Man -- > Poem

[Man]

Poem




A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME CLASSICS


Lightning:
Heron's cry
Stabs the darkness


Basho








--> Man

[Man]

Poem




A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME CLASSICS


Look directly!
What is this?
Look in this manner
And you won’t be fooled!

Bassui









--> Man

[Man]

Poem




A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME CLASSICS


Even though I'm in Kyoto,
when the kookoo cries,
I long for Kyoto.


Issa









--> Man

[Man]

Poem




A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME CLASSICS


1. Experience Chan! It's not mysterious.
As I see it, it boils down to cause and effect.
Outside the mind there is no Dharma
So how can anybody speak of a heaven beyond?

2. Experience Chan! It's not a field of learning.
Learning adds things that can be researched and discussed.
The feel of impressions can't be communicated.
Enlightenment is the only medium of transmission.

3. Experience Chan! It's not a lot of questions.
Too many questions is the Chan disease.
The best way is just to observe the noise of the world.
The answer to your questions?
Ask your own heart.

4. Experience Chan! It's not the teachings of disciples.
Such speakers are guests from outside the gate.
The Chan which you are hankering to speak about
Only talks about turtles turning into fish.

5. Experience Chan! It can't be described.
When you describe it you miss the point.
When you discover that your proofs are without substance
You'll realize that words are nothing but dust.

6. Experience Chan! It's experiencing your own nature!
Going with the flow everywhere and always.
When you don't fake it and waste time trying to rub and polish it,
Your Original Self will always shine through brighter than bright.

7. Experience Chan! It's like harvesting treasures.
But donate them to others.
You won't need them.
Suddenly everything will appear before you,
Altogether complete and altogether done.

8. Experience Chan! Become a follower who when accepted
Learns how to give up his life and his death.
Grasping this carefully he comes to see clearly.
And then he laughs till he topples the Cold Mountain ascetics.

9. Experience Chan! It'll require great skepticism;
But great skepticism blocks those detours on the road.
Jump off the lofty peaks of mystery.
Turn your heaven and earth inside out.

10. Experience Chan! Ignore that superstitious nonsense
That makes some claim that they've attained Chan.
Foolish beliefs are those of the not-yet-awakened.
And they're the ones who most need the experience of Chan!

11. Experience Chan! There's neither distance nor intimacy.
Observation is like a family treasure.
Whether with eyes, ears, body, nose, or tongue -
It's hard to say which is the most amazing to use.

12. Experience Chan! There's no class distinction.
The one who bows and the one who is bowed to are a Buddha unit.
The yoke and its lash are tied to each other.
Isn't this our first principle... the one we should most observe?

Master Xu Yun









--> Man

[Man]

Poem




A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME CLASSICS


However deep your
Knowledge of the scriptures,
It is no more than a strand of hair
In the vastness of space;
However important appears
Your worldly experience,
It is but a drop of water in a deep ravine.



Tokusan










--> Man

[Man]

Poem




A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME CLASSICS


Good and evil have no self nature;
Holy and unholy are empty names;
In front of the door is the land of stillness and quiet;
Spring comes, grass grows by itself.


Master Seung Sahn











--> Man

[Man]

Poem




The Web By Rocky

Spinning timeless havens of wishes
Within forgotten corners,
And the deserted, dusty drawers
The silent spinner will craft silver quilts of silk.
Day by day,
Minute by minute,
The strands will form.
The oldest attics,
The dirtiest dumps,
They are the only galleries for such art.
Such priceless masterpieces,
No man can compete,
With the eight skilled hands
The composer completes his symphony.
Hanging in the air
Like a frozen glider,
And so we farewell
Our friend the spider.











--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Eye of the Cyclone By Double 'O Seven

Placid I sit while the world rages around me
Oblivious to events that others can see.
I am not blind but I choose to look away
Carrying on living my own world.

Placid I sit when friction is at its peak
When emotions run high and tempers flare.
My vantage point conceals nought
As I sit and observe silently.

Placid I sit watching the fun and games
Everyone is jovial, enjoying themselves.
My view from the outside bothers me not
As I watch on from a distance.

Placid I sit throughout the storms
When life gets crazy and panic sets in.
Somehow I stay above and fail to capsize
As the oars grow heavy in my arms.











--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Time by Fleur

I am proud to say this poem was written by my 9 year old daughter.

Time can be a history.
Time can be a mystery.
Time can be future or past,
A forgotten golden past,
Or a rich changing future.
What a wonderful time.












--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME CLASSICS


However deep your
Knowledge of the scriptures,
It is no more than a strand of hair
In the vastness of space;
However important appears
Your worldly experience,
It is but a drop of water in a deep ravine.


Tokusan





--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME CLASSICS



Whether you are going or staying or sitting or lying down,
the whole world is your own self.
You must find out
whether the mountains, rivers, grass, and forests
exist in your own mind or exist outside it.
Analyze the ten thousand things,
dissect them minutely,
and when you take this to the limit
you will come to the limitless,
when you search into it you come to the end of search,
where thinking goes no further and distinctions vanish.
When you smash the citadel of doubt,
then the Buddha is simply yourself.

Daikaku





--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME CLASSICS



When mortals are alive, they worry about death.
When they're full, they worry about hunger.
Theirs is the Great Uncertainty.

But sages don't consider the past.
And they don't worry about the future.
Nor do they cling to the present.
And from moment to moment they follow the Way.


Bodhidharma






--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME CLASSICS



There are thousands upon thousands of students
who have practised meditation and obtained its fruits.
Do not doubt its possibilities because of the simplicity of the method.
If you can not find the truth right where you are,
where else do you expect to find it?

Dogen







--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME CLASSICS



All sentient beings are essentially Buddhas.
As with water and ice, there is no ice without water;
apart from sentient beings, there are no Buddhas.
Not knowing how close the truth is,
we seek it far away
--what a pity!


Hakuin Ekaku Zenji







--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME NOT-SO CLASSICAL



Not believing in anything I just sit,
listening to my breathing
After thirty years
It still goes in and out.


Albert Coelho








--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME NOT-SO CLASSICAL



One step
A hundred crickets
Jump


Jerry A Levy







--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME NOT-SO CLASSICAL



Adding father's name
to the family tombstone
with room for my own.


Nicholas Virgilio







--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME NOT-SO CLASSICAL



When you hear your inner voice,
forget it.


Hyoen Sahn







--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME NOT-SO CLASSICAL



in one gust
the last leaf decides:
gone


Robert Henry Poulin







--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME NOT-SO CLASSICAL



first on a track
night spider webs
catch my face


Yao Feng -- Tasmania







--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME NOT-SO CLASSICAL



Brown mimosa seed
where blossoms once invited
hummingbirds to feed.


Ethel Freeman







--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME NOT-SO CLASSICAL



troubled night
no resting place
for my thoughts


Phil Adams







--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME NOT-SO CLASSICAL



Look!
The beggar's shouting fingers
find no listener's eye.


Owen Burkhart







--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME NOT-SO CLASSICAL



loud window thud
in my cupped hand
the little bird dies


Yao Feng - Tasmania







--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME NOT-SO CLASSICAL



Empty morning streets
Cold path to the castle
Castle colder still


Pierre42







--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



SOME NOT-SO CLASSICAL



bang!
robin feathers stuck to the frosty window
-- just the cat's tail moves

Rhahn






--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



A cross-legged monk
Silent awareness
A battle for peace.



-- Unknown


--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



The cry of a child
The cry of an ambulance
The cry of a newborn.


-- Unknown



--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



I am so tiny
The Universe so endless
All my creation



-- Unknown



--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



Yellow young spring
Sky full of hope
Future won't come.

Frenzy of insects
Heat of our star
The past has dissolved.

Red humid forest
Light rays in fog
Shattering silence.

Black naked trees
White topping of snow
A perfect year gone.





-- Unknown



--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



A dinner with friends
Love, laughter and trust
Dukkha disguised.




-- Unknown



--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



Schoolyard with children
Shameless screaming and fun
When did I loose that?




-- Unknown



--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



Grasping attachment,
Insisting on trouble:
My life as a fool.

Grasping a Path,
Insisting on my view:
My life as a fool.

Grasping, Insisting:
Fool.





-- Unknown



--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



Thundering silence
Colorful darkness
Wanting to be free






-- Unknown



--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



Buddha is dead
Not even born;
Light without darkness.






-- Unknown



--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



Dust from the mirror
Cleansed with much care
Gone is the mirror.





-- Unknown



--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



With metta to act
With wisdom to be
The struggle to end.






-- Unknown



--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



Who am I?
Am I?
Am?





-- Unknown



--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



All is so many
All is but One
None.





-- Unknown



--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



Nowhere is here
Never is now
End of the tunnel
No tunnel
No me.






-- Unknown



--> Man

[Man]

Poem


A View on Buddhism

Zen Poems and Haiku - A selection from a 'non-zennist'



Nowhere is here
Never is now
End of the tunnel
No tunnel
No me.





-- Unknown



--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Allspirit Zen

Zen Poetry

Zen Master Ryokan


Thoughts



When all thoughts
Are exhausted
I slip into the woods
And gather
A pile of shepherd's purse.

Like the little stream
Making its way
Through the mossy crevices
I, too, quietly
Turn clear and transparent.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Allspirit Zen

Zen Poetry

Zen Master Ryokan


no-mind


The flower invites the butterfly with no-mind;
The butterfly visits the flower with no-mind.
The flower opens, the butterfly comes;
The butterfly comes, the flower opens.
I don't know others,
Others don't know me.
By not-knowing we follow nature's course.

from "Dewdrops on a Lotus Leaf" translated by John Stevens





--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Allspirit Zen

Zen Poetry

Zen Master Ryokan


Lazy


Too lazy to be ambitious,
I let the world take care of itself.
Ten days' worth of rice in my bag;
a bundle of twigs by the fireplace.
Why chatter about delusion and enlightenment?
Listening to the night rain on my roof,
I sit comfortably, with both legs stretched out.







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



The following are all from: 'Beyond Self: 108 Korean Zen Poems'by Ko Un


*THE HERMIT*

Jang Ku-Song the hermit was busy shitting
when he heard frogs croaking. It made him
recite

The croaking of frogs on moonlit nights in early spring
pierces the world from end to end, makes us all
one family.

Look, if you've had your shit,
wipe yourself and get out of here.







--> Man

[Man]

Poem

The following are all from: 'Beyond Self: 108 Korean Zen Poems'by Ko Un

*THE LOTUS SUTRA*


The Lotus Sutra. Ultimate reality.
So far
you've been bashing me badly.
Now
I'll cudgel you, bastard.
Oh! Ouch!
Take that too.
Oh! Ouch!
Oh! Ouch!

The Lotus Sutra dashed away.
Fields open wide, once the farmers
have gone.









--> Man

[Man]

Poem


The following are all from: 'Beyond Self: 108 Korean Zen Poems'by Ko Un


*A SMILE*


Shakyamuni held up a lotus
so Kashyapa smiled.
Not at all.
The lotus smiled
so Kashyapa smiled.

Nowhere was Shakyamuni!





--> Man

[Man]

Poem

The following are all from: 'Beyond Self: 108 Korean Zen Poems'by Ko Un



*WHY KILL?*


Let be. Please, let be.
Kill Buddha
if you meet him?
Kill mother and father
if you meet them? Why kill?
Things made of clay all fall to bits
once soaked by monsoon rains.






--> Man

[Man]

Poem


The following are all from: 'Beyond Self: 108 Korean Zen Poems'by Ko Un


*ANANDA*

Even Shakyamuni could never tame Ananda
but Kashyapa kicked him out and tamed him.
Throw away all you know.
Throw away all you don't know.
Then and only then one star shines bright.







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I Taught Myself to Live Simply


I taught myself to live simply and wisely,
to look at the sky and pray to God,
and to wander long before evening
to tire my superfluous worries.
When the burdocks rustle in the ravine
and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops
I compose happy verses
about life's decay, decay and beauty.
I come back. The fluffy cat
licks my palm, purrs so sweetly
and the fire flares bright
on the saw-mill turret by the lake.
Only the cry of a stork landing on the roof
occasionally breaks the silence.
If you knock on my door
I may not even hear.



~Anna Akhmatova







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Twenty-First. Night. Monday


Twenty-first. Night. Monday.
Silhouette of the capitol in darkness.
Some good-for-nothing -- who knows why--
made up the tale that love exists on earth.

People believe it, maybe from laziness
or boredom, and live accordingly:
they wait eagerly for meetings, fear parting,
and when they sing, they sing about love.

But the secret reveals itself to some,
and on them silence settles down...
I found this out by accident
and now it seems I'm sick all the time.





~Anna Akhmatova







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Solitude


So many stones have been thrown at me,
That I'm not frightened of them anymore,
And the pit has become a solid tower,
Tall among tall towers.
I thank the builders,
May care and sadness pass them by.
From here I'll see the sunrise earlier,
Here the sun's last ray rejoices.
And into the windows of my room
The northern breezes often fly.
And from my hand a dove eats grains of wheat...
As for my unfinished page,
The Muse's tawny hand, divinely calm
And delicate, will finish it.

June 6, 1914, Slepnyovo







~Anna Akhmatova







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Sunbeam


I pray to the sunbeam from the window -
It is pale, thin, straight.
Since morning I have been silent,
And my heart - is split.
The copper on my washstand
Has turned green,
But the sunbeam plays on it
So charmingly.
How innocent it is, and simple,
In the evening calm,
But to me in this deserted temple
It's like a golden celebration,
And a consolation.









~Anna Akhmatova







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Under Her Dark Veil


Under her dark veil she wrung her hands.
"Why are you so pale today?"
"Because I made him drink of stinging grief
Until he got drunk on it.

How can I forget? He staggered out,
His mouth twisted in agony.
I ran down not touching the bannister

And caught up with him at the gate.
I cried: 'A joke!
That's all it was. If you leave, I'll die.'
He smiled calmly and grimly
And told me: 'Don't stand here in the wind.' "

January 8, 1911


Kiev





~Anna Akhmatova







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



How can you bear to look at the Neva?

How can you bear to look at the Neva?
How can you bear to cross the bridges?.
Not in vain am I known as the grieving one
Since the time you appeared to me.
The black angels' wings are sharp,
Judgment Day is coming soon,
And raspberry-colored bonfires bloom,
Like roses, in the snow.

1914







~Anna Akhmatova







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I hear the oriole's always-grieving voice


I hear the oriole's always-grieving voice,
And the rich summer's welcome loss I hear
In the sickle's serpentine hiss
Cutting the corn's ear tightly pressed to ear.

And the short skirts of the slim reapers
Fly in the wind like holiday pennants,
The clash of joyful cymbals, and creeping
From under dusty lashes, the long glance.

I don't expect love's tender flatteries,
In premonition of some dark event,
But come, come and see this paradise
Where together we were blessed and innocent.

1917 Summer








~Anna Akhmatova







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I don't know if you're alive or dead...


I don't know if you're alive or dead.
Can you on earth be sought,
Or only when the sunsets fade
Be mourned serenely in my thought?

