• mobil said on Aug 24, 2007....

  Gingerbread........I am sneaking in here, crawling in actually. I don't read poetry. Yikes, but  it's true, I never have. The only poems I remember and then just some titles where the once we had to stand in front of the class and recite in the sixth grade. ........Sorry Gingerbread,  hopefully Beyond will come by here soon. He's a poet, or a guy who like's poetry......sorry.

• gingersoul said on Aug 24, 2007....

  Mobil...dont apologize, my friend.. stick around so maybe you will read something that you might like...What about this one to start?

    

  A Song of Despair
   
    The memory of you emerges from the night around me.
  The river mingles its stubborn lament with the sea.
  
  Deserted like the dwarves at dawn.
  It is the hour of departure, oh deserted one!
  
  Cold flower heads are raining over my heart.
  Oh pit of debris, fierce cave of the shipwrecked.
  
  In you the wars and the flights accumulated.
  From you the wings of the song birds rose.
  
  You swallowed everything, like distance.
  Like the sea, like time. In you everything sank!
  
  It was the happy hour of assault and the kiss.
  The hour of the spell that blazed like a lighthouse.
  
  Pilot's dread, fury of blind driver,
  turbulent drunkenness of love, in you everything sank!
  
  In the childhood of mist my soul, winged and wounded.
  Lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
  
  You girdled sorrow, you clung to desire,
  sadness stunned you, in you everything sank!
  
  I made the wall of shadow draw back,
  beyond desire and act, I walked on.
  
  Oh flesh, my own flesh, woman whom I loved and lost,
  I summon you in the moist hour, I raise my song to you.
  
  Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness.
  and the infinite oblivion shattered you like a jar.
  
  There was the black solitude of the islands,
  and there, woman of love, your arms took me in.
  
  There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit.
  There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle.
  
  Ah woman, I do not know how you could contain me
  in the earth of your soul, in the cross of your arms!
  
  How terrible and brief my desire was to you!
  How difficult and drunken, how tensed and avid.
  
  Cemetery of kisses, there is still fire in your tombs,
  still the fruited boughs burn, pecked at by birds.
  
  Oh the bitten mouth, oh the kissed limbs,
  oh the hungering teeth, oh the entwined bodies.
  
  Oh the mad coupling of hope and force
  in which we merged and despaired.
  
  And the tenderness, light as water and as flour.
  And the word scarcely begun on the lips.
  
  This was my destiny and in it was my voyage of my longing,
  and in it my longing fell, in you everything sank!
  
  Oh pit of debris, everything fell into you,
  what sorrow did you not express, in what sorrow are you not drowned!
  
  From billow to billow you still called and sang.
  Standing like a sailor in the prow of a vessel.
  
  You still flowered in songs, you still brike the currents.
  Oh pit of debris, open and bitter well.
  
  Pale blind diver, luckless slinger,
  lost discoverer, in you everything sank!
  
  It is the hour of departure, the hard cold hour
  which the night fastens to all the timetables.
  
  The rustling belt of the sea girdles the shore.
  Cold stars heave up, black birds migrate.
  
  Deserted like the wharves at dawn.
  Only tremulous shadow twists in my hands.
  
  Oh farther than everything. Oh farther than everything.
  
  It is the hour of departure. Oh abandoned one!
  
  Pablo Neruda

• anonymous said on Aug 24, 2007....

  i write my own. but then i rip it up because when i read it later it sounds too cheesey.

• beyondtheveil said on Aug 24, 2007....

  
  "Ginsoul, the Romantic of the Mediterranean"---
  
  First, I don't know who mobil has been reading, but I was mixed up with a poet.
  
  My dear girl, I am a dusty boot wanderer stumbling over the cacti and cow pies of life. If I was to gather all the poetry about torturing love I've read, it might not fill a thimble. In fact, I was probably in my twenties before I read a poem that did not start with "Roses are red....".
  
  But I don't want to disappoint you completely so I'll write a poem for you:
  
  Roses are red
  violets are blue
  when I think of a romantic
  I think of you
  

• gingersoul said on Aug 24, 2007....

  Anon....well, i didint specify that the list had to be made only with poems of famous authors....if reading your own poems helps you.......then...you can fit in this list...:-)

  BeyBey...i didnt buy it for one second.....dusty boots and all.....you have too many poems in you hearth........

