Poem of the Day

What words can not say alone!

More often than not,
Words can't describe,
My feelings for you,
Which go far and beyond.

Feelings for you,
that grow stronger and stronger,
With every minute in the day,
With every beat of my heart.
From the moment I saw you,
I knew you were the one for me,
Right from the start,
there was no moment of doubt.

There are no moments,
In the day,
That I can find,
where you face and smile
Do not magically appear
In my loving thoughts.

I long to be with you,
when we are apart.
To hold you,
To touch you,
To love you.

We share something so special,
A love not all can find.
There are no words,
That could ever describe,
This here a feeling,
From deep within my soul,
A love so true, but only true to you.

ORIGINAL:

VERRA LA MORTE E AVRA I TUOI OCCHI

Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi
questa morte che ci accompagna
dal mattino alla sera, insonne,
sorda, come un vecchio rimorso
o un vizio assurdo. I tuoi occhi
saranno una vana parola,
un grido taciuto, un silenzio.
Cosí li vedi ogni mattina
quando su te sola ti pieghi
nello specchio. O cara speranza,
quel giorno sapremo anche noi
che sei la vita e sei il nulla.
Per tutti la morte ha uno sguardo.
Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi.
Sarà come smettere un vizio,
come vedere nello specchio
riemergere un viso morto,
come ascoltare un labbro chiuso.
Scenderemo nel gorgo muti.
(Cesare Pavese)


TRANSLATION:

Death Will Come with Your Eyes

Death will come with your eyes—
this death that accompanies us
from morning till night, sleepless,
deaf, like an old regret
or a stupid vice. Your eyes
will be a useless word,
a muted cry, a silence.
As you see them each morning
when alone you lean over
the mirror. O cherished hope,
that day we too shall know
that you are life and nothing.
For everyone death has a look.
Death will come with your eyes.
It will be like terminating a vice,
as seen in the mirror
a dead face re-emerging,
like listening to closed lips.
We'll go down the abyss in silence.

My Perfect Life Part 1

remember when we met,
How could I forget?
That was a special day,
My problems rushed away.
My life began when I saw you,
Ever since then, I started off new.
Whenever we are together,
I just wish the moment would last forever.
You give me a smile when it seems impossible,
You are my everything,
My one true love, sent from above.
When I was little and I watched people kiss,
I thought it was wrong, but now I have this.
I have you, my perfect life,
My beautiful girl, my future wife.
I dont need money to be rich,
Because with you I am,
The richest of the rich.
I dont need no one else,
Just you and myself.
Us against the world,
Me and you girl.
I love you so much,
I love your touch.
I love your eyes,
It makes my heart fly.
You give me everything, you give me breath,
We will not part, not until death.
When I hold you in my arms,
The world makes sense,
When I feel your warmth,
I am in heaven.
You are my saviour,
My gaurdien angel,
My darling, beautiful, you're mine.
Never will I leave, I will stay throughout all time.

INFANT JOY



"I have no name:
I am but two days old."
What shall I call thee?
"I happy am,
Joy is my name."
Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!
Sweet joy, but two days old.
Sweet Joy I call thee:
Thou dost smile,
I sing the while;
Sweet joy befall thee!

{for a new person named Penelope}

I saw you walking on the street once,
Your hair kept in a bow of red silk.
And when we passed,
We glimpsed into each other's eyes like lovers do.

Your eyes were blue that day,
Almost as blue as the sky.
I smiled that day,
I smiled like never before.

I wish to smile like that,
one more time, please?
I wish to smile one more time,
Just to feel that warmth.

I saw you walking on the street once,
Your hair kept in a bow of red silk.
And when we passed,
We glimpsed into each other's eyes like lovers do.

I wish to smile like that,
As I lay on this cement,
As the world grows colder around me.
One more time, please?

MORTAL LIMIT
I saw the hawk ride updraft in the sunset over Wyoming.
It rose from coniferous darkness, past gray jags
Of mercilessness, past whiteness, into the gloaming
Of dream-spectral light above the lazy purity of snow-snags.