All is for you: the daily prayer,
The sleepless heat at night,
And of my verses, the white
Flock, and of my eyes, the blue fire.

No-one was more cherished, no-one tortured
Me more, not
Even the one who betrayed me to torture,
Not even the one who caressed me and forgot.

1915










~Anna Akhmatova







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Willow


And I grew up in patterned tranquillity,
In the cool nursery of the young century.
And the voice of man was not dear to me,
But the voice of the wind I could understand.
But best of all the silver willow.
And obligingly, it lived
With me all my life; it's weeping branches
Fanned my insomnia with dreams.
And strange!--I outlived it.
There the stump stands; with strange voices
Other willows are conversing
Under our, under those skies.
And I am silent...As if a brother had died.


January 18, 1940











~Anna Akhmatova

Translated by Judith Hemschemeyer






--> Man

[Man]

Poem



You will hear thunder...


You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.

That day in Moscow, it will all come true,
when, for the last time, I take my leave,
And hasten to the heights that I have longed for,
Leaving my shadow still to be with you.












~Anna Akhmatova







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Lying in me


Lying in me, as though it were a white
Stone in the depths of a well, is one
Memory that I cannot, will not, fight:
It is happiness, and it is pain.

Anyone looking straight into my eyes
Could not help seeing it, and could not fail
To become thoughtful, more sad and quiet
Than if he were listening to some tragic tale.

I know the gods changed people into things,
Leaving their consciousness alive and free.
To keep alive the wonder of suffering,
You have been metamorphosed into me.









~Anna Akhmatova







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



White Night


I haven't locked the door,
Nor lit the candles,
You don't know, don't care,
That tired I haven't the strength

To decide to go to bed.
Seeing the fields fade in
The sunset murk of pine-needles,
And to know all is lost,

That life is a cursed hell:
I've got drunk
On your voice in the doorway.
I was sure you'd come back.






~Anna Akhmatova







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Departure


Although this land is not my own,
I will remember its inland sea
and the waters that are so cold

the sand as white
as old bones, the pine trees
strangely red where the sun comes down.

I cannot say if it is our love,
or the day, that is ending.








~Anna Akhmatova







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Crucifix

Do not cry for me, Mother, seeing me in the grave.

I

This greatest hour was hallowed and thandered
By angel's choirs; fire melted sky.
He asked his Father:"Why am I abandoned...?"
And told his Mother: "Mother, do not cry..."

II

Magdalena struggled, cried and moaned.
Peter sank into the stone trance...
Only there, where Mother stood alone,
None has dared cast a single glance.







~Anna Akhmatova

Translated by Tanya Karshtedt







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



For Anna Akhmatova

February 1986, on the twentieth anniversary of her death

You, who sang so many poets
and the death of cities and the young century,
your songs have kept us awake when
we should have died.

And may i now living, listen in your release
of the mute screams of a hundred mothers,
waiting before the prison wall,
their lips gone 'blue with cold.'

What is it to endure just one winter,
the childhood willow choked in ice,
the Neva rolling on alone,
or night that teases you, but never comes?

What, to endure your own beauty?
The clap of tall black boots, not dancing naked
feet on the stairs? Your heart beating for a word?
Oh, but the long , dark cloud

--it passes. This day is reborn in your arms!
And sometime, I'll wear your profile,
like a reticent god, where trembling
you translate a different star!

~elaine maria upton

1986 (Boston, Massachusetts)-1999 (Hyde Park, New York)







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Caged Bird



A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn
and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.



~Maya Angelou







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Human Family


I note the obvious differences
in the human family.
Some of us are serious,
some thrive on comedy.

Some declare their lives are lived
as true profundity,
and others claim they really live
the real reality.

The variety of our skin tones
can confuse, bemuse, delight,
brown and pink and beige and purple,
tan and blue and white.

I've sailed upon the seven seas
and stopped in every land,
I've seen the wonders of the world
not yet one common man.

I know ten thousand women
called Jane and Mary Jane,
but I've not seen any two
who really were the same.

Mirror twins are different
although their features jibe,
and lovers think quite different thoughts
while lying side by side.

We love and lose in China,
we weep on England's moors,
and laugh and moan in Guinea,
and thrive on Spanish shores.

We seek success in Finland,
are born and die in Maine.
In minor ways we differ,
in major we're the same.

I note the obvious differences
between each sort and type,
but we are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike.

We are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike.

We are more alike, my friends,
than we are unalike.




~Maya Angelou







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Savior



agape sacrifice
is reduced to colored glass,
vapid penance, and the
tedium of ritual.

Your footprints yet
mark the crest of
billowing seas but
your joy
fades upon the tablets
of ordained prophets.

Visit us again, Savior.
Your children, burdened with
disbelief, blinded by a patina
of wisdom,
carom down this vale of
fear. We cry for you
although we have lost
your name.




~Maya Angelou







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Alone



Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone
I came up with one thing
And I don't believe I'm wrong
That nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

There are some millionaires
With money they can't use
Their wives run round like banshees
Their children sing the blues
They've got expensive doctors
To cure their hearts of stone.
But nobody
No, nobody
Can make it out here alone.
Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Now if you listen closely
I'll tell you what I know
Storm clouds are gathering
The wind is gonna blow
The race of man is suffering
And I can hear the moan,
'Cause nobody,
But nobody
Can make it out here alone.

Alone, all alone
Nobody, but nobody
Can make it out here alone.

.




~Maya Angelou







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Selected Work of St. Augustine

Late Have I Loved You Late have I loved You


O beauty every ancient, ever new!
Late have I loved You
And behold,
You were within; and I without,
and without I sought You.
And deformed I ran after these forms
of beauty You have made.

You were with me
And I was not with You.
Those things held me back from You,
things whose only being
was to be in You.

You called; You cried;
and You broke through my deafness.
You flashed; You shone;
and you chased away my blindness.
You became fragrant;
and I inhaled and sighed for You.

I tasted
and now hunger and thirst
for You.

You touched me;
and I burned for Your embrace.



~St. Augustine








--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Selected Work of St. Augustine

Wonder...

People travel to wonder at the height of mountains,
at the huge waves of the sea,
at the long courses of rivers,
at the vast compass of the ocean,
at the circular motion of the stars;
And they pass by themselves without wondering.





~St. Augustine








--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese


I

I thought once how Theocritus had sung
Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
Who each one in a gracious hand appears
To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair:
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,--
"Guess now who holds thee? "--"Death,"I said. But, there,
The silver answer rang,--"Not Death, but Love."











--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese


II

But only three in all God's universe
Have heard this word thou hast said,--Himself, beside
Thee speaking, and me listening! and replied
One of us . . . that was God, . . . and laid the curse
So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce
My sight from seeing thee,--that if I had died,
The deathweights, placed there, would have signified
Less absolute exclusion. "Nay"is worse
From God than from all others, O my friend!
Men could not part us with their worldly jars,
Nor the seas change us, nor the tempests bend;
Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:
And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,
We should but vow the faster for the stars.












--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese


III

Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
Unlike our uses and our destinies.
Our ministering two angels look surprise
On one another, as they strike athwart
Their wings in passing. Thou, bethink thee, art
A guest for queens to social pageantries,
With gages from a hundred brighter eyes
Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part
Of chief musician. What hast thou to do
With looking from the lattice-lights at me,
A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through
The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree?
The chrism is on thine head,--on mine, the dew,--
And Death must dig the level where these agree.











--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese


IV

Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
Most gracious singer of high poems! where
The dancers will break footing, from the care
Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.
And dost thou lift this house's latch too poor
For hand of thine? and canst thou think and bear
To let thy music drop here unaware
In folds of golden fulness at my door?
Look up and see the casement broken in,
The bats and owlets builders in the roof!
My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
Hush, call no echo up in further proof
Of desolation! there's a voice within
That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof.











--> Man

[Man]

Poem


Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese

V

I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
As once Electra her sepulchral urn,
And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
Through the ashen grayness. If thy foot in scorn
Could tread them out to darkness utterly,
It might be well perhaps. But if instead
Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
The gray dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,
O my Beloved, will not shield thee so,
That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred
The hair beneath. Stand farther off then! go.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese



VI

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore--
Thy touch upon the palm. The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese



VII

The face of all the world is changed, I think,
Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole
Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
Was caught up into love, and taught the whole
Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole
God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,
And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.
The names of country, heaven, are changed away
For where thou art or shalt be, there or here;
And this . . . this lute and song . . . loved yesterday,
(The singing angels know) are only dear
Because thy name moves right in what they say.
.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese



VIII

What can I give thee back, O liberal
And princely giver, who hast brought the gold
And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold,
And laid them on the outside of the-wall
For such as I to take or leave withal,
In unexpected largesse? am I cold,
Ungrateful, that for these most manifold
High gifts, I render nothing back at all?
Not so; not cold,--but very poor instead.
Ask God who knows. For frequent tears have run
The colors from my life, and left so dead
And pale a stuff, it were not fitly done
To give the same as pillow to thy head.
Go farther! let it serve to trample on.

.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese



IX

Can it be right to give what I can give?
To let thee sit beneath the fall of tears
As salt as mine, and hear the sighing years
Re-sighing on my lips renunciative
Through those infrequent smiles which fail to live
For all thy adjurations? O my fears,
That this can scarce be right! We are not peers,
So to be lovers; and I own, and grieve,
That givers of such gifts as mine are, must
Be counted with the ungenerous. Out, alas!
I will not soil thy purple with my dust,
Nor breathe my poison on thy Venice-glass,
Nor give thee any love--which were unjust.
Beloved, I only love thee! let it pass.


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese



X

Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:
And love is fire. And when I say at need
I love thee . . . mark! . . . I love thee--in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright,
With conscience of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face toward thine. There's nothing low
In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures
Who love God, God accepts while loving so.
And what I feel, across the inferior features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
How that great work of Love enhances Nature's.


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese



XI

And therefore if to love can be desert,
I am not all unworthy. Cheeks as pale
As these you see, and trembling knees that fail
To bear the burden of a heavy heart,--
This weary minstrel-life that once was girt
To climb Aornus, and can scarce avail
To pipe now 'gainst the valley nightingale
A melancholy music,--why advert
To these things? O Beloved, it is plain
I am not of thy worth nor for thy place!
And yet, because I love thee, I obtain
From that same love this vindicating grace,
To live on still in love, and yet in vain,--
To bless thee, yet renounce thee to thy face.



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese



XII

Indeed this very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow
To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost,--
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,
I should not love withal, unless that thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak
Of love even, as a good thing of my own:
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,--
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.




.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese



XIII

And wilt thou have me fashion into speech
The love I bear thee, finding words enough,
And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,
Between our faces, to cast light on each?--
I drop it at thy feet. I cannot teach
My hand to hold my spirit so far off
From myself--me--that I should bring thee proof
In words, of love hid in me out of reach.
Nay, let the silence of my womanhood
Commend my woman-love to thy belief,--
Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed,
And rend the garment of my life, in brief,
By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,
Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese



XIV



If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
"I love her for her smile--her look--her way
Of speaking gently,--for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day"--
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,--
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XV


Accuse me not, beseech thee, that I wear
Too calm and sad a face in front of thine;
For we two look two ways, and cannot shine
With the same sunlight on our brow and hair.
On me thou lookest with no doubting care,
As on a bee shut in a crystalline;
Since sorrow hath shut me safe in love's divine,
And to spread wing and fly in the outer air
Were most impossible failure, if I strove
To fail so. But I look on thee--on thee--
Beholding, besides love, the end of love,
Hearing oblivion beyond memory;
As one who sits and gazes from above,
Over the rivers to the bitter sea


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XVI

And yet, because thou overcomest so,
Because thou art more noble and like a king,
Thou canst prevail against my fears and fling
Thy purple round me, till my heart shall grow
Too close against thine heart henceforth to know
How it shook when alone. Why, conquering
May prove as lordly and complete a thing
In lifting upward, as in crushing low!
And as a vanquished soldier yields his sword
To one who lifts him from the bloody earth,
Even so, Beloved, I at last record,
Here ends my strife. If thou invite me forth,
I rise above abasement at the word.
Make thy love larger to enlarge my worth.


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese





XVII

My poet, thou canst touch on all the notes
God set between his After and Before,
And strike up and strike off the general roar
Of the rushing worlds a melody that floats
In a serene air purely. Antidotes
Of medicated music, answering for
Mankind's forlornest uses, thou canst pour
From thence into their ears. God's will devotes
Thine to such ends, and mine to wait on thine.
How, Dearest, wilt thou have me for most use?
A hope, to sing by gladly? or a fine
Sad memory, with thy songs to interfuse?
A shade, in which to sing--of palm or pine?
A grave, on which to rest from singing? Choose.



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese





XVIII

I never gave a lock of hair away
To a man, Dearest, except this to thee,
Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully,
I ring out to the full brown length and say
"Take it."My day of youth went yesterday;
My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee,
Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree,
As girls do, any more: it only may
Now shade on two pale cheeks the mark of tears,
Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside
Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral-shears
Would take this first, but Love is justified,--
Take it thou,--finding pure, from all those years,
The kiss my mother left here when she died.




.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese





XIX



The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise;
I barter curl for curl upon that mart,
And from my poet's forehead to my heart
Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,--
As purply black, as erst to Pindar's eyes
The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart
The nine white Muse-brows. For this counterpart, . . .
The bay-crown's shade, Beloved, I surmise,
Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black!
Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath,
I tie the shadows safe from gliding back,
And lay the gift where nothing hindereth;
Here on my heart, as on thy brow, to lack
No natural heat till mine grows cold in death.




.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese





XX


Beloved, my Beloved, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sat alone here in the snow
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
No moment at thy voice, but, link by link,
Went counting all my chains as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand,--why, thus I drink
Of life's great cup of wonder! Wonderful,
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
With personal act or speech,--nor ever cull
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull,
Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight




.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese





XXI

Say over again, and yet once over again,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem "a cuckoo-song,"as thou dost treat it,
Remember, never to the hill or plain,
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain
Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain
Cry, "Speak once more--thou lovest! "Who can fear
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll
The silver iterance!--only minding, Dear,
To love me also in silence with thy soul.





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese





XXII

When our two souls stand up erect and strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curved point,--what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here contented? Think. In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Beloved,--where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese





XXIII


Is it indeed so? If I lay here dead,
Wouldst thou miss any life in losing mine?
And would the sun for thee more coldly shine
Because of grave-damps falling round my head?
I marvelled, my Beloved, when I read
Thy thought so in the letter. I am thine--
But . . . so much to thee? Can I pour thy wine
While my hands tremble? Then my soul, instead
Of dreams of death, resumes life's lower range.
Then, love me, Love! look on me--breathe on me!
As brighter ladies do not count it strange,
For love, to give up acres and degree,
I yield the grave for thy sake, and exchange
My near sweet view of Heaven, for earth with thee!