  And i love this one....{{hugs}}.

• moonriver said on Aug 24, 2007....

  ginger -- grrr, you really know how to undermine an editor's time discipline during deadline night, don't you? now i have no choice but to remind you of two nerudas.
  
  the first is Tonight I can write the saddest verse, arguably his best-loved poem of lost love, which i posted in a blog at one certain day when i was most vulnerable...
  
  the second is lesser-known:
  
  If you forget me
  Pablo Neruda
  
  I want you to know
  one thing.
  
  You know how this is:
  if I look
  at the crystal moon, at the red branch
  of the slow autumn at my window,
  if I touch
  near the fire
  the impalpable ash
  or the wrinkled body of the log,
  everything carries me to you,
  as if everything that exists,
  aromas, light, metals,
  were little boats
  that sail
  toward those isles of yours that wait for me.
  
  Well, now,
  if little by little you stop loving me
  I shall stop loving you little by little.
  
  If suddenly
  you forget me
  do not look for me,
  for I shall already have forgotten you.
  
  If you think it long and mad,
  the wind of banners
  that passes through my life,
  and you decide
  to leave me at the shore
  of the heart where I have roots,
  remember
  that on that day,
  at that hour,
  I shall lift my arms
  and my roots will set off
  to seek another land.
  
  But
  if each day,
  each hour,
  you feel that you are destined for me
  with implacable sweetness,
  if each day a flower
  climbs up to your lips to seek me,
  ah my love, ah my own,
  in me all that fire is repeated,
  in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
  my love feeds on your love, beloved,
  and as long as you live it will be in your arms
  without leaving mine.
  
  
  There are two Youtube versions, but I didn't particularly like how they handled the music.
  
  I have a few more in the works...;-)
  
  
  

• gingersoul said on Aug 24, 2007....

  Moon...NO WAY!!!!!

  "If you forget me" was the one i was posting instead of the other one....i chose the other one ONLY because it speaks of a love already over....while in this last one there is still the lover in the picture..... i mean of all the millions of poems on Earth ......

  *ginger just shakes her head in disbelief*....

• beyondtheveil said on Aug 24, 2007....

  Those who don't feel this love     Rumi
  
  Those who don't feel this love
     pulling them like a river,
  those who don't drink dawn
     like a cup of spring water
     or take in sunset like supper,
  those who don't want to change,
  
  let them sleep.
  
  This love is beyond the study of theology,
     that old trickery and hypocrisy.
  If you want to improve your mind that way,
  
  sleep on.
  
     I've given up on my brain.
  I've torn the clothes to shreds
     and thrown it all away.
  
     If you're not completely naked,
  wrap your beautiful robe of words
     around you,
  
            and sleep.
  

• secretlife said on Aug 24, 2007....

   
  Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath
  "I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
  I lift my lids and all is born again.
  (I think I made you up inside my head.)
  
  The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
  And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
  I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
  
  I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
  And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
  (I think I made you up inside my head.)
  
  God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
  Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
  I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
  
  I fancied you'd return the way you said,
  But I grow old and I forget your name.
  (I think I made you up inside my head.)
  
  I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
  At least when spring comes they roar back again.
  I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
  (I think I made you up inside my head.)"
   

  The Dream

  Edna St. Vincent Millay

  Love, if I weep it will not matter,
    And if you laugh I shall not care;
  Foolish am I to think about it,
    But it is good to feel you there.
  
  Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,—
    White and awful the moonlight reached
  Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere,
    There was a shutter loose,—it screeched!
  
  Swung in the wind,—and no wind blowing!—
    I was afraid, and turned to you,
  Put out my hand to you for comfort,—
    And you were gone!  Cold, cold as dew,
  
  Under my hand the moonlight lay!
    Love, if you laugh I shall not care,
  But if I weep it will not matter,—
    Ah, it is good to feel you there!
  

  Adam’s Curse
  William Butler Yeats
  We sat together at one summer’s end,
  That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
  And you and I, and talked of poetry.
  I said, ‘A line will take us hours maybe;
  Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought,
  Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
  Better go down upon your marrow-bones
  And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
  Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
  For to articulate sweet sounds together
  Is to work harder than all these, and yet
  Be thought an idler by the noisy set
  Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
  The martyrs call the world.’
  