There--west--were the Tetons.Snow-peaks would soon be
In dark profile to break constellations.Beyond what height
Hangs now the black speck?Beyond what range will gold eyes see
New ranges rise to mark a last scrawl of light?

....

This is a Photograph of Me


It was taken some time ago
At first it seems to be
a smeared
print: blurred lines and grey flecks
blended with the paper;

then, as you scan
it, you can see something in the left-hand corner
a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree
(balsam or spruce) emerging
and, to the right, halfway up
what ought to be a gentle
slope, a small frame house.

In the background there is a lake,
and beyond that, some low hills.

...

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/this-...tograph-of-me/

For Wednesday, February 6, 2008.

From 1930, a brief passage from "Ash Wednesday,"
by T. S. Eliot:

Because I do not hope to turn again
Because I do not hope
Because I do not hope to turn
Desiring this man's gift and that man's scope

My soul is dark - Oh! quickly string
The harp I yet can brook to hear;
And let thy gentle fingers fling
Its melting murmurs o'er mine ear.
If in this heart a hope be dear,
That sound shall charm it forth again:
If in these eyes there lurk a tear,
'Twill flow, and cease to burn my brain.
But bid the strain be wild and deep,
Nor let thy notes of joy be first:
I tell thee, minstrel, I must weep,
Or else this heavy heart will burst;
For it hath been by sorrow nursed,
And ached in sleepless silence, long;
And now 'tis doomed to know the worst,
And break at once - or yield to song.

George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron

The Meaning

To love is to share life together
to build special plans just for two
to work side by side
and then smile with pride
as one by one, dreams all come true.

To love is to help and encourage
with smiles and sincere words of praise
to take time to share
to listen and care
in tender, affectionate ways.

To love is to have someone special
one who you can always depend
to be there through the years
sharing laughter and tears
as a partner, a lover, a friend.

To love is to make special memories
of moments you love to recall
of all the good things
that sharing life brings
love is the greatest of all.

I've learned the full meaning
of sharing and caring
and having my dreams all come true;
I've learned the full meaning
of being in love
by being and loving with you.

Poem 15
RIng ye the bels, ye yong men of the towne,
And leaue your wonted labors for this day:
This day is holy; doe ye write it dovvne,
that ye for euer it remember may.
This day the sunne is in his chiefest hight,
With Barnaby the bright,
>From whence declining daily by degrees,
He somewhat loseth of his heat and light,
When once the Crab behind his back he sees.
But for this time it ill ordained was,
To chose the longest day in all the yeare,
And shortest night, when longest fitter weare.
Yet neuer day so long, but late would passe.
Ring ye the bels, to make it weare away,
And bonefiers make all day,
And daunce about them, and about them sing:
that all the woods may answer, and your eccho ring.

River Remembered

The rhododendrons’ darkened leaves are curled
Into tight scrolls, whose dry, hermetic books
Will stay unread now, till the whitened world
Unlocks its warmth; the frozen local brooks

Muttering sotto voce at their own
Ice remind us of a general notion:
Some vast and abstract river’s monotone
Running through land to an eventual ocean ---

Not the one Wallace Stevens called “the river
Of rivers in Connecticut,” inspired
Taker of water from the sea, and giver
Of meaning to the name the land acquired

(Algonquian: “long [or, tidal]-river-at”)
Yet meditations on a name demand
Pulling new meanings out of an old hat:
Remembering this stream, I understand… {excerpt from River Remembered}

An Elegy On The Glory Of Her Sex, Mrs Mary Blaize
Good people all, with one accord
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word,—
From those who spoke her praise.

The needy seldom passed her door,
And always found her kind;
She freely lent to all the poor,—
Who left a pledge behind.

She strove the neighbourhood to please
With manners wondrous winning;
And never followed wicked ways,—
Unless when she was sinning.

At church, in silks and satins new,
With hoop of monstrous size,
She never slumbered in her pew,—
But when she shut her eyes.