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese





XXIV



Let the world's sharpness, like a clasping knife,
Shut in upon itself and do no harm
In this close hand of Love, now soft and warm,
And let us hear no sound of human strife
After the click of the shutting. Life to life--
I lean upon thee, Dear, without alarm,
And feel as safe as guarded by a charm
Against the stab of worldlings, who if rife
Are weak to injure. Very whitely still
The lilies of our lives may reassure
Their blossoms from their roots, accessible
Alone to heavenly dews that drop not fewer,
Growing straight, out of man's reach, on the hill.
God only, who made us rich, can make us poor.






.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese





XXV

A heavy heart, Beloved, have I borne
From year to year until I saw thy face,
And sorrow after sorrow took the place
Of all those natural joys as lightly worn
As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn
By a beating heart at dance-time. Hopes apace
Were changed to long despairs, till God's own grace
Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn
My heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me bring
And let it drop adown thy calmly great
Deep being! Fast it sinketh, as a thing
Which its own nature doth precipitate,
While thine doth close above it, mediating
Betwixt the stars and the unaccomplished fate.







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese





XXVI



I lived with visions for my company
Instead of men and women, years ago,
And found them gentle mates, nor thought to know
A sweeter music than they played to me.
But soon their trailing purple was not free
Of this world's dust, their lutes did silent grow,
And I myself grew faint and blind below
Their vanishing eyes. Then THOU didst come--to be,
Beloved, what they seemed. Their shining fronts,
Their songs, their splendors (better, yet the same,
As river-water hallowed into fonts),
Met in thee, and from out thee overcame
My soul with satisfaction of all wants:
Because God's gifts put man's best dreams to shame.







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese





XXVII



My own Beloved, who hast lifted me
From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,
And, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blown
A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully
Shines out again, as all the angels see,
Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own,
Who camest to me when the world was gone,
And I who looked for only God, found thee!
I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad.
As one who stands in dewless asphodel
Looks backward on the tedious time he had
In the upper life,--so I, with bosom-swell,
Make witness, here, between the good and bad,
That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well.







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese





XXVII

My own Beloved, who hast lifted me
From this drear flat of earth where I was thrown,
And, in betwixt the languid ringlets, blown
A life-breath, till the forehead hopefully
Shines out again, as all the angels see,
Before thy saving kiss! My own, my own,
Who camest to me when the world was gone,
And I who looked for only God, found thee!
I find thee; I am safe, and strong, and glad.
As one who stands in dewless asphodel
Looks backward on the tedious time he had
In the upper life,--so I, with bosom-swell,
Make witness, here, between the good and bad,
That Love, as strong as Death, retrieves as well.











.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese





XXVIII



My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee to-night.
This said,--he wished to have me in his sight
Once, as a friend: this fixed a day in spring
To come and touch my hand . . . a simple thing,
Yet I wept for it!--this, . . . the paper's light . . .
Said, Dear, I love thee; and I sank and quailed
As if God's future thundered on my past.
This said, I am thine--and so its ink has paled
With lying at my heart that beat too fast.
And this . . . O Love, thy words have ill availed
If, what this said, I dared repeat at last!




.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese





XXIX

I think of thee!--my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there's nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee
Drop heavily down,--burst, shattered, everywhere!
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee--I am too near thee.



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XXX



I see thine image through my tears to-night,
And yet to-day I saw thee smiling. How
Refer the cause?--Beloved, is it thou
Or I, who makes me sad? The acolyte
Amid the chanted joy and thankful rite
May so fall flat, with pale insensate brow,
On the altar-stair. I hear thy voice and vow,
Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of sight,
As he, in his swooning ears, the choir's Amen.
Beloved, dost thou love? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when
Too vehement light dilated my ideal,
For my soul's eyes? Will that light come again,
As now these tears come--falling hot and real?









.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XXXI

Thou comest! all is said without a word.
I sit beneath thy looks, as children do
In the noon-sun, with souls that tremble through
Their happy eyelids from an unaverred
Yet prodigal inward joy. Behold, I erred
In that last doubt! and yet I cannot rue
The sin most, but the occasion--that we two
Should for a moment stand unministered
By a mutual presence. Ah, keep near and close,
Thou dovelike help! and, when my fears would rise,
With thy broad heart serenely interpose:
Brood down with thy divine sufficiencies
These thoughts which tremble when bereft of those,
Like callow birds left desert to the skies.



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XXXII

The first time that the sun rose on thine oath
To love me, I looked forward to the moon
To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.
Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe;
And, looking on myself, I seemed not one
For such man's love!--more like an out-of-tune
Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth
To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste,
Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.
I did not wrong myself so, but I placed
A wrong on thee. For perfect strains may float
'Neath master-hands, from instruments defaced,--
And great souls, at one stroke, may do and doat.









.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XXXIII


Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
The name I used to run at, when a child,
From innocent play, and leave the cowslips piled,
To glance up in some face that proved me dear
With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear
Fond voices which, being drawn and reconciled
Into the music of Heaven's undefiled,
Call me no longer. Silence on the bier,
While I call God--call God!--So let thy mouth
Be heir to those who are now exanimate.
Gather the north flowers to complete the south,
And catch the early love up in the late.
Yes, call me by that name,--and I, in truth,
With the same heart, will answer and not wait.







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XXXIV


With the same heart, I said, I'll answer thee
As those, when thou shalt call me by my name--
Lo, the vain promise! is the same, the same,
Perplexed and ruffled by life's strategy?
When called before, I told how hastily
I dropped my flowers or brake off from a game,
To run and answer with the smile that came
At play last moment, and went on with me
Through my obedience. When I answer now,
I drop a grave thought, break from solitude;
Yet still my heart goes to thee--ponder how--
Not as to a single good, but all my good!
Lay thy hand on it, best one, and allow
That no child's foot could run fast as this blood.



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XXXVI

When we met first and loved, I did not build
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean
To last, a love set pendulous between
Sorrow and sorrow? Nay, I rather thrilled,
Distrusting every light that seemed to gild
The onward path, and feared to overlean
A finger even. And, though I have grown serene
And strong since then, I think that God has willed
A still renewable fear . . . O love, O troth . . .
Lest these enclasped hands should never hold,
This mutual kiss drop down between us both
As an unowned thing, once the lips being cold.
And Love, be false! if he, to keep one oath,
Must lose one joy, by his life's star foretold.




.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XXXVII

Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make,
Of all that strong divineness which I know
For thine and thee, an image only so
Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and break.
It is that distant years which did not take
Thy sovranty, recoiling with a blow,
Have forced my swimming brain to undergo
Their doubt and dread, and blindly to forsake
Thy purity of likeness and distort
Thy worthiest love to a worthless counterfeit:
As if a shipwrecked Pagan, safe in port,
His guardian sea-god to commemorate,
Should set a sculptured porpoise, gills a-snort
And vibrant tail, within the temple-gate.




.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XXXVIII

First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever since, it grew more clean and white,
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its "Oh, list,"
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight,
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!
That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
I have been proud and said, "My love, my own."




.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XXXIX

Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me
(Against which years have beat thus blanchingly
With their rains), and behold my soul's true face,
The dim and weary witness of life's race,--
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same soul's distracting lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens,--because nor sin nor woe,
Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighborhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,--
Nothing repels thee, . . . Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XL

Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!
I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth.
I have heard love talked in my early youth,
And since, not so long back but that the flowers
Then gathered, smell still. Mussulmans and Giaours
Throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth
For any weeping. Polypheme's white tooth
Slips on the nut if, after frequent showers,
The shell is over-smooth,--and not so much
Will turn the thing called love, aside to hate
Or else to oblivion. But thou art not such
A lover, my Beloved! thou canst wait
Through sorrow and sickness, to bring souls to touch,
And think it soon when others cry "Too late."





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XLI

I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all
Who paused a little near the prison-wall
To hear my music in its louder parts
Ere they went onward, each one to the mart's
Or temple's occupation, beyond call.
But thou, who, in my voice's sink and fall
When the sob took it, thy divinest Art's
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot
To hearken what I said between my tears, . . .
Instruct me how to thank thee! Oh, to shoot
My soul's full meaning into future years,
That they should lend it utterance, and salute
Love that endures, from Life that disappears!





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XLII

"My future will not copy fair my past"--
I wrote that once; and thinking at my side
My ministering life-angel justified
The word by his appealing look upcast
To the white throne of God, I turned at last,
And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied
To angels in thy soul! Then I, long tried
By natural ills, received the comfort fast,
While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrim's staff
Gave out green leaves with morning dews impearled.
I seek no copy now of life's first half:
Leave here the pages with long musing curled,
And write me new my future's epigraph,
New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XLIII


How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XLIV

Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine,
Here's ivy!--take them, as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true,
And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XXXVI

When we met first and loved, I did not build
Upon the event with marble. Could it mean
To last, a love set pendulous between
Sorrow and sorrow? Nay, I rather thrilled,
Distrusting every light that seemed to gild
The onward path, and feared to overlean
A finger even. And, though I have grown serene
And strong since then, I think that God has willed
A still renewable fear . . . O love, O troth . . .
Lest these enclasped hands should never hold,
This mutual kiss drop down between us both
As an unowned thing, once the lips being cold.
And Love, be false! if he, to keep one oath,
Must lose one joy, by his life's star foretold.








.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XXXVII



Pardon, oh, pardon, that my soul should make,
Of all that strong divineness which I know
For thine and thee, an image only so
Formed of the sand, and fit to shift and break.
It is that distant years which did not take
Thy sovranty, recoiling with a blow,
Have forced my swimming brain to undergo
Their doubt and dread, and blindly to forsake
Thy purity of likeness and distort
Thy worthiest love to a worthless counterfeit:
As if a shipwrecked Pagan, safe in port,
His guardian sea-god to commemorate,
Should set a sculptured porpoise, gills a-snort
And vibrant tail, within the temple-gate.









.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XXXVIII



First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever since, it grew more clean and white,
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its "Oh, list,"
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight,
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!
That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
I have been proud and said, "My love, my own."








.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XXXIX



Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me
(Against which years have beat thus blanchingly
With their rains), and behold my soul's true face,
The dim and weary witness of life's race,--
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same soul's distracting lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens,--because nor sin nor woe,
Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighborhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,--
Nothing repels thee, . . . Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!









.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XL

Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!
I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth.
I have heard love talked in my early youth,
And since, not so long back but that the flowers
Then gathered, smell still. Mussulmans and Giaours
Throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth
For any weeping. Polypheme's white tooth
Slips on the nut if, after frequent showers,
The shell is over-smooth,--and not so much
Will turn the thing called love, aside to hate
Or else to oblivion. But thou art not such
A lover, my Beloved! thou canst wait
Through sorrow and sickness, to bring souls to touch,
And think it soon when others cry "Too late."










.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XLI



I thank all who have loved me in their hearts,
With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all
Who paused a little near the prison-wall
To hear my music in its louder parts
Ere they went onward, each one to the mart's
Or temple's occupation, beyond call.
But thou, who, in my voice's sink and fall
When the sob took it, thy divinest Art's
Own instrument didst drop down at thy foot
To hearken what I said between my tears, . . .
Instruct me how to thank thee! Oh, to shoot
My soul's full meaning into future years,
That they should lend it utterance, and salute
Love that endures, from Life that disappears!











.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XLII



"My future will not copy fair my past"--
I wrote that once; and thinking at my side
My ministering life-angel justified
The word by his appealing look upcast
To the white throne of God, I turned at last,
And there, instead, saw thee, not unallied
To angels in thy soul! Then I, long tried
By natural ills, received the comfort fast,
While budding, at thy sight, my pilgrim's staff
Gave out green leaves with morning dews impearled.
I seek no copy now of life's first half:
Leave here the pages with long musing curled,
And write me new my future's epigraph,
New angel mine, unhoped for in the world!












.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XLIII



How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.












.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese




XLIV



Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine,
Here's ivy!--take them, as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true,
And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.













.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



On Another's Sorrow

Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?

Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?

Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird's grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear --

And not sit beside the next,
Pouring pity in their breast,
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant's tear?

And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
Oh no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!
He doth give his joy to all:
He becomes an infant small,
He becomes a man of woe,
He doth feel the sorrow too.

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by:
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not year.

Oh He gives to us his joy,
That our grief He may destroy:
Till our grief is fled an gone
He doth sit by us and moan.






William Blake







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Love's Secret


Never seek to tell thy love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind does move
Silently, invisibly.

I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart;
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears,
Ah! she did depart!

Soon as she was gone from me,
A traveler came by,
Silently, invisibly
He took her with a sigh.







William Blake







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



The Marriage of Heaven and Hell - An Excerpt


In seed time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.
Drive your cart and your plow over the bones of the dead.
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.
Prudence is a rich, ugly old maid courted by Incapacity.
He who desires but acts not, breeds pestilence.
The cut worm forgives the plow.
Dip him in the river who loves water.
A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.
He whose face gives no light, shall never become a star.
Eternity is in love with the productions of time.
The busy bee has no time for sorrow.
The hours of folly are measur'd by the clock; but of wisdom,
no clock can measure.
All wholesome food is caught without a net or a trap.
Bring out number, weight and measure in a year of dearth.
No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings.
A dead body revenges not injuries.
The most sublime act is to set another before you.
If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise.
Folly is the cloak of knavery.
Shame is Pride's cloke.
Prisons are built with stones of law,
brothels with bricks of religion.
The pride of the peacock is the glory of God.
The lust of the goat is the bounty of God.
The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God.
The nakedness of woman is the work of God.
Excess of sorrow laughs. Excess of joy weeps.
The roaring of lions, the howling of wolves,
the raging of the stormy sea, and the destructive sword,
are portions of eternity, too great for the eye of man.
The fox condemns the trap, not himself.
Joys impregnate. Sorrows bring forth.
Let man wear the fell of the lion,
woman the fleece of the sheep.
The bird a nest, the spider a web,
man friendship.
The selfish, smiling fool, and the sullen,
frowning fool shall be both thought wise,
that they may be a rod.
What is now proved was once only imagin'd.
The rat, the mouse, the fox, the rabbit watch the roots;
the lion, the tyger, the horse, the elephant watch the fruits.
The cistern contains: the fountain overflows.
One thought fills immensity.
Always be ready to speak your mind, and a base man will avoid you.
Every thing possible to be believ'd is an image of truth.
The eagle never lost so much time as when he submitted to learn of the crow.
The fox provides for himself, but God provides for the lion.
Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night.
He who has suffer'd you to impose on him, knows you.
As the plow follows words, so God rewards prayers.
The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction.
Expect poison from the standing water.
You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.
Listen to the fool's reproach! it is a kingly title!
The eyes of fire, the nostrils of air,
the mouth of water, the beard of earth.
The weak in courage is strong in cunning.
The apple tree never asks the beech how he shall grow;
nor the lion, the horse, how he shall take his prey.
The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.
If others had not been foolish, we should be so.
The soul of sweet delight can never be defil'd.
When thou seest an eagle, thou seest a portion of genius;
lift up thy head!
As the caterpiller chooses the fairest leaves to lay her eggs on,
so the priest lays his curse on the fairest joys.
To create a little flower is the labour of ages.
Damn braces. Bless relaxes.
The best wine is the oldest, the best water the newest.
Prayers plow not! Praises reap not!
Joys laugh not! Sorrows weep not!
The head Sublime, the heart Pathos, the genitals Beauty,
the hands and feet Proportion.
As the air to a bird or the sea to a fish,
so is contempt to the contemptible.
The crow wish'd every thing was black,
the owl that every thing was white.
Exuberance is Beauty.
If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning.
Improvement makes strait roads;
but the crooked roads without improvement are roads of genius.
Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires.
Where man is not, nature is barren.
Truth can never be told so as to be understood, and not be believ'd.
Enough! or too much.