                                      And thereupon
  That beautiful mild woman for whose sake
  There’s many a one shall find out all heartache
  On finding that her voice is sweet and low
  Replied: ‘To be born woman is to know—
  Although they do not talk of it at school—
  That we must labour to be beautiful.’
  
  I said, ‘It’s certain there is no fine thing
  Since Adam’s fall but needs much labouring.
  There have been lovers who thought love should be
  So much compounded of high courtesy
  That they would sigh and quote with learned looks
  Precedents out of beautiful old books;
  Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.’
  
  We sat grown quiet at the name of love;
  We saw the last embers of daylight die,
  And in the trembling blue-green of the sky
  A moon, worn as if it had been a shell
  Washed by time’s waters as they rose and fell
  About the stars and broke in days and years.
  
  I had a thought for no one’s but your ears:
  That you were beautiful, and that I strove
  To love you in the old high way of love;
  That it had all seemed happy, and yet we’d grown
  As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.

• what.could.be.better.than. said on Aug 24, 2007....

  for me, its songs and music that I turn to.

• the_infernal_optimist said on Aug 24, 2007....

  W. H. Auden (and his crazy villanelle skills!):
  
  

  Time will say nothing but I told you so,
  Time only knows the price we have to pay;
  If I could tell you I would let you know.
  
  If we should weep when clowns put on their show,
  If we should stumble when musicians play,
  Time will say nothing but I told you so.
  
  There are no fortunes to be told, although,
  Because I love you more than I can say,
  If I could tell you I would let you know.
  
  The winds must come from somewhere when they blow,
  There must be reasons why the leaves decay;
  Time will say nothing but I told you so.
  
  Perhaps the roses really want to grow,
  The vision seriously intends to stay;
  If I could tell you I would let you know.
  
  Suppose all the lions get up and go,
  And all the brooks and soldiers run away;
  Will Time say nothing but I told you so?
  If I could tell you I would let you know.
  
  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
  
  This one has a lot of personal meaning for me and I find solace in it when love is sharp.
  

  ~Infernal
  

• moonriver said on Aug 24, 2007....

  ginger -- you were saying something about my defective radar, my friend? seems like i can tune in as finely as you can... :-)
  
  

• mobil said on Aug 24, 2007....

  Beautiful poems, all of them, let me give you an example of what I know, actually the only poem I know.
   
  Oh she burped and she sneezed and we did it on the floor
  The wind from her ass blew the cat out the door.
   
  Oh the moon shines bright on the nipple of her tit
  and she carved her initials in a bucket of shit.
   
  There's more, but I'd have to go to the library to find the other verses, sorry.

• anonymous said on Aug 24, 2007....

  Ok, gotta be harsh but honest... didnt feel these poems had enough emotion behind it. Thought that "If you forget me" was too bitter.

• moonriver said on Aug 24, 2007....

  A few more poems from Li Bai (Li Bo)
  
  Crows calling at night
  
  Yellow clouds beside the walls; crows near the tower.
  Flying back, they caw, caw; calling in the boughs.
  In the loom she weaves brocade, the Qin river girl.
  Made of emerald yarn like mist, the window hides her words.
  She stops the shuttle, sorrowful, and thinks of the distant man.
  She stays alone in the lonely room, her tears just like the rain.
  
  Autumn air
  
  The autumn air is clear,
  The autumn moon is bright.
  Fallen leaves gather and scatter,
  The jackdaw perches and starts anew.
  We think of each other- when will we meet?
  This hour, this night, my feelings are hard.
  
  
  

• gingersoul said on Aug 24, 2007....

  Great poems....few notes..

  BeyBey...i never read this one...beautiful......thanks...

  Secret....oh, the one from Sylvia Plath is one of my favorite too....

  What.....some songs are poetry in music after all...

  Infernal....yes, its like talking to some old friend.... 

  Mobil....i knew there was poet hiding in you...keep hiding him, please...LOL...

  Anon....too bitter? not enough emotions? Now I am curious to read what you might propose...:-)  

• Mamie said on Aug 24, 2007....

