
To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use
Are like Atlanta's ball cast in men's views ;
That, when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem,
His earthly soul might court that, not them.
Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings made
For laymen, are all women thus array'd.
Themselves are only mystic books, which we
—Whom their imputed grace will dignify—
Must see reveal'd. Then, since that I may know,
As liberally as to thy midwife show
Thyself ; cast all, yea, this white linen hence ;
There is no penance due to innocence :
To teach thee, I am naked first ; why then,
What needst thou have more covering than a man?
Of course, we had a couple of Beavis and Buttheads in class snickering at hairy diadem and Atlanta's balls. (I just noticed that the version I posted says ball, but I learned it with the plural.) Cretins.
The way he said O my America, my Newfoundland ... He was reading it to the class (not just to me--don't want to give the wrong impression) but he definitely had a knack for love poetry.
When she smiles pearls appear
When I look at her face
the soft glow of the moon is seen
the universe is to small to contain her
yet she is enclosed in my heart
both read a long time ago in Will Durant's Story of Civilization
Like a boat adrift alone
on a moonless sea
like a lute with its major chord gone
like a wounded bird with one imperfect wing to soar upon
For the longest time, it was my mission to remain free.
But Cupid had different plans. He was determined to eventually get me.
He succeeded when you came along.
He struck my stone cold heart with an arrow so strong.
Although, that being said, I wouldn't go without a fight!
I fought it and fought it until one night.
I lost the battle one night, when I realized that I loved you.
And it makes me happy that you feel the same way.
Although we live far apart
The distance doesn't keep you out of my heart.
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Please register to participate in our discussions with 2 million other members - it's free and quick! Some forums can only be seen by registered members. After you create your account, you'll be able to customize options and access all our 15,000 new posts/day with fewer ads.
Of course, we had a couple of Beavis and Buttheads in class snickering at hairy diadem and Atlanta's balls. (I just noticed that the version I posted says ball, but I learned it with the plural.) Cretins.