William Blake







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



The Smile



There is a Smile of Love
And there is a Smile of Deceit
And there is a Smile of Smiles
In which these two Smiles meet.

And there is a Frown of Hate
And there is a Frown of disdain
And there is a Frown of Frowns
Which you strive to forget in vain.

For it sticks in the Heart's deep Core
And it sticks in the deep Back bone.
And no Smile that ever was smil'd
But only one Smile alone.

That betwixt the Cradle and Grave
It only once Smil'd can be,
But when it once is Smile'd
There's an end to all Misery







William Blake







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Saving Love


WOULD we but love what will not pass away!
The sun that on each morning shines as clear
As when it rose first on the world's first year;
The fresh green leaves that rustle on the spray.
The sun will shine, the leaves will be as gay
When graves are full of all our hearts held dear,
When not a soul of those who loved us here,
Not one, is left us--creatures of decay.

Yea, love the Abiding in the Universe
Which was before, and will be after us.
Nor yet for ever hanker and vainly cry
For human love--the beings that change or die;
Die--change--forget: to care so is a curse,
Yet cursed we'll be rather than not care thus.



~Mathilde Blind







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Nirvana


DIVEST thyself, O Soul, of vain desire!
Bid hope farewell, dismiss all coward fears;
Take leave of empty laughter, emptier tears,
And quench, for ever quench, the wasting fire
Wherein this heart, as in a funeral pyre,
Aye burns, yet is consumed not. Years on years
Moaning with memories in thy maddened ears--
Let at thy word, like refluent waves, retire.

Enter thy soul's vast realm as Sovereign Lord,
And, like that angel with the flaming sword,
Wave off life's clinging hands. Then chains will fall
From the poor slave of self's hard tyranny--
And Thou, a ripple rounded by the sea,
In rapture lost be lapped within the All




~Mathilde Blind







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I Was Again Beside Thee in a Dream


I WAS again beside thee in a dream:
Earth was so beautiful, the moon was shining;
The muffled voice of many a cataract stream
Came like a love-song, as, with arms entwining,
Our hearts were mixed in unison supreme.

The wind lay spell-bound in each pillared pine,
The tasselled larches had no sound or motion,
As my whole life was sinking into thine--
Sinking into a deep, unfathomed ocean
Of infinite love--uncircumscribed, divine.

Night held her breath, it seemed, with all her stars:
Eternal eyes that watched in mute compassion
Our little lives o'erleap their mortal bars,
Fused in the fulness of immortal passion,
A passion as immortal as the stars.

There was no longer any thee or me;
No sense of self, no wish or incompleteness
The moment, rounded to Eternity,
Annihilated time's destructive fleetness:
For all but love itself had ceased to be.







~Mathilde Blind







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Thou Walkest With Me


THOU walkest with me as the spirit-light
Of the hushed moon, high o'er a snowy hill,
Walks with the houseless traveller all the night,
When trees are tongueless and when mute the rill.
Moon of my soul, O phantasm of delight,
Thou walkest with me still.

The vestal flame of quenchless memory burns
In my soul's sanctuary. Yea, still for thee
My bitter heart hath yearned, as moonward yearns
Each separate wave-pulse of the clamorous sea:
My Moon of love, to whom for ever turns
The life that aches through me.








~Mathilde Blind







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Our Souls Have Touched Each Other


OUR souls have touched each other,
Two fountains from one jet;
Like children of one mother
Our leaping thoughts have met.

We were as far asunder
As green isles in the sea;
And now we ask in wonder
How that could ever be.

I dare not call thee lover
Nor any earthly name,
Though love's full cup flows over
As water quick with flame.

When two strong minds have mated
As only spirits may,
The wold shines new created
In a diviner day.

Yea, though hard fate may sever
My fleeting self from thine
Thy thought will live for ever
And ever grow in mine.







~Mathilde Blind







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Life Is For Living

Barclay James Harvest

You and me, our life is drifting along
Watching the world as it's singing its song.
High above, someone is calling to me
Life is for living and living is free.

You to me, are like the sun in the sky
See how you fly, you have wings of your own.
You and me, our love will last without end
Ride with the wind, won't you follow me home.

Turn around and see the circles we spin
and we're taking our chances on where we begin.
Up above, the rain is falling on me
Life is for living and living is free.

You to me, are like the sun in the sky
See how you fly, you have wings of your own.
You and me, our love will last without end
Ride with the wind, won't you follow me home.

Taking up time trying to write a line 'till the break of day
Given a sign can you make it rhyme tell me what to say
Making it fine can you ease my mind help me drift away.

Turn around and see the circles we spin
takin' our chances on where we begin.
Up above, the rain is falling on me
Life is for living and living is free.

You to me, are like the sun in the sky
See how you fly, you have wings of your own.
You and me, our love will last without end
Ride with the wind, won't you follow me home.







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



All You Need Is Love


The Beatles

Love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love.
There's nothing you can do that can't be done.
Nothing you can sing that can't be sung.
Nothing you can say but you can learn how to play the game
It's easy.
There's nothing you can make that can't be made.
No one you can save that can't be saved.
Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be in time
It's easy.
All you need is love, all you need is love,
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.
Love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love.
All you need is love, all you need is love,
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.
There's nothing you can know that isn't known.
Nothing you can see that isn't shown.
Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be.
It's easy.
All you need is love, all you need is love,
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.
All you need is love (all together now)
All you need is love (everybody)
All you need is love, love, love is all you need.






.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Let it Be

The Beatles -- Lennon/McCartney


When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the broken hearted people
Living in the world agree,
There will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted there is
Still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be. Yeah
There will be an answer, let it be.

And when the night is cloudy,
There is still a light that shines on me,
Shine on until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
There will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be,
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be




.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Bette Midler

Written by Amanda McBroom


Some say love, it is a river
that drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
that leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
an endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
and you its only seed.

It's the heart afraid of breaking
that never learns to dance.
It's the dream afraid of waking
that never takes the chance.
It's the one who won't be taken,
who cannot seem to give,
and the soul afraid of dying
that never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely
and the road has been too long,
and you think that love is only
for the lucky and the strong,
just remember in the winter
far beneath the bitter snows
lies the seed that with the sun's love
in the spring becomes the rose.




.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Love and Friendship

LOVE is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly-tree.
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again,
And who will call the wild-briar fair?

Then, scorn the silly rose-wreath now,
And deck thee with holly's sheen,
That, when December blights thy brow,
He still may leave thy garland green.

~Emily Bronte





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



No Coward Soul Is Mine

No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heaven's glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.

O God within my breast,
Almighty, ever-present Deity!
Life--that in me has rest,
As I--undying Life--have Power in Thee!

Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men's hearts: unutterably vain;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,

To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by thine infinity;
So surely anchored on
The steadfast rock of immortality.

With wide-embracing love
Thy spirit animates eternal years,
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.

Though earth and man were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou wert left alone,
Every existence would exist in Thee.

There is not room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void:
Thou--Thou art Being and Breath,
And what Thou art may never be destroyed.





~Emily Bronte





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



How Clear She Shines!

How clear she shines! How quietly
I lie beneath her guardian light;
While heaven and earth are whispering me,
"To morrow, wake, but dream to-night."

Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love!
These throbbing temples softly kiss;
And bend my lonely couch above,
And bring me rest, and bring me bliss.

The world is going; dark world, adieu!
Grim world, conceal thee till the day;
The heart thou canst not all subdue
Must still resist, if thou delay!

Thy love I will not, will not share;
Thy hatred only wakes a smile;
Thy griefs may wound--thy wrongs may tear,
But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile!

While gazing on the stars that glow
Above me, in that stormless sea,
I long to hope that all the woe
Creation knows, is held in thee!

And this shall be my dream to-night;
I'll think the heaven of glorious spheres
Is rolling on its course of light
In endless bliss, through endless years;

I'll think, there's not one world above,
Far as these straining eyes can see,
Where Wisdom ever laughed at Love,
Or Virtue crouched to Infamy;

Where, writhing 'neath the strokes of Fate,
The mangled wretch was forced to smile;
To match his patience 'gainst her hate,
His heart rebellious all the while.

Where Pleasure still will lead to wrong,
And helpless Reason warn in vain;
And Truth is weak, and Treachery strong;
And Joy the surest path to Pain;

And Peace, the lethargy of Grief;
And Hope, a phantom of the soul;
And life, a labour, void and brief;
And Death, the despot of the whole!






~Emily Bronte





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



A Daydream

On a sunny brae alone I lay
One summer afternoon;
It was the marriage-time of May,
With her young lover, June.

From her mother's heart seemed loath to part
That queen of bridal charms,
But her father smiled on the fairest child
He ever held in his arms.

The trees did wave their plumy crests,
The glad birds carolled clear;
And I, of all the wedding guests,
Was only sullen there!

There was not one, but wished to shun
My aspect void of cheer;
The very gray rocks, looking on,
Asked, "What do you here?"

And I could utter no reply;
In sooth, I did not know
Why I had brought a clouded eye
To greet the general glow.

So, resting on a heathy bank,
I took my heart to me;
And we together sadly sank
Into a reverie.

We thought, "When winter comes again,
Where will these bright things be?
All vanished, like a vision vain,
An unreal mockery!

"The birds that now so blithely sing,
Through deserts, frozen dry,
Poor spectres of the perished spring,
In famished troops will fly.

"And why should we be glad at all?
The leaf is hardly green,
Before a token of its fall
Is on the surface seen!"

Now, whether it were really so,
I never could be sure;
But as in fit of peevish woe,
I stretched me on the moor,

A thousand thousand gleaming fires
Seemed kindling in the air;
A thousand thousand silvery lyres
Resounded far and near:

Methought, the very breath I breathed
Was full of sparks divine,
And all my heather-couch was wreathed
By that celestial shine!

And, while the wide earth echoing rung
To that strange minstrelsy
The little glittering spirits sung,
Or seemed to sing, to me:

"O mortal! mortal! let them die;
Let time and tears destroy,
That we may overflow the sky
With universal joy!

"Let grief distract the sufferer's breast,
And night obscure his way;
They hasten him to endless rest,
And everlasting day.

"To thee the world is like a tomb,
A desert's naked shore;
To us, in unimagined bloom,
It brightens more and more!

"And, could we lift the veil, and give
One brief glimpse to thine eye,
Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live,
BECAUSE they live to die."

The music ceased; the noonday dream,
Like dream of night, withdrew;
But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem
Her fond creation true.







~Emily Bronte





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Stars


Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
Restored our Earth to joy,
Have you departed, every one,
And left a desert sky?

All through the night, your glorious eyes
Were gazing down in mine,
And, with a full heart's thankful sighs,
I blessed that watch divine.

I was at peace, and drank your beams
As they were life to me;
And revelled in my changeful dreams,
Like petrel on the sea.

Thought followed thought, star followed star,
Through boundless regions, on;
While one sweet influence, near and far,
Thrilled through, and proved us one!

Why did the morning dawn to break
So great, so pure, a spell;
And scorch with fire the tranquil cheek,
Where your cool radiance fell?

Blood-red, he rose, and, arrow-straight,
His fierce beams struck my brow;
The soul of nature sprang, elate,
But mine sank sad and low!

My lids closed down, yet through their veil
I saw him, blazing, still,
And steep in gold the misty dale,
And flash upon the hill.

I turned me to the pillow, then,
To call back night, and see
Your worlds of solemn light, again,
Throb with my heart, and me!

It would not do--the pillow glowed,
And glowed both roof and floor;
And birds sang loudly in the wood,
And fresh winds shook the door;

The curtains waved, the wakened flies
Were murmuring round my room,
Imprisoned there, till I should rise,
And give them leave to roam.

Oh, stars, and dreams, and gentle night;
Oh, night and stars, return!
And hide me from the hostile light
That does not warm, but burn;

That drains the blood of suffering men;
Drinks tears, instead of dew;
Let me sleep through his blinding reign,
And only wake with you!

Ay--there it is! it wakes to-night
Deep feelings I thought dead;
Strong in the blast--quick gathering light--
The heart's flame kindles red.

"Now I can tell by thine altered cheek,
And by thine eyes' full gaze,
And by the words thou scarce dost speak,
How wildly fancy plays.

"Yes--I could swear that glorious wind
Has swept the world aside,
Has dashed its memory from thy mind
Like foam-bells from the tide:

"And thou art now a spirit pouring
Thy presence into all:
The thunder of the tempest's roaring,
The whisper of its fall:

"An universal influence,
From thine own influence free;
A principle of life--intense--
Lost to mortality.

"Thus truly, when that breast is cold,
Thy prisoned soul shall rise;
The dungeon mingle with the mould--
The captive with the skies.
Nature's deep being, thine shall hold,

Her spirit all thy spirit fold,
Her breath absorb thy sighs.
Mortal! though soon life's tale is told;
Who once lives, never dies!"









~Emily Bronte





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



The Visionary

SILENT is the house: all are laid asleep:
One alone looks out o'er the snow-wreaths deep,
Watching every cloud, dreading every breeze
That whirls the wildering drift, and bends the groaning trees.
Cheerful is the hearth, soft the matted floor;
Not one shivering gust creeps through pane or door;
The little lamp burns straight, its rays shoot strong and far:
I trim it well, to be the wanderer's guiding-star.
Frown, my haughty sire! chide, my angry dame!
Set your slaves to spy; threaten me with shame:
But neither sire nor dame nor prying serf shall know,
What angel nightly tracks that waste of frozen snow.
What I love shall come like visitant of air,
Safe in secret power from lurking human snare;
What loves me, no word of mine shall e'er betray,
Though for faith unstained my life must forfeit pay.
Burn, then, little lamp; glimmer straight and clear -
Hushl a rustling wing stirs, methinks, the air:
He for whom I wait, thus ever comes to me;
Strange Power! I trust thy might; trust thou my constancy.











~Emily Bronte





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Remembrance

Cold in the earth--and the deep snow piled above thee,
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee
Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?

Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains, on that northern shore,
Resting their wings where heath and fern leaves cover
Thy noble heart forever, ever more?

Cold in the earth--and fifteen wild Decembers,
From those brown hills, have melted into spring;
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,
Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!

No later light has lightened up my heaven,
No second morn has ever shone for me;
All my life's bliss from thy dear life has given,
All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,
And even Despair was powerless to destroy,
Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

Then did I check the tears of useless passion--
Weaned 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;
Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
How could I seek the empty world again?