  Ging, just bookmarking...this is the best post ever!! I will get my fav poem and be back!! xo Mamie

• Mamie said on Aug 24, 2007....

  love this one...
  The Journey

  One day you finally knew
  what you had to do, and began,
  though the voices around you
  kept shouting
  their bad advice--
  though the whole house
  began to tremble
  and you felt the old tug
  at your ankles.
  "Mend my life!"
  each voice cried.
  But you didn't stop.
  You knew what you had to do,
  though the wind pried
  with its stiff fingers
  at the very foundations,
  though their melancholy
  was terrible.
  It was already late
  enough, and a wild night,
  and the road full of fallen
  branches and stones.
  But little by little,
  as you left their voices behind,
  the stars began to burn
  through the sheets of clouds,
  and there was a new voice
  which you slowly
  recognized as your own,
  that kept you company
  as you strode deeper and deeper
  into the world,
  determined to do
  the only thing you could do--
  determined to save
  the only life you could save.

  by Mary Oliver

   
   

• rupert7 said on Aug 24, 2007....

  This one by Emily Bronte has special meaning for me
  
  
  
    Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!  Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,    Sever'd at last by Time's all-severing wave?    Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover         5   Over the mountains, on that northern shore,  Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover    Thy noble heart for ever, ever more?    Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers    From those brown hills have melted into spring:  10 Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers    After such years of change and suffering!    Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,    While the world's tide is bearing me along;  Other desires and other hopes beset me,  15   Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!    No later light has lighten'd up my heaven,    No second morn has ever shone for me;  All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,    All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.  20   But when the days of golden dreams had perish'd,    And even Despair was powerless to destroy;  Then did I learn how existence could be cherish'd,    Strengthen'd and fed without the aid of joy.    Then did I check the tears of useless passion—  25   Wean'd my young soul from yearning after thine;  Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten    Down to that tomb already more than mine.    And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,    Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;  30 Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,    How could I seek the empty world again?     

• rupert7 said on Aug 24, 2007....

  Why does ever  thing I do get stuffed up? Why did this print like this? Perhaps it is symbolic being my last post ever!
  
  Last Post! good grief! where is the bugle??
  

• gingersoul said on Aug 24, 2007....

  Rupert....last post? What are you talking about?  I am going in your blog to read you.....this poem of Bronte is beautiful no matter how it comes out printed....thank you ......  

• gingersoul said on Aug 24, 2007....

  Mamie.....i didnt know Mary Oliver. Thanks for introducing me to her. This poem is really touching...

  This is what i like...when people let poetry goes around....sharing and taking and giving....:-)

• secretlife said on Aug 24, 2007....

  Love - Pablo Neruda

  Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the
  perfumes of spring.
     I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
  how did your lips feel on mine?
     Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
  the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
     I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
  your eyes.
     Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
  you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
  do me irreparable harm.
     Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
     I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
  window.
     Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
  of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
  stars, falling objects.

• gingersoul said on Aug 24, 2007....

  Secret.......this is one of my favorite.....and it just hurts reading it......

• ZsuzsiO said on Aug 25, 2007....

  I don't read poems. I don't know why. When I'm blue I go to music. You know, in several languages "song" and "poem" are the very same word. So I guess I only listen to "poems" when they have a tune too.

• gingersoul said on Aug 25, 2007....

  Zsu...oh, yes, i understand.....as i said to What.could.be......beautiful songs are poems in music....

   

• ladyscarlet said on Aug 25, 2007....

  Good grief! I just started reading this post, not a care in the world, and suddenly cried my heart out into my hands! Have swallowed it down again, not to worry. (How very Jeanette Winterson.) I love poems!! I love Pablo Neruda! Ever since I read his line 'I want to do to you what Spring does to the cherry trees'.
   
  Isn't it awful how you imagine you have forgotten your pain, and someone else's words can open the door again? Awful in a good way ;) I have to say I am bowled over everytime by Neruda's Love. But how about these too?
   
  (I can't write them all out because the post will be disgustingly long, but I'll give you the short ones in full and advise you to look up the longer ones or you'll miss out ;) )
   
  Ted Hughes, Lovesong
  Philip Larkin, Love Songs in Age
  Elizabeth Bishop, One Art
   
   Twelve Songs, IX
   
  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.
   