Her love was sought, I do aver,
By twenty beaux and more;
The king himself has followed her,—
When she has walked before.

But now her wealth and finery fled,
Her hangers-on cut short all;
The doctors found, when she was dead,—
Her last disorder mortal.

Let us lament in sorrow sore,
For Kent Street well may say
That had she lived a twelvemonth more,—
She had not died today.

A gorgeous poem for the waning days of winter. The second stanza and the penultimate stanza may rank as some of the finest lines ever written in nineteenth century
English poetry.

The Garden of Proserpine
by Algernon Charles Swinburne


Here, where the world is quiet;
Here, where all trouble seems
Dead winds' and spent waves' riot
In doubtful dreams of dreams;
I watch the green field growing
For reaping folk and sowing,
For harvest-time and mowing,
A sleepy world of streams.


I am tired of tears and laughter,
And men that laugh and weep;
Of what may come hereafter
For men that sow to reap:
I am weary of days and hours,
Blown buds of barren flowers,
Desires and dreams and powers
And everything but sleep.


Here life has death for neighbour,
And far from eye or ear
Wan waves and wet winds labour,
Weak ships and spirits steer;
They drive adrift, and whither
They wot not who make thither;
But no such winds blow hither,
And no such things grow here.


No growth of moor or coppice,
No heather-flower or vine,
But bloomless buds of poppies,
Green grapes of Proserpine,
Pale beds of blowing rushes
Where no leaf blooms or blushes
Save this whereout she crushes
For dead men deadly wine.


Pale, without name or number,
In fruitless fields of corn,
They bow themselves and slumber
All night till light is born;
And like a soul belated,
In hell and heaven unmated,
By cloud and mist abated
Comes out of darkness morn.


Though one were strong as seven,
He too with death shall dwell,
Nor wake with wings in heaven,
Nor weep for pains in hell;
Though one were fair as roses,
His beauty clouds and closes;
And well though love reposes,
In the end it is not well.


Pale, beyond porch and portal,
Crowned with calm leaves, she stands
Who gathers all things mortal
With cold immortal hands;
Her languid lips are sweeter
Than love's who fears to greet her
To men that mix and meet her
From many times and lands.


She waits for each and other,
She waits for all men born;
Forgets the earth her mother,
The life of fruits and corn;
And spring and seed and swallow
Take wing for her and follow
Where summer song rings hollow
And flowers are put to scorn.


There go the loves that wither,
The old loves with wearier wings;
And all dead years draw thither,
And all disastrous things;
Dead dreams of days forsaken,
Blind buds that snows have shaken,
Wild leaves that winds have taken,
Red strays of ruined springs.


We are not sure of sorrow,
And joy was never sure;
To-day will die to-morrow;
Time stoops to no man's lure;
And love, grown faint and fretful,
With lips but half regretful
Sighs, and with eyes forgetful
Weeps that no loves endure.


From too much love of living,
From hope and fear set free,
We thank with brief thanksgiving
Whatever gods may be
That no life lives for ever;
That dead men rise up never;
That even the weariest river
Winds somewhere safe to sea.


Then star nor sun shall waken,
Nor any change of light:
Nor sound of waters shaken,
Nor any sound or sight:
Nor wintry leaves nor vernal,
Nor days nor things diurnal;
Only the sleep eternal
In an eternal night.

Giacomo Leopardi (1798-1837)





Always dear to me was this lonely hill,
And this hedge, which from me so great a part
Of the farthest horizon excludes the gaze.
But as I sit and watch, I invent in my mind
endless spaces beyond, and superhuman
silences, and profoundest quiet;
wherefore my heart
almost loses itself in fear. And as I hear the wind
rustle through these plants, I compare
that infinite silence to this voice:
and I recall to mind eternity,
And the dead seasons, and the one present
And alive, and the sound of it. So in this
Immensity my thinking drowns:
And to shipwreck is sweet for me in this sea.