~Emily Bronte





.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



My Star


ALL that I know
Of a certain star
Is, it can throw
(Like the angled spar)
Now a dart of red,
Now a dart of blue;
Till my friends have said
They would fain see, too,
My star that dartles the red and the blue!
Then it stops like a bird; like a flower hangs furled:
They must solace themselves with the Saturn above it.
What matter to me if their star is a world?
Mine has opened its soul to me, therefore I love it.



~Robert Browning







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Now


OUT of your whole life give but a moment!
All of your life that has gone before,
All to come after it, -- so you ignore,
So you make perfect the present, -- condense,
In a rapture of rage, for perfection's endowment,
Thought and feeling and soul and sense --
Merged in a moment which give me at last
You around me for once, you beneath me, above me --
Me -- sure that despite of time future, time past, --
This tick of your life-time's one moment you love me!
How long such suspension may linger? Ah, Sweet --
The moment eternal -- just that and no more --
When ecstasy's utmost we clutch at the core
While cheeks burn, arms open, eyes shut and lips meet!





~Robert Browning







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Youth and Art



It once might have been, once only:
We lodged in a street together,
You, a sparrow on the housetop lonely,
I, a lone she-bird of his feather.
Your trade was with sticks and clay,
You thumbed, thrust, patted and polished,
Then laughed "They will see some day
Smith made, and Gibson demolished."
My business was song, song, song;
I chirped, cheeped, trilled and twittered,
"Kate Brown's on the boards ere long,
And Grisi's existence embittered!"
I earned no more by a warble
Than you by a sketch in plaster;
You wanted a piece of marble,
I needed a music-master.
We studied hard in our styles,
Chipped each at a crust like Hindoos,
For air looked out on the tiles,
For fun watched each other's windows.
You lounged, like a boy of the South,
Cap and blouse--nay, a bit of beard too;
Or you got it, rubbing your mouth
With fingers the clay adhered to.
And I--soon managed to find
Weak points in the flower-fence facing,
Was forced to put up a blind
And be safe in my corset-lacing.
No harm! It was not my fault
If you never turned your eye's tail up
As I shook upon E in alt,
Or ran the chromatic scale up:
For spring bade the sparrows pair,
And the boys and girls gave guesses,
And stalls in our street looked rare
With bulrush and watercresses.
Why did not you pinch a flower
In a pellet of clay and fling it?
Why did not I put a power
Of thanks in a look, or sing it?
I did look, sharp as a lynx,
(And yet the memory rankles,)
When models arrived, some minx
Tripped up-stairs, she and her ankles.
But I think I gave you as good!
"That foreign fellow,--who can know
How she pays, in a playful mood,
For his tuning her that piano?"
Could you say so, and never say
"Suppose we join hands and fortunes,
And I fetch her from over the way,
Her, piano, and long tunes and short tunes?"
No, no: you would not be rash,
Nor I rasher and something over:
You've to settle yet Gibson's hash,
And Grisi yet lives in clover.
But you meet the Prince at the Board,
I'm queen myself at bals-paré,
I've married a rich old lord,
And you're dubbed knight and an R.A.
Each life unfulfilled, you see;
It hangs still, patchy and scrappy:
We have not sighed deep, laughed free,
Starved, feasted, despaired,--been happy.
And nobody calls you a dunce,
And people suppose me clever:
This could but have happened once,
And we missed it, lost it for ever.






~Robert Browning







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Cristina


She should never have looked at me
If she meant I should not love her!
There are plenty ... men, you call such,
I suppose ... she may discover
All her soul to, if she pleases,
And yet leave much as she found them:
But I'm not so, and she knew it
When she fixed me, glancing round them,

What? To fix me thus meant nothing?
But I can't tell (there's my weakness)
What her look said!---no vile cant, sure,
About need to strew the bleakness
Of some lone shore with its pearl-seed.
That the sea feels''---no strange yearning
That such souls have, most to lavish
Where there's chance of least returning.''

Oh, we're sunk enough here, God knows!
But not quite so sunk that moments,
Sure tho' seldom, are denied us,
When the spirit's true endowments
Stand out plainly from its false ones,
And apprise it if pursuing
Or the right way or the wrong way,
To its triumph or undoing.

There are flashes struck from midnights,
There are fire-flames noondays kindle,
Whereby piled-up honours perish,
Whereby swollen ambitions dwindle,
While just this or that poor impulse,
Which for once had play unstifled,
Seems the sole work of a life-time
That away the rest have trifled.

Doubt you if, in some such moment,
As she fixed me, she felt clearly,
Ages past the soul existed,
Here an age 'tis resting merely,
And hence fleets again for ages,
While the true end, sole and single,
It stops here for is, this love-way,
With some other soul to mingle?

Else it loses what it lived for,
And eternally must lose it;
Better ends may be in prospect,
Deeper blisses (if you choose it),
But this life's end and this love-bliss
Have been lost here. Doubt you whether
This she felt as, looking at me,
Mine and her souls rushed together?

Oh, observe! Of course, next moment,
The world's honours, in derision,
Trampled out the light for ever:
Never fear but there's provision
Of the devil's to quench knowledge
Lest we walk the earth in rapture!
---Making those who catch God's secret
Just so much more prize their capture!

Such am I: the secret's mine now!
She has lost me, I have gained her;
Her soul's mine: and thus, grown perfect,
I shall pass my life's remainder.
Life will just hold out the proving
Both our powers, alone and blended:
And then, come next life quickly!
This world's use will have been ended.








~Robert Browning







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Prospice


FEAR death? -- to feel the fog in my throat,
The mist in my face,
When the snows begin, and the blasts denote
I am nearing the place,
The power of the night, the press of the storm,
The post of the foe;
Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form,
Yet the strong man must go:
For the journey is done and the summit attained,
And the barriers fall.
Tho' a battle's to fight ere the guerdon be gained,
The reward of it all.
I was ever a fighter, so -- one fight more,
The best and the last!
I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forebore,
And bade me creep past.
No! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers
The heroes of old,
Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life's arrears
Of pain, darkness and cold.
For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave,
The black minute's at end,
And the elements' rage, the friend-voices that rave,
Shall dwindle, shall blend,
Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain,
Then a light, then thy breast,
O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again,
And with God be the rest.

.








~Robert Browning







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



When We Two Parted

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever the years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder, thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk, chill on my brow,
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me...
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well..
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.





George Gordon, Lord Byron


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



She Walks In Beauty

She walks in beauty like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent






George Gordon, Lord Byron


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



There is a pleasure in the pathless woods

from 'Childe Harold'

THERE is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal.








George Gordon, Lord Byron


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Prometheus

Titan! to whose immortal eyes
The sufferings of mortality,
Seen in their sad reality,
Were not as things that gods despise;
What was thy pity's recompense?
A silent suffering, and intense;
The rock, the vulture, and the chain,
All that the proud can feel of pain,
The agony they do not show,
The suffocating sense of woe,
Which speaks but in its loneliness,
And then is jealous lest the sky
Should have a listener, nor will sigh
Until its voice is echoless.

Titan! to thee the strife was given
Between the suffering and the will,
Which torture where they cannot kill;
And the inexorable Heaven,
And the deaf tyranny of Fate,
The ruling principle of Hate,
Which for its pleasure doth create
The things it may annihilate,
Refus'd thee even the boon to die:
The wretched gift Eternity
Was thine--and thou hast borne it well.
All that the Thunderer wrung from thee
Was but the menace which flung back
On him the torments of thy rack;
The fate thou didst so well foresee,
But would not to appease him tell;
And in thy Silence was his Sentence,
And in his Soul a vain repentance,
And evil dread so ill dissembled,
That in his hand the lightnings trembled.

Thy Godlike crime was to be kind,
To render with thy precepts less
The sum of human wretchedness,
And strengthen Man with his own mind;
But baffled as thou wert from high,
Still in thy patient energy,
In the endurance, and repulse
Of thine impenetrable Spirit,
Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse,
A mighty lesson we inherit:
Thou art a symbol and a sign
To Mortals of their fate and force;
Like thee, Man is in part divine,
A troubled stream from a pure source;
And Man in portions can foresee
His own funereal destiny;
His wretchedness, and his resistance,
And his sad unallied existence:
To which his Spirit may oppose
Itself--and equal to all woes,
And a firm will, and a deep sense,
Which even in torture can descry
Its own concenter'd recompense,
Triumphant where it dares defy,
And making Death a Victory.









George Gordon, Lord Byron


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Love's Last Adieu

The roses of Love glad the garden of life,
Though nurtur'd 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,
Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,
Or prunes them for ever, in Love's last adieu!

In vain, with endearments, we soothe the sad heart,
In vain do we vow for an age to be true;
The chance of an hour may command us to part,
Or Death disunite us, in Love's last adieu!

Still Hope, breathing peace, through the grief-swollen breast,
Will whisper, Our meeting we yet may renew:
With this dream of deceit, half our sorrow's represt,
Nor taste we the poison, of Love's last adieu!

Oh! mark you yon pair, in the sunshine of youth,
Love twin'd round their childhood his flow'rs as they grew;
They flourish awhile, in the season of truth,
Till chill'd by the winter of Love's last adieu!

Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way,
Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue?
Yet why do I ask?---to distraction a prey,
Thy reason has perish'd, with Love's last adieu!

Oh! who is yon Misanthrope, shunning mankind?
From cities to caves of the forest he flew:
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;
The mountains reverberate Love's last adieu!

Now Hate rules a heart which in Love's easy chains,
Once Passion's tumultuous blandishments knew;
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins,
He ponders, in frenzy, on Love's last adieu!

How he envies the wretch, with a soul wrapt in steel!
His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel,
And dreads not the anguish of Love's last adieu!

Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast;
No more, with Love's former devotion, we sue:
He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast;
The shroud of affection is Love's last adieu!

In this life of probation, for rapture divine,
Astrea declares that some penance is due;
From him, who has worshipp'd at Love's gentle shrine,
The atonement is ample, in Love's last adieu!

Who kneels to the God, on his altar of light
Must myrtle and cypress alternately strew:
His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight,
His cypress, the garland of Love's last adieu!





George Gordon, Lord Byron


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



THE HORSE WHISPERER


Men dream the day
they find the woman on a horse,
hair in the wind,
cantering.
Unmeasured ecstasy.
A magazine dream.
Deep down,
they fear the affluence
and speed;
One day she will discover
the shallow well,
the short night,
how small their manhood really is.
So after a time they pull back,
feign fatigue,
tuck in limp to sleep,
remind her of her helplessness.

Your body becomes
a clay drenched field,
muddy veins, skin gray.
Joined in holy union
to your privation,
slogging, slow, alone,
you pull the horse on foot,
by his lead.





Susan Dane


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



NEW SEA


She has watched herself move beyond sad
into the realm of desperation,
where her need snarls against his.
She has moved beyond remembering
her former necessities:
mid-afternoons framed in poetry,
gardenia air and tousled
half-finished sentences
grabbing.
Now there is only the scramble
for new ground. Time short,
her unspoken depths
slowly being filled up.
Like a sea lion who dives
into her familiar pool,
to find the clutter
of someone else's world
fast descending, muting her waves,
the rubber tire, plastic pipe, diaper, old shoe.
At first something she can swim through,
then around, then day by day
around is all there is.
Gone the clear blue.
Gone the clear blue.



Susan Dane


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



DAY AND NIGHT

At night it seems some holy thing.
Large, monolithic,
as mysterious and knowing
as some ancient mythology.
It will plunge you into your own
forbidden recesses.
It will take you to the secret place
where spirits dance a magic dance
by campside fires,
pulling you into the circle,
into the trance.
Your hand grasps the rod
and you feel power--
not yours but his.
You can't imagine
the muscle of such will
and wanting. He takes you
strong and sure.
You follow,
grateful to be driven
by someone who knows,

In the morning you are surprised
to see how small and ordinary
everything is. He, almost clumsy,
missing the point,
struggling to keep up.
The day a swirl around his head,
he depends on routine
and definition to find his way,
imagining the world some sort of plan,
and he a king, galloping.
How hard he works!
The plodding march,
oblivious of broken twigs
the trampled stems.


Susan Dane


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



LA HAINE


It starts as a small little thing,
indignation at a trespass,
anger, having been wronged.
It grows into a flag,
parading first down small streets,
sweeping up the meanderers,
then avenues and winning crowds,
cheers along the way.
It writes an anthem,
builds a campaign.
Marching through the mind
it settles thoroughly in memory and vein,
changing our posture,
the way we hold our chin.
By the time it reaches bone,
it has eaten through sinew and spine,
cost us all that was benign.
Then, rises up the starless night,
no song no light.
Suddenly afraid,
we want it out:
cut, poison, burn the blighted stem.
But rampant right breeds cell on cell
out of control,
And having eaten heart
it eats the soul.


Susan Dane


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



LABOR NIGHT



Her world is upside down,
waiting for the baby.
She paces in the night
and sleeps the day.
She has cleaned every corner
of the house,
rearranged things twice,
then started on the garage.
Her belly so round,
so full of grace,
she cannot feel her legs
or in between them.
All this will have to wait.

For him there is nothing romantic
in the coming.
When there's not one
more inch to spare,
one more ounce of air,
he'll push his way
into the new world.

For now,
there is still time
between the violent seconds.
She rises in the night,
to cook the peppers,
pops the stems and scatters seeds,
and marvels at their colors--
yellow, orange, red and green.
Christmas in the air!

But life starts with a fight,
a gritting of his will
and single-mindedness.
Necessity, the mother of invention.
For his first breath,
he parts her bone,
slow and hard
like the resurrection,
and moving of the stone.




Susan Dane


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



PERU

If you want to hear the mountains,
do exactly as I say.
There are rules to things like this.
And I tell you that many
have come this way more than once
and have not heard them yet.

Listen:
You must leave Lima early.
The flight at five will get you there by six,
before the morning fog wraps Cuzco thick.
When that first crest of snowcaps rises
you'll feel the thinness of your breath.
A quiet ache will settle in the chest.
Do not stop for Indian trinkets.
Drink the coca tea and then go straight to bed.

At four you rise to start again,
this time by train.
But do not think that you are almost there.
The ride will take six hours:
switchbacks laced with waterfalls
and clustered sheep. Sit on the left
to see the Indians wrapped in layered rainbows,
black bowler hats and braids,
spinning llama yarn outside their homes,
the wisdom of their people lost
except when kings return in dreams
and speak about the stones.

At the base of Machu Pichu
there will be five hundred tourists
bursting from the train
like subway riders.
Step aside. Let them push.
Look up to the right
and see the cavern homes where mothers nursed,
and children scattered ants for play.
Listen to the river rushing madly to you;
listen to the rising of your own breath.
There are no other sounds.
There are no birds. No chatter here.

When you can feel the pulse beneath your feet,
then start the climb, the way you must, on foot.
You are the silent stranger coming to this time.
And all the mountains are waiting.
Through a thousand years of solitude,
they have all been pressing toward this moment
of your coming, of your coming.




Susan Dane


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



TAFFETA TORN THROUGH


We look for strong arms
to carry us. None forthcoming.
Or they come and go and
leave us more depleted in the going.
We look to find ourselves in the other,
always turning 'round the other
in pink taffeta, little girl pirouettes,
all grown up and still
twirling for him, as if some coyness
could suffice the long road.