  W.H.Auden
   
   
  Sonnet II
   
  Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
  Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
  I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
  I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
  The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
  And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
  But last year's bitter loving must remain
  Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!
  There are a hundred places where I fear
  To go, - so with his memory they brim!
  And entering with relief some quiet place
  Where never fell his foot or shone his face
  I say, 'There is no memory of him here!'
  And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
   
  Edna St. Vincent Millay
   
  P.S. gingersoul, thank you! you are so welcome ;)

• dailyachesandpains said on Aug 25, 2007....

  Gingie:  I've got nothing.  I enjoy poetry, but I don't read it unless it's in front of me.  In other words, I don't look for it. 

  My Grandmother was a Poet, a 'real' one.  It just makes me chuckle that the talent skips a generation.  None of her children could write poetry. I have a 15 year old cousin that has been published!  She started writing amazing poetry when she was just 7 years of age.  Most of her poetry now, has to do with sadness over the war.  Breaks my heart...but her words are so powerful.  I'd post some of her work here, but I wouldn't want to risk her copyrights. 

  {{{HUGS}}}

  Daily

• gingersoul said on Aug 25, 2007....

  Scarlet........what a coincidence.......I was watching last night (for the th time) "Four weddings and a funeral". Well, guess which poem he recites on the coffin of his gay lover?

  I know...you know it....that Auden poem. I thought ..i gotta go and write it down on my post and there you are.... 

  ....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......

  I copied these lines on my diaries many times. They simply fit any love pains... I also wrote them in the last letter i i gave to my ex husband years ago... ....

  My love for Neruda is something beyond explalnation, i think...it started when i was in middle school. Never abandoned me since....and he seems always to tie me to the most important persons in my life.....

• gingersoul said on Aug 25, 2007....

  Daily.....your grandma was a Poet?? Oh, yes, please post here some of her poetries ......

  I had one poem published when i was 15. It was a national contest to be selected and published in a love poetries book.  I was out of my skin when i saw my poem there.....if i go and look in my stuff i might be able to find that book again.....

• dailyachesandpains said on Aug 25, 2007....

  Ginger:  I'd be glad to post her 'stuff' but I have to find out which aunt or uncle got the books when they were deciding on who got what when both my grand-parent's past.  My grand-father was an artist and Little D got his talent and we have one of her paintings on display and EVERYONE that sees it asks who the artist is, lol!  That skipped a generation, or two as well!

  I would LOVE to see your published poem!  I'll look for a link to my cousin's poetry.  I saw one she wrote about President Bush and it would bring you to tears.  It's like a child crying through the entire poem "why?" it was sad.  Looking through a child's eyes is so saddening sometimes. 

  I'm on the case and I'm going to call my Mother about the poetry books.  Oh, and I think I know who has most of them...(puked in my mouth) the Aunt that's a Nun that drives me crazy!  I'll call her anyway.

  Daily

• Pontius_Pilate said on Aug 26, 2007....

  I have a few that I've written here on my blog
  One that I've liked since I've written was this one...
  She once said...
  I read the writings, she once wrote.
       And I remember.
  She once said, she loved me.
  She once said, I was the only.
  She once said, there never would be another.
  She once said, she would never leave me.
  She once said, I love you.
  Now I say, you lied.
  function appear_disappear() { var obj = document.getElementById("share_this_post"); obj.style.display=(obj.style.display == 'none')?'block':'none'; }
  Now some might not call it poetry, hell, I don't fully. To me it's just ramblings. :shrug: I have a tendency to skim the long ones, I just can't seem to really get into them.
  The short ones normally work best for me.
  I have seen/read a long one or two though that just... wow
  

• gingersoul said on Aug 26, 2007....

  Pontius.....i went to your blog.....you should write more...i am serious..

  I like the one you posted her ....its sincere, clear, painful.....

  Who said long poems are more intense than short ones?

  I for example love Emily Dickinson mostly because of her sharp, poignant, short, unbearably beautiful poems.....there is economy in her poetry......like this one..

  ….. I reason, that in Heaven -
  Somehow, it will be even -
  Some new Equation, given -
  But, what of that?

  Emily Dickinson

   

   

• ladyscarlet said on Aug 27, 2007....

  Ginger - (I like writing that, it's like Ginger Rogers who I loved and wanted to be when I was little and stayed home sick tucked up on the sofa and watching old movies...)
  
