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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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Here I love you
In the dark pines the wind disentangles itself.
The moon glows like phosphorous on the vagrant waters
Days, all one kind, go chasing each other
.
The snow unfurls in dancing figures.
A silver gull slips down from the west.
sometimes a sail. High, high stars.
.
Oh the black cross of a ship.
Alone.
Sometimes I get up early and even my soul is wet.
Far away the sea sounds and resounds.
This is a port.
Here I love you.
.
Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.
I love you still among these cold things.
Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels
that cross the sea towards no arrival.
I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.
.
The piers sadden when the afternoon moors there.
My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose.
I love what I do not have. You are so far.
My loathing wrestles with the slow twilights.
But night comes and starts to sing to me.
The moon turns its clockwork dream.
.
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes.
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.
.
by Pablo Neruda... a bit of poetry for your soul  |
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By *icketysplitsWoman
over a year ago
Way over Yonder, that's where I'm bound |
Here's one that that speaks to me:
I’ll Open the Window
By Anna Swir
Our embrace lasted too long.
We loved right down to the bone.
I hear the bones grind, I see
our two skeletons.
Now I am waiting
till you leave, till
the clatter of your shoes
is heard no more. Now, silence.
Tonight I am going to sleep alone
on the bedclothes of purity.
Aloneness
is the first hygienic measure.
Aloneness
will enlarge the walls of the room,
I will open the window
and the large, frosty air will enter,
healthy as tragedy.
Human thoughts will enter
and human concerns,
misfortune of others, saintliness of others.
They will converse softly and sternly.
Do not come anymore.
I am an animal
very rarely. |
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By *yrdwomanWoman
over a year ago
Putting the 'cum' in Eboracum |
Well if we're posting poems we like...
Her Kind
I have gone out, a possessed witch
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.
I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disalign.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.
I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind. |
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By (user no longer on site)
over a year ago
|
"Reminds me of a cradle of filth song. Seriously not taking the piss. They may be extreme metal but the lyrics can be extremely poetic.  "
Our favourite band ever .... Saw them at an intimate gig in cambridge a fortnight before we got married 2 years ago .
Their lyrics are awesome , very much underrated and everything about them is so erotic .
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