We are built with space inside,
but confuse the space for emptiness,
then mad that no one, no thing, can fill it for us,
we stomp away. If the other can't be all,
we'll be all ourselves, we say.
Come up empty once again.
Then banging around, high on hype,
insisting the world be round
the way we have been promised.
One day we finally stop.
Stem and petal bruised.

The grace of time is in its always
coming. Each moment undefined,
but now becoming. Pounding
pavements in the driving rain,
alone, a new mercy takes shape:
Life neither round nor square, love sought
neither here nor there, but every blossom
of its own unfolding. Here sun does not
eclipse the moon, nor being with one's self
dismiss the other. Intimacy of a new order
untangles the pronouns.
In the clear blue we are no longer different.
Which is not to say
we are the same.




Susan Dane


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



The First Stigmata


"Lean on me," she said,
He frail and struggling
from days on end with no sleep,
now thirsty, bleeding.
She, a robust woman,
strong footed and determined.
They pushed her back.
She fought them off.
"Lean on me, " she said.

Then the hardest part.
They laid him flat,
and nailed him through,
bone chipped on wood,
the splinter of porcelain.
This man whom she had held
on many nights,
rocked to sleep
in his silent separateness,
now crunching.
Still not a sound from his lips,
so intent on something else.

The crowd had thinned by now,
bored with the routine.
And it was dinnertime.
A strange chill stirred the air.
And then they swung it up--
the cross--
in one fell swoop,
with pulleys and a rope.
Him hanging hard forward
as if his hands
would rip through
from his own weight.
Then finally straight.
His mother screaming "No."
And the other Mary doubled silently.

Then she felt it,
as any woman would feel it.
Flowing down between her legs,
unexpected, early,
bursting inside her,
Another season unfulfilled.
Then behind her ears,
warm and moist,
she touched it with her hand,
then pulled away.
Blood. Blood everywhere,
from vein and pore.
Hands trembling,
frantically, she wiped them on her robes,
until she heard his voice.
"Take this my cup and drink."

And desperate to taste his last drop,
she stretched up on tip-toe
to caress his blue-black feet,
and kiss his blood.
Entwined in death and life
as man and wife,
In life and blood.






Susan Dane


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



SHELL FREE


Ten thousand pecks they say
to break the shell
and wiggle free,
wide-eyes blinking.
Nothing to be done to hurry things.
It needs 10,000 pecks to build the beak.
What must it think?
At 10,000, beats
one peck at a time, blind,
until the darkness cracks
and a different air wraps its flapping
cold around it. Light dazes in
a rush of smells and greens.

Are we too breaking free bit by bit?
Certainly there is much
that closes us in
our own invisible porcelain:
the hourglass,
and sleepless nights,
and lives with sand walls sliding,
and everywhere the tight jacket
of desire keeps us wrapped
around ourselves.

Still I wonder if the metaphor itself
is not half-cracked.
The question never asked:
Are we the tiny embryo
pressing to be born?
Or is there something far unknown
fighting for its breath in us-- against us--
cramped, curled and nerve pinched,
its oxygen receding?
Are we the chick or shell?
The cage or caged?

Or does some mystery make one of two?
That with 10,000 pecks
this dark sufferer
splinters all our little hardnesses;
And then this folded over doubled thing,
crammed and squeezed,
breaks free
and when it does,
God Himself wriggles out, ever so fragile,
hesitant, still wet, but bodied!
And the mystery!
It doesn't leave us behind,
like some broken thing,
an empty shell,
but brings us on its frangible wings
to a new home,
that is precisely wild,
and we,
clumsy but unfettered,
climbing,
climbing!






Susan Dane


.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



A bird came down...

A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.

And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
To let a beetle pass.

He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad,--
They looked like frightened beads, I thought;
He stirred his velvet head

Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home

Than oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
Leap, splashless, as they swim.




~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Me! Come!...

Me! Come! My dazzled face
In such a shining place!

Me! Hear! My foreign ear
The sounds of welcome near!

The saints shall meet
Our bashful feet.

My holiday shall be
That they remember me;

My paradise, the fame
That they pronounce my name




~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



A narrow fellow...

A narrow fellow in the grass
Occasionally rides;
You may have met him,--did you not,
His notice sudden is.

The grass divides as with a comb,
A spotted shaft is seen;
And then it closes at your feet
And opens further on.

He likes a boggy acre,
A floor too cool for corn.
Yet when a child, and barefoot,
I more than once, at morn,

Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash
Unbraiding in the sun,--
When, stooping to secure it,
It wrinkled, and was gone.

Several of nature's people
I know, and they know me;
I feel for them a transport
Of cordiality;

But never met this fellow,
Attended or alone,
Without a tighter breathing,
And zero at the bone.




~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Like trains...

Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry

Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.

His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.

His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!






~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



A thought went up...

A thought went up my mind to-day
That I have had before,
But did not finish,--some way back,
I could not fix the year,

Nor where it went, nor why it came
The second time to me,
Nor definitely what it was,
Have I the art to say.

But somewhere in my soul, I know
I've met the thing before;
It just reminded me--'t was all--
And came my way no more.





~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Death sets a thing...

Death sets a thing significant
The eye had hurried by,
Except a perished creature
Entreat us tenderly

To ponder little workmanships
In crayon or in wool,
With "This was last her fingers did,"
Industrious until

The thimble weighed too heavy,
The stitches stopped themselves,
And then 't was put among the dust
Upon the closet shelves.

A book I have, a friend gave,
Whose pencil, here and there,
Had notched the place that pleased him,--
At rest his fingers are.

Now, when I read, I read not,
For interrupting tears
Obliterate the etchings
Too costly for repairs.




~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Each life converges ...

Each life converges to some centre
Expressed or still;
Exists in every human nature
A goal,

Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be,
Too fair
For credibility's temerity
To dare.

Adored with caution, as a brittle heaven,
To reach
Were hopeless as the rainbow's raiment
To touch,

Yet persevered toward, surer for the distance;
How high
Unto the saints' slow diligence
The sky!

Ungained, it may be, by a life's low venture,
But then,
Eternity enables the endeavoring
Again.





~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



God permits...

God permits industrious angels
Afternoons to play.
I met one, -- forgot my school-mates,
All, for him, straightaway.

God calls home the angels promptly
At the setting sun;
I missed mine. How dreary marbles,
After playing Crown!





~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Good night!

Good night! which put the candle out?
A jealous zephyr, not a doubt.
Ah! friend, you little knew
How long at that celestial wick
The angels labored diligent;
Extinguished, now, for you!

It might have been the lighthouse spark
Some sailor, rowing in the dark,
Had importuned to see!
It might have been the waning lamp
That lit the drummer from the camp
To purer reveille!




~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Heaven is ...

Heaven is what I cannot reach!
The apple on the tree,
Provided it do hopeless hang,
That "heaven" is, to me.

The color on the cruising cloud,
The interdicted ground
Behind the hill, the house behind, --
There Paradise is found!






~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Hope is the thing...

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.







~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I felt a funeral...

I felt a funeral in my brain,
And mourners, to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
That sense was breaking through.

And when they all were seated,
A service like a drum
Kept beating, beating, till I thought
My mind was going numb

And then I heard them lift a box,
And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead, again.
Then space began to toll

As all the heavens were a bell,
And being, but an ear,
And I and Silence some strange Race
Wrecked, solitary, here.











~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I had no time ...

I had no time to hate, because
The grave would hinder me,
And life was not so ample I
Could finish enmity.

Nor had I time to love, but since
Some industry must be,
The little toil of love, I thought,
Was large enough for me.





~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I held a jewel...

I held a jewel in my fingers
And went to sleep
The day was warm, and winds were prosy;
I said: " 'T will keep."

I woke and chid my honest fingers, --
The gem was gone;
And now an amethyst remembrance
Is all I own






~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I lived on dread...

I lived on dread; to those who know
The stimulus there is
In danger, other impetus
Is numb and vital-less.

As't were a spur upon the soul,
A fear will urge it where
To go without the spectre's aid
Were challenging despair.







~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I never saw a moor...

I never saw a moor,
I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.

I never spoke with God,
Nor visited in heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.









~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I'm nobody!

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell!
They'd advertise -- you know!

How dreary to be somebody!
How public like a frog
To tell one's name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!








~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



It was not death...

It was not death, for I stood up,
And all the dead lie down;
It was not night, for all the bells
Put out their tongues, for noon.

It was not frost, for on my flesh
I felt siroccos crawl,--
Nor fire, for just my marble feet
Could keep a chancel cool.

And yet it tasted like them all;
The figures I have seen
Set orderly, for burial,
Reminded me of mine,

As if my life were shaven
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key;
And 't was like midnight, some,

When everything that ticked has stopped,
And space stares, all around,
Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns,
Repeal the beating ground.

But most like chaos,--stopless, cool,--
Without a chance or spar,--
Or even a report of land
To justify despair.









~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



A light exists...

A light exists in spring
Not present on the year
At any other period.
When March is scarcely here

A color stands abroad
On solitary hills
That science cannot overtake,
But human nature feels.

It waits upon the lawn;
It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
It almost speaks to me.

Then, as horizons step,
Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
It passes, and we stay:

A quality of loss
Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a sacrament.










~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



A long, long sleep...

A long, long sleep, a famous sleep
That makes no show for dawn
By stretch of limb or stir of lid, --
An independent one.

Was ever idleness like this?
Within a hut of stone
To bask the centuries away
Nor once look up for noon?





~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



A shady friend...

A shady friend for torrid days
Is easier to find
Than one of higher temperature
For frigid hour of mind.

The vane a little to the east
Scares muslin souls away;
If broadcloth breasts are firmer
Than those of organdy,

Who is to blame? The weaver?
Ah! the bewildering thread!
The tapestries of paradise!
So notelessly are made!





~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Ample make this bed...

Ample make this bed.
Make this bed with awe;
In it wait till judgment break
Excellent and fair.

Be its mattress straight,
Be its pillow round;
Let no sunrise' yellow noise
Interrupt this ground.





~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Before you thought...

Before you thought of spring,
Except as a surmise,
You see, God bless his suddenness,
A fellow in the skies
Of independent hues,
A little weather-worn,
Inspiriting habiliments
Of indigo and brown.

With specimens of song,
As if for you to choose,
Discretion in the interval,
With gay delays he goes
To some superior tree
Without a single leaf,
And shouts for joy to nobody
But his seraphic self!






~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Delight...

Delight becomes pictorial
When viewed through pain,--
More fair, because impossible
That any gain.

The mountain at a given distance
In amber lies;
Approached, the amber flits a little,--
And that's the skies!




~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



For each...

For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy.

For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years,
Bitter contested farthings
And coffers heaped with tears.


~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



God made a little gentian...

God made a little gentian;
It tried to be a rose
And failed, and all the summer laughed.
But just before the snows
There came a purple creature
That ravished all the hill;
And summer hid her forehead,
And mockery was still.
The frosts were her condition;
The Tyrian would not come
Until the North evoked it.
"Creator! shall I bloom?"





~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Going to him!

"Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him--
Tell him the page I didn't write;
Tell him I only said the syntax,
And left the verb and the pronoun out.

Tell him just how the fingers hurried
Then how they waded, slow, slow, slow-
And then you wished you had eyes in your pages,
So you could see what moved them so.

"Tell him it wasn't a practised writer,
You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled;
You could hear the bodice tug, behind you,
As if it held but the might of a child;
You almost pitied it, you, it worked so.
Tell him--No, you may quibble there,
For it would split his heart to know it,
And then you and I were silenter.

"Tell him night finished before we finished
And the old clock kept neighing 'day!'
And you got sleepy and begged to be ended--
What could it hinder so, to say?
Tell him just how she sealed you, cautious
But if he ask where you are hid
Until to-morrow,--happy letter!
Gesture, coquette, and shake your head!"




~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



He fumbles...

He fumbles at your spirit
As players at the keys
Before they drop full music on;
He stuns you by degrees,

Prepares your brittle substance
For the ethereal blow,
By fainter hammers, further heard,
Then nearer, then so slow

Your breath has time to straighten,
Your brain to bubble cool, --
Deals one imperial thunderbolt
That scalps your naked soul.




~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Her final summer...



Her final summer was it,
And yet we guessed it not;
If tenderer industriousness
Pervaded her, we thought

A further force of life
Developed from within,--
When Death lit all the shortness up,
And made the hurry plain.

We wondered at our blindness,--
When nothing was to see
But her Carrara guide-post,--
At our stupidity

When, duller than our dulness,
The busy darling lay,
So busy was she, finishing,
So leisurely were we!





~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I found the phrase...

I found the phrase to every thought
I ever had, but one;
And that defies me,--as a hand
Did try to chalk the sun

To races nurtured in the dark;--
How would your own begin?
Can blaze be done in cochineal,
Or noon in mazarin?





~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I heard a fly ...

I heard a fly buzz when I died;
The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
Between the heaves of storm.

The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
Be witnessed in his power.

I willed my keepsakes, signed away
What portion of me I
Could make assignable,--and then
There interposed a fly,

With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
I could not see to see.





~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I like to see...

I like to see it lap the miles,
And lick the valleys up,
And stop to feed itself at tanks;
And then, prodigious, step

Around a pile of mountains,
And, supercilious, peer
In shanties by the sides of roads;
And then a quarry pare

To fit its sides, and crawl between,
Complaining all the while
In horrid, hooting stanza;
Then chase itself down hill

And neigh like Boanerges;
Then, punctual as a star,
Stop--docile and omnipotent--
At its own stable door.





~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



I measure every grief...

I measure every grief I meet
With analytic eyes;
I wonder if it weighs like mine,
Or has an easier size.

I wonder if they bore it long,
Or did it just begin?
I could not tell the date of mine,
It feels so old a pain.

I wonder if it hurts to live,
And if they have to try,
And whether, could they choose between,
They would not rather die.

I wonder if when years have piled--
Some thousands--on the cause
Of early hurt, if such a lapse
Could give them any pause;

Or would they go on aching still
Through centuries above,
Enlightened to a larger pain
By contrast with the love.

The grieved are many, I am told;
The reason deeper lies,--
Death is but one and comes but once
And only nails the eyes.

There's grief of want, and grief of cold,--
A sort they call 'despair,'
There's banishment from native eyes,
In sight of native air.

And though I may not guess the kind
Correctly yet to me
A piercing comfort it affords
In passing Calvary,

To note the fashions of the cross
Of those that stand alone
Still fascinated to presume
That some are like my own.







~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



If you were coming...

If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spum,
As housewives do a fly.

If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.

If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen's land.

If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.

But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time's uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.








~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



It is an honorable thought...

It is an honorable thought,
And makes one lift one's hat,
As one encountered gentlefolk
Upon a daily street,

That we've immortal place,
Though pyramids decay,
And kingdoms, like the orchard,
Flit russetly away.