  Anyway, maybe I am supposed to be an important person in your life, tied to you by Neruda and Auden, mwa ha ha! Lol...
  I've written poems too, and I like them, but I always find it strange when I read them back to myself later. Like, where did that come from? ;) It's fun though. Cathartic.
  

• gingersoul said on Aug 27, 2007....

  Scarlet......oh, its absolutely cathartic....better than a gut cleansing...cheaper for sure....lol...

  I still love Fred and Ginger.....they were genius.....i watched their movies so many times with my mom in the after lunch time..... drinking with our coffee.... 

• SilmeBetty said on Aug 29, 2007....

  I love this poem, it was in my english course book when I was about 11.
  
  W. H. Auden: Funeral blues
  
  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 crêpe 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.
  

  
  

• gingersoul said on Aug 29, 2007....

  Silme.........it looked like Auden is a hit.......me and Scarlet already picked this poem...:..join our Auden club....lol...

  Thank you for stopping by........and ....nice to meet you.....:-)

• honeybunny said on Aug 30, 2007....

  I simply love poetry. I can't really say that I have one specific that stands out. For me poetry comes with the moments and feelings surrounding us. Sometimes I find comfort in taking those feelings of mine and putting pen to paper. When I write I write from the depths of my soul. Whether it be love, love lost, family, friends, depression, etc.

  Poetry is a doorway to our inner beings. It is a way to share with others and maybe even share something that sparks something in another.

• gingersoul said on Aug 30, 2007....

  Honey.......i couldn't agree more with you....:-)

  And thanks for stopping by...nice to meet you....

• kirjava said on Aug 30, 2007....

  Thank you for welcoming me, Ginger! I'm sorry I didn't reply to you sooner. I don't read many poems when, as you say, "love hurts", rather I write them. :) It's fun. Do you write any?

• gingersoul said on Aug 30, 2007....

  Kirj.........oh yes...i have written tons of them...maybe too many....and this means my heart was hurting too many times....:-)

   

• Fire_01 said on Aug 31, 2007....

  Ginger..........No baby....I read nothing when love hurts!!! I pull the blanket over my head and hibernate for a few days....

• gingersoul said on Aug 31, 2007....

  Fire.....oh, i do that too......and abuse of the patience of my friends and consume gallons of gas driving around at night listening to my favorite music at high volume .....yep......but then i come bak home and read.....:-)   

• anonymous said on Sep 16, 2007....

  i usually write my own poems and listen to music...
  but then lately, this song keeps playing in my head. it's 'these dreams' by heart. also it makes one good poem
   
   
  These Dreams
  Artist: Heart
  
  Spare a little candle
  Save some light for me
  Figures up ahead
  Moving in the trees
  White skin in linen
  Perfume on my wrist
  And the full moon that hangs over
  These dreams in the mist
   
  Darkness on the edge
  Shadows where I stand
  I search for the time
  On a watch with no hands
  I want to see you clearly
  Come closer than this
  But all I remember
  Are the dreams in the mist
   
  These dreams go on when I close my eyes
  Every second of the night I live another life
  These dreams that sleep when its cold outside
  Every moment I’m awake the further I’m away
   
  Is it cloak n dagger
  Could it be spring or fall
  I walk without a cut
  Through a stained glass wall
  Weaker in my eyesight
  The candle in my grip
  And words that have no form
  Are falling from my lips
   
  These dreams go on when I close my eyes
  Every second of the night I live another life
  These dreams that sleep when it’s cold outside
  Every moment I’m awake the further I’m away
   
  There’s something out there I cant resist
  I need to hide away from the pain
  There’s something out there I cant resist
   
  The sweetest song is silence
  That I’ve ever heard
  Funny how your feet
  In dreams never touch the earth
  In a wood full of princes
  Freedom is a kiss
  But the prince hides his face
  From dreams in the mist
   
  These dreams go on when I close my eyes
  Every second of the night I live another life
  These dreams that sleep when it’s cold outside
  Every moment I’m awake the further I’m away
  

• gingersoul said on Sep 16, 2007....

  Anon...thanks....really beautiful lyrics ......

  Why are you anonymous? You shouldn't be afraid to like beauty....:-) 

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