~Emily Dickinson



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



THOU hast made me

Holy Sonnets - I

THOU hast made me, And shall thy worke decay?
Repaire me now, for now mine end doth haste,
I runne to death, and death meets me as fast,
And all my pleasures are like yesterday;
I dare not move my dimme eyes any way,
Despaire behind, and death before doth cast
Such terrour, and my feeble flesh doth waste
By sinne in it, which it t'wards hell doth weigh;
Onely thou art above, and when towards thee
By thy leave I can looke, I rise againe;
But our old subtle foe so tempteth me,
That not one houre my selfe I can sustaine;
Thy Grace may wing me to prevent his art,
And thou like Adamant draw mine iron heart.



~John Donne















.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Death be not proud

Holy Sonnets - X

Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better than thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.





~John Donne















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--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Batter my heart, three person'd God

Holy Sonnets - XIV

Batter my heart, three person'd God; for, you
As yet but knocke, breathe, shine, and seeke to mend,
That I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow mee, and bend
Your force, to breake, blowe, burn and make me new.
I, like an usurpt towne, to another due,
Labour to admit you, but Oh, to no end,
Reason your viceroy in mee, mee should defend,
But is captiv'd , and proves weake or untrue.
Yet dearely I love you, and would be loved faine,
But am betroth'd unto your enemie:
Divorce mee, untie, or breake that knot againe,
Take mee to you, imprison mee, for I
Except you enthrall mee, never shall be free,
Nor ever chast, except you ravish mee.




~John Donne














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--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Show me deare Christ

Holy Sonnets - XVIII

Show me deare Christ, thy Spouse, so bright and clear.
What! is it She, which on the other shore
Goes richly painted? or which rob'd and tore
Laments and mournes in Germany and here?
Sleepes she a thousand, then peepes up one yeare?
Is she selfe truth and errs? now new, now outwore?
Doth she, and did she, and shall she evermore
On one, on seaven, or on no hill appeare?
Dwells she with us, or like adventuring knights
First travaile we to seek and then make Love?
Betray kind husband thy spouse to our sights,
And let myne amorous soule court thy mild Dove,
Who is most trew, and pleasing to thee, then
When she is embrac'd and open to most men.




~John Donne















.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Love's Alchemy

SOME that have deeper digg'd love's mine than I,
Say, where his centric happiness doth lie;
I have lov'd, and got, and told,
But should I love, get, tell, till I were old,
I should not find that hidden mystery.
Oh, 'tis imposture all!
And as no chemic yet th'elixir got,
But glorifies his pregnant pot
If by the way to him befall
Some odoriferous thing, or medicinal,
So, lovers dream a rich and long delight,
But get a winter-seeming summer's night.

Our ease, our thrift, our honour, and our day,
Shall we for this vain bubble's shadow pay?
Ends love in this, that my man
Can be as happy'as I can, if he can
Endure the short scorn of a bridegroom's play?
That loving wretch that swears
'Tis not the bodies marry, but the minds,
Which he in her angelic finds,
Would swear as justly that he hears,
In that day's rude hoarse minstrelsy, the spheres.
Hope not for mind in women; at their best
Sweetness and wit, they'are but mummy, possess'd.




~John Donne















.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



A Lecture upon the Shadow

STAND still, and I will read to thee
A lecture, love, in love's philosophy.
These three hours that we have spent,
Walking here, two shadows went
Along with us, which we ourselves produc'd.
But, now the sun is just above our head,
We do those shadows tread,
And to brave clearness all things are reduc'd.
So whilst our infant loves did grow,
Disguises did, and shadows, flow
From us, and our cares; but now 'tis not so.
That love has not attain'd the high'st degree,
Which is still diligent lest others see.

Except our loves at this noon stay,
We shall new shadows make the other way.
As the first were made to blind
Others, these which come behind
Will work upon ourselves, and blind our eyes.
If our loves faint, and westwardly decline,
To me thou, falsely, thine,
And I to thee mine actions shall disguise.
The morning shadows wear away,
But these grow longer all the day;
But oh, love's day is short, if love decay.
Love is a growing, or full constant light,
And his first minute, after noon, is night.



~John Donne














.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Lovers' Infiniteness

IF yet I have not all thy love,
Dear, I shall never have it all,
I cannot breath one other sigh, to move,
Nor can entreat one other tear to fall,
And all my treasure, which should purchase thee --
Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters -- I have spent.
Yet no more can be due to me,
Than at the bargain made was meant,
If then thy gift of love were partial,
That some to me, some should to others fall,
Dear, I shall never have Thee All.
Or if then thou gavest me all,
All was but All which thou hadst then;
But if in thy heart, since, there be or shall,
New love created be, by other men,
Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears,
In sighs, in oaths, and letters outbid me,
This new love may beget new fears,
For this love was not vowed by thee.
And yet it was, thy gift being general,
The ground; thy heart is mine: what ever shall
Grow there, dear, I should have it all.

Yet I would not have all yet:
He that hath all can have no more,
And since my love doth every day admit
New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store;
Thou canst not every day give me thy heart;
If thou canst give it, then thou never gavest it:
Love's riddles are, that though thy heart depart,
It stays at home, and thou with losing savest it:
But we will have a way more liberal
Than changing hearts, to join them, so we shall
Be one, and one anothers's All.



~John Donne















.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Air and Angels

Twice or thrice had I lov'd thee,
Before I knew thy face or name;
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame
Angels affect us oft, and worshipp'd be;
Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
Some lovely glorious nothing I did see.
But since my soul, whose child love is,
Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
More subtle than the parent is
Love must not be, but take a body too;
And therefore what thou wert, and who,
I bid Love ask, and now
That it assume thy body, I allow,
And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow.

Whilst thus to ballast love I thought,
And so more steadily to have gone,
With wares which would sink admiration,
I saw I had love's pinnace overfraught;
Ev'ry thy hair for love to work upon
Is much too much, some fitter must be sought;
For, nor in nothing, nor in things
Extreme, and scatt'ring bright, can love inhere;
Then, as an angel, face, and wings
Of air, not pure as it, yet pure, doth wear,
So thy love may be my love's sphere;
Just such disparity
As is 'twixt air and angels' purity,
'Twixt women's love, and men's, will ever be.




~John Donne















.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Loves Growth

I SCARCE believe my love to be so pure
As I had thought it was,
Because it doth endure
Vicissitude, and season, as the grass ;
Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore
My love was infinite, if spring make it more.

But if this medicine, love, which cures all sorrow
With more, not only be no quintessence,
But mix'd of all stuffs, vexing soul, or sense,
And of the sun his active vigour borrow,
Love’s not so pure, and abstract as they use
To say, which have no mistress but their Muse ;
But as all else, being elemented too,
Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do.

And yet no greater, but more eminent,
Love by the spring is grown ;
As in the firmament
Stars by the sun are not enlarged, but shown,
Gentle love deeds, as blossoms on a bough,
From love's awakened root do bud out now.

If, as in water stirr'd more circles be
Produced by one, love such additions take,
Those like so many spheres but one heaven make,
For they are all concentric unto thee ;
And though each spring do add to love new heat,
As princes do in times of action get
New taxes, and remit them not in peace,
No winter shall abate this spring’s increase.





~John Donne















.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Quartets

Burnt Norton


I



Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
Other echoes
Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,
Round the corner. Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
And the bird called, in response to
The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.
So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,
Along the empty alley, into the box circle,
To look down into the drained pool.
Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,
And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,
And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,
The surface glittered out of heart of light,
And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.
Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.
Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.
Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.





~T.S. Eliot














.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Quartets


Burnt Norton


II

Garlic and sapphires in the mud
Clot the bedded axle-tree.
The trilling wire in the blood
Sings below inveterate scars
Appeasing long forgotten wars.
The dance along the artery
The circulation of the lymph
Are figured in the drift of stars
Ascend to summer in the tree
We move above the moving tree
In light upon the figured leaf
And hear upon the sodden floor
Below, the boarhound and the boar
Pursue their pattern as before
But reconciled among the stars.

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
The inner freedom from the practical desire,
The release from action and suffering, release from the inner
And the outer compulsion, yet surrounded
By a grace of sense, a white light still and moving,
Erhebung without motion, concentration
Without elimination, both a new world
And the old made explicit, understood
In the completion of its partial ecstasy,
The resolution of its partial horror.
Yet the enchainment of past and future
Woven in the weakness of the changing body,
Protects mankind from heaven and damnation
Which flesh cannot endure.
Time past and time future
Allow but a little consciousness.
To be conscious is not to be in time
But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,
The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,
The moment in the draughty church at smokefall
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time time is conquered.





~T.S. Eliot









.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Quartets


Burnt Norton


III

Here is a place of disaffection
Time before and time after
In a dim light: neither daylight
Investing form with lucid stillness
Turning shadow into transient beauty
With slow rotation suggesting permanence
Nor darkness to purify the soul
Emptying the sensual with deprivation
Cleansing affection from the temporal.
Neither plenitude nor vacancy. Only a flicker
Over the strained time-ridden faces
Distracted from distraction by distraction
Filled with fancies and empty of meaning
Tumid apathy with no concentration
Men and bits of paper, whirled by the cold wind
That blows before and after time,
Wind in and out of unwholesome lungs
Time before and time after.
Eructation of unhealthy souls
Into the faded air, the torpid
Driven on the wind that sweeps the gloomy hills of London,
Hampstead and Clerkenwell, Campden and Putney,
Highgate, Primrose and Ludgate. Not here
Not here the darkness, in this twittering world.

Descend lower, descend only
Into the world of perpetual solitude,
World not world, but that which is not world,
Internal darkness, deprivation
And destitution of all property,
Desiccation of the world of sense,
Evacuation of the world of fancy,
Inoperancy of the world of spirit;
This is the one way, and the other
Is the same, not in movement
But abstention from movement; while the world moves
In appetency, on its metalled ways
Of time past and time future.



~T.S. Eliot









.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Quartets


Burnt Norton


IV


Time and the bell have buried the day,
The black cloud carries the sun away.
Will the sunflower turn to us, will the clematis
Stray down, bend to us; tendril and spray
Clutch and cling?

Chill
Fingers of yew be curled
Down on us? After the kingfisher's wing
Has answered light to light, and is silent, the light is still
At the still point of the turning world.



~T.S. Eliot









.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Quartets


Burnt Norton


V


Words move, music moves
Only in time; but that which is only living
Can only die. Words, after speech, reach
Into the silence. Only by the form, the pattern,
Can words or music reach
The stillness, as a Chinese jar still
Moves perpetually in its stillness.
Not the stillness of the violin, while the note lasts,
Not that only, but the co-existence,
Or say that the end precedes the beginning,
And the end and the beginning were always there
Before the beginning and after the end.
And all is always now. Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Decay with imprecision, will not stay in place,
Will not stay still. Shrieking voices
Scolding, mocking, or merely chattering,
Always assail them. The Word in the desert
Is most attacked by voices of temptation,
The crying shadow in the funeral dance,
The loud lament of the disconsolate chimera.

The detail of the pattern is movement,
As in the figure of the ten stairs.
Desire itself is movement
Not in itself desirable;
Love is itself unmoving,
Only the cause and end of movement,
Timeless, and undesiring
Except in the aspect of time
Caught in the form of limitation
Between un-being and being.
Sudden in a shaft of sunlight
Even while the dust moves
There rises the hidden laughter
Of children in the foliage
Quick now, here, now, always—
Ridiculous the waste sad time
Stretching before and after.





~T.S. Eliot









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--> Man

[Man]

Poem



By Monica J. Castaneda


Love, it comes so sweet and gently,
Welcomed, like a summer's breeze.
Blowing calmly, but like a desire
Ignites a blazing fire.

Is this feeling really pure?
Or was it made as someone’s cure?
No one knows and no one cares
Where it goes or how it fares.

We all endure these euphoric feelings,
And kneel before it's wild dealings.
But why should we endure this thing,
When it always ends up a fling?

Of course! Because it feels so great;
Even though it will always break.
The special feelings shall always stay,
And warm our day like a ray in May.

Perhaps one day we will find our soul mate,
And therefore end our long debate.
Until then we'll just keep on trying,
To once again end up crying.










.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Brown Sugar

By Morris L. Nashoanak Jr.

silence is like a white piece of paper
i don't know what to think
i am unaware of what i say
all i know is i want your attention
let me stimulate your thoughts
and all i could express
are feelings of sympathy
show me that you think of me
in a loving sensitive way
so when i think of what to write
it would all be of caressing thoughts
while this pen writes for you







.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




where do i go

Idiyatu Akande

Love is never far
Love is never a scar
Lies these words are
Wishes are only in stars

Where do I go
When water can't hold me
Where do I go
When kisses don’t meet me
Where do I go
When life no longer lives with me
Where do I go

Do I go to the house of death?
Do I go to the lot of faith?
Where do I go
When love leaves me
People will you tell me
Where do I go



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




My Heart

By Holly A. Ferguson

I gave you my heart once before
and I'll give it to you once more,

just don't take it and brake it,
trying to give it back saying you don't want it.

I gave it to you the first time
thinking it wouldn't be just mine,

but I must have been joken,
because you had my heart broken.

I really did love you
and I still do,

and what I feel
is a big reveal.



.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




'Till My Pains Get Wings To Fly


By Jamie N. Whitmore

When I think about you and me
nothing seems the way it used to be,

everything around me seemed to die
it'll never end 'till my pains get wings to fly,

Both our hearts have been broken
there were times words couldn't be spoken,

Both our feelings seemed to die
it'll never end 'till my pains get wings to fly,

You made promises you couldn't keep
at night it wasn't easy to sleep,

Our truth seemed to die
it'll never end 'till my pains get wings to fly,

At night it was of you I would dream
I thought we'd always be a team,

Our friendship seem to die
it'll never end 'till my pains get wings to fly,

We said we'd be together forever,
but when we parted my heart made me clever,

The love in my heart began to die
it'll never end 'till my pains get wings to fly,

For you I gave many fights
there were many sleepless nights,

All my strength began to die
it'll never end 'till my pains get wings to fly,

I love you to this very day and always will
things have changed for the good because of the way I feel,

No longer do I feel I'll suffer or die
'cause my pains got their wings to fly.





--> Man

[Man]

Poem




In Crimson Purity Our Love Remains....


By Christopher D. To

These words I shed are right from the heart,
Some it will inspire, to others tear apart,
But none the less they must be told,
These words that can be so new, yet so old,
They must have survived throughout generations,
To some it brings heartache, to others elations,
These words can be said at any chosen time,
They can be told gently or at the drop of a dime,
When told to a person who feels the same,
Into their arms you go and forever remain,
But told to a person who doesn't quite agree,
The pain they can bring is awful to see,
These words will steal your heart like a crook.
Its victims aren't chosen by age or by looks,
And no matter how your life is arranged,
Once they are spoken it will always be changed,
If the words I shed are still a mystery,
Think back along the lines of history,
What words are immune to death or by lies,
What words can comfort the sound of our cries,
When thinking of you these words come to mind,
These bittersweet words that have power to bind,
If you don't know yet and I think that you do,
These special sweet words are,
I Love You.






--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Rubies

THEY brought me rubies from the mine,
And held them to the sun;
I said, they are drops of frozen wine
From Eden's vats that run.

I looked again,--I thought them hearts
Of friends to friends unknown;
Tides that should warm each neighboring life
Are locked in sparkling stone.

But fire to thaw that ruddy snow,
To break enchanted ice,
And give love's scarlet tides to flow,--
When shall that sun arise?



~Ralph Waldo Emerson








--> Man

[Man]

Poem




The Rhodora: On Being Asked, Whence Is the Flower?

In May, when sea-winds pierced our solitudes,
I found the fresh Rhodora in the woods,
Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp nook,
To please the desert and the sluggish brook.
The purple petals, fallen in the pool,
Made the black water with their beauty gay;
Here might the red-bird come his plumes to cool,
And court the flower that cheapens his array.
Rhodora! if the sages ask thee why
This charm is wasted on the earth and sky,
Tell them, dear, that if eyes were made for seeing,
Then Beauty is its own excuse for being:
Why thou wert there, 0 rival of the rose!
I never thought to ask, I never knew:
But, in my simple ignorance, suppose
The self same Power that brought me there brought you.


~Ralph Waldo Emerson








--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Write it on your heart...

Write it on your heart
that every day is the best day in the year.
He is rich who owns the day,
and no one owns the day
who allows it to be invaded with fret and anxiety.
Finish every day and be done with it.
You have done what you could.
Some blunders and absurdities, no doubt, crept in.
Forget them as soon as you can, tomorrow is a
new day;
begin it well and serenely,
with too high a spirit to be cumbered with your old nonsense.
This new day is too dear, with its hopes and invitations,
to waste a moment on the yesterdays...



~Ralph Waldo Emerson








--> Man

[Man]

Poem




The Snowstorm

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driven o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden's end.
The sled and traveler stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

Come see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer
Curves his white bastions with projected roof
Round every windward stake, or tree, or door.
Speeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work
So fanciful, so savage, nought cares he
For number or proportion. Mockingly,
On coop or kennel he hangs Parian wreaths;
A swanlike form invests the hidden thorn;
Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to wall,
Mauger the farmer's sigh; and at the gate
A tapering turret overtops the work.
And when his hours are numbered, and the world
Is all his own, retiring, as he were not,
Leaves, when the sun appears, astonished Art
To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone,
Built in an age, the mad wind's night work,
The frolic architecture of the snow.




~Ralph Waldo Emerson








--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Brahma

If the red slayer think he slays,
Or if the slain think he is slain,
They know not well the subtle ways
I keep, and pass, and turn again.

Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadow and sunlight are the same;
The vanished gods to me appear;
And one to me are shame and fame.

They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
I am the hymn the Brahmin sings.

The strong gods pine for my abode,
And pine in vain the sacred Seven;
But thou, meek lover of the good!
Find me, and turn thy back on heaven.





~Ralph Waldo Emerson








--> Man

[Man]

Poem




The Bell


I love thy music, mellow bell,
I love thine iron chime,
To life or death, to heaven or hell,
Which calls the sons of Time.

Thy voice upon the deep
The home-bound sea-boy hails,
It charms his cares to sleep,
It cheers him as he sails.

To house of God and heavenly joys
Thy summons called our sires,
And good men thought thy sacred voice
Disarmed the thunder's fires.

And soon thy music, sad death-bell,
Shall lift its notes once more,
And mix my requiem with the wind
That sweeps my native shore.





~Ralph Waldo Emerson








--> Man

[Man]

Poem




My Garden

IF I could put my woods in song
And tell what's there enjoyed,
All men would to my gardens throng,
And leave the cities void.

In my plot no tulips blow,--
Snow-loving pines and oaks instead;
And rank the savage maples grow
From Spring's faint flush to Autumn red.

My garden is a forest ledge
Which older forests bound;
The banks slope down to the blue lake-edge,
Then plunge to depths profound.

Here once the Deluge ploughed,
Laid the terraces, one by one;
Ebbing later whence it flowed,
They bleach and dry in the sun.

The sowers made haste to depart,--
The wind and the birds which sowed it;
Not for fame, nor by rules of art,
Planted these, and tempests flowed it.

Waters that wash my garden-side
Play not in Nature's lawful web,
They heed not moon or solar tide,--
Five years elapse from flood to ebb.

Hither hasted, in old time, Jove,
And every god,--none did refuse;
And be sure at last came Love,
And after Love, the Muse.

Keen ears can catch a syllable,
As if one spake to another,
In the hemlocks tall, untamable,
And what the whispering grasses smother.

Æolian harps in the pine
Ring with the song of the Fates;
Infant Bacchus in the vine,--
Far distant yet his chorus waits.

Canst thou copy in verse one chime
Of the wood-bell's peal and cry,
Write in a book the morning's prime,
Or match with words that tender sky?

Wonderful verse of the gods,
Of one import, of varied tone;
They chant the bliss of their abodes
To man imprisoned in his own.

Ever the words of the gods resound;
But the porches of man's ear
Seldom in this low life's round
Are unsealed, that he may hear.

Wandering voices in the air
And murmurs in the wold
Speak what I cannot declare,
Yet cannot all withhold.

When the shadow fell on the lake,
The whirlwind in ripples wrote
Air-bells of fortune that shine and break,
And omens above thought.

But the meanings cleave to the lake,
Cannot be carried in book or urn;
Go thy ways now, come later back,
On waves and hedges still they burn.

These the fates of men forecast,
Of better men than live to-day;
If who can read them comes at last
He will spell in the sculpture,'Stay.'





~Ralph Waldo Emerson








--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Ask those who know...

Ask those who know,
what's this soul within the flesh?
Reality's own power.
What blood fills these veins?

Thought is an errand boy,
fear a mine of worries.
These sighs are love's clothing.
Who is the Khan on the throne?

Give thanks for His unity.
He created when nothing existed.
And since we are actually nothing,
what are possessions, houses, shops?

God sent us here
to come and see the world.
This world itself is not everlasting.
What are all of Solomon's riches?

Ask Yunus and Taptuk
what the world means to them.
The world won't last.
What are You? What am I?



~Yunus Emre









--> Man

[Man]

Poem




To be in love...

To be in love with love is to gain a soul,
to sit on the throne of hearts.

To love the world is to be afflicted.
Later the secrets start to make sense.

Don't be a bramble,
become the rose. Let your maturity unfold.
The brambles will only burn.

Prayer was created by God so man could ask for help.
It's too bad if you haven't learned to ask.

Accept the breath of those who are mature-
let it become your divining rod.
If you obey your self, things turn out wrong.

Renouncing the world is the beginning of worship.
If you are a believer, believe this.

Respect your parents and ancestry,
and you will have fine green clothes of your own.

If you earn the complaints of neighbors,
You'll stay in Hell forever.

Yunus heard these words from the masters.
If you need this advice, take it.

They say one who is received by a heart
becomes more beautiful.






~Yunus Emre









--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Oh Friend



Oh Friend, when I began to love You,
my intellect went and left me.
I gazed at the rivers. I dove into the seas.

But a spark of Love's fire
can make the seas boil.
I fell in, caught fire, and burned.

A soul in love is free of worries.
With love all problems left me.
With love I became happy.

When the nightingale saw the face
of the red rose, it fell in love.
I saw the faces of those who matured,
and became a nightingale.

I was a dead tree fallen onto the path.
When a master threw me a glance and
brought me to life.

Yunus, if you are a true lover,
humble yourself.
Humility was chosen by them all.






~Yunus Emre









--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Those who became complete...



Those who became complete
didn't live this life in hypocrisy,
didn't learn the meaning of things
by reading commentaries.

Reality is an ocean; the Law is a ship.
Many have never left the ship,
never jumped into the sea.

They might have come to Worship
but they stopped at rituals.
They never knew or entered the Inside.

Those who think the Four Books
were meant to be talked about,
who have only read explanations
and never entered meaning,
are really in sin.

Yunus means "true friend"
for one whose journey has begun.
Until we transform our Names,
we haven't found the Way.





~Yunus Emre









--> Man

[Man]

Poem






I am a fatherless pearl...

I am a fatherless pearl unrecognized by the sea.
I am the drop that contains the ocean.

Its waves are amazing. It's beautiful to be a sea
hidden within an infinite drop.

When Majnun spoke Layla's name,
he broke the meter of his poem.
I was both Layla and Majnun who adored her.

Mansur did not speak idly of Unity.
He was not kidding when he said, "I am Truth."

In this world of many,
You are Joseph and I am Jacob.
In the universe of Unity,
there is neither Joseph nor Canaan.

That my name is Yunus
is a problem in this material world.
But if you ask my real name,
it is the Power behind all powers.




~Yunus Emre









--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Those who became complete...

Those who became complete
didn't live this life in hypocrisy,
didn't learn the meaning of things
by reading commentaries.

Reality is an ocean; the Law is a ship.
Many have never left the ship,
never jumped into the sea.

They might have come to Worship
but they stopped at rituals.
They never knew or entered the Inside.

Those who think the Four Books
were meant to be talked about,
who have only read explanations
and never entered meaning,
are really in sin.

Yunus means "true friend"
for one whose journey has begun.
Until we transform our Names,
we haven't found the Way.









~Yosy Flug









--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Nightfall at the seashore


Black strokes
Of lazy waves
On peachy luminescence
Bordering the purple
Darkening sky
Pierced sparsely
By waking up stars….
Beloved,
O beloved!
Were it only
To behold
This wink of your beauty
It is worth
To be alive.








~Yosy Flug









--> Man

[Man]

Poem




speaking of love...


Once

I started

To speak

About love

Drawing out words

And images

Which, slow at first

Kept welling up

Flowing faster

Then I could draw…



And then they burst out

Gushing

Like a fountain.



So

I fell silent

Just watching

This endless spring

Unconcerned.



When thirsty,

I drink.

Tired, I doze off.

All is

As it should

Be.


~Yosy Flug









--> Man

[Man]

Poem




the afterlife

today is
yesterday's tomorrow,
and this is
the only afterlife
i know.

we chose
heaven and hell
and all
in between
with each
and every
breath.

surrendering to grace
instantly
burns all karma
to ashes;
god's infinite mercy
manifests
in a blink
of an eyelid.

so die right now
ya yosy!
and thus
live
forever



~Yosy Flug









--> Man

[Man]

Poem




this and that

This
Anonymous passerby
This
Ragged long haired freak
Asking wordlessly for lunch leftovers
This snobby lady
Walking the poodle
This
Murderous terrorist
Cornered in an ambush
And this bunch of commandos closing
On a kill
This
Crawling distorted legless beggar
This
Haughty faced policeman
This
Transvestite whore
Selling her wares at the sea front
This
Smiling toothless vendor
All of them
Without exception
Each and every one
And you too
Is
A perfect to the core
Image
Of the one and only
All knowing
And merciful
Almighty
God.

There is no other.


~Yosy Flug









--> Man

[Man]

Poem




the flute

the poet is
like a flute
shaping the breath
into a melody
true poet
shapes his life
into a breath
of the divine. . .
hollow from self
touched by intuition
life breath becomes a tune
in the symphony of being

when you read/hear a poem
and it touches your heart
it is because
you yourself
are the endless
poem
of life

and
the flute
inert in the flutist hands
cooled by the passing breath
caressed by the loving fingers
cares not
for the sound
produced



~Yosy Flug









--> Man

[Man]

Poem




On the road

My friend, the traveler
Remember
We are here,
Hidden under various disguises,
Posted
As guards, guides and companions
Along your life's journey,
Waiting
To give you assistance
To extend a helping hand
To provide succor.

We are
But a reflection of your virtues
Manifesting in time
Of necessity.
Savings
Placed by your forgotten
Selfless deeds
In the inexhaustible
Divine
Treasure-house.
Yours for the taking
When the need arises.

We are
The friend
Of friends
Whose face is always hidden
Yet ever revealed
In the silent smile
Of your heart,
In the caress of the wind,
In the soothing coolness of spring water.

And the secret is
That
Forgetting yourself
You too
Are one
Of
Us.



~Yosy Flug









--> Man

[Man]

Poem




My True Feelings!

By Staci A. Loony

Adam is the one
I've been looking for

he takes care of me
I'm not sure if he loves me

he always finds a way
to make me smile

when I'm depressed
his voice

cheers me up
the words he says

makes me feel weak
and I always end up falling

into his arms
he dries my tears

I sometimes feel
If I'm not doing enough for him

I want him
to tell me what I can do

to make him happy
I'm glad that

he's comfortable
about being with me

I hope I'm able to comfort him
the way he wants to be

there are times
when I feel

I cant take care of him
romantically or

emotionally
The way he should be taken care of

I sometimes feel
I'm not doing enough

I feel I can do so much more
but

I don't know what
I'm hoping

we can last forever
and hope he feels the same

I am glad to be in your arms Adam
and nobody else's

so please
promise to never let go

'cause I would never
let go of you

I love you Adam I always will!



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




I'm In Love


By Catherine O. Ahearn

You're a lonely friend
Secluded in my heart
I wish you knew the way I felt right form the start

We shared a kiss, I will hold so dear
Those moments we had all seem just so unreal

Can't stand the dark
I need some light
Come on let's go just a bit further back in time

Your eyes they know my weaknesses
Their depths are just so damn, hard to resist

But now it's gone, as fast as it came
My heart can't figure how to flee from all this pain

You lead me on, then turned me off
What are you thinking?
Oh! Please tell me, I'm in love





--> Man

[Man]

Poem




The Girl of My Dreams


By Brian L. Heisler

There she is, once again, standing all alone.
'Go talk to her, do not stand here like a stone.'

There is no way, her beauty is too good to be true;
Oh please tell me, tell me, whatever shall I do?

'Do not be afraid, for I will help you on your way;
You must listen carefully, and do exactly as I say.'

'Introduce yourself, tell the girl your name,
Do not simply stand here in shame.'

I cannot, my legs are heavier than steel,
And I fear for her emotion, I fear how she will feel.

'Believe in yourself, I assure you you'll be great.
Quickly though, for soon you will be late.'

Wish me luck, I shall be going on my way.
'Good luck! For you I will surely pray.'

As he meets the halfway point, with the beauty straight ahead,
Oh no, I have forgotten what he said!

He turns around, only to meet a big surprise;
His fellow companion is wearing an invisible disguise!

Oh dear, this surely cannot be any worse!
Yet upon turning back, his beauty had dispersed.

It was too good, I was put into a bind;
She was only a dream, an image in my mind.







--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Love


By Kaanoi A. Agres

People love,
and when people get hurt,
we think of a beautiful dove
that is why love is a beautiful thing,
and that's why,
I think a beautiful dove,
is a wonderful symbol of love






--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Meant to Be


By Allyssa M. Lohr

I can't listen to the radio
'Cause every song reminds me of you

You see I have this problem
One I cant construe

Every time I hear bad news
You're the first thing that comes to mind

I need to know you're ok
I have to know you're just fine

Every movie I watch
Every book I read

Where there's love
All I can think of is you and me

I can't get you out of my head
It's driving me insane

I wish I could tell you
I wish I could explain

Because I hope everyone
Someday feels this great

I know we were meant to be
This HAS to be fate

It's painful
I can't think straight

I hope it's a feeling in which you can relate
'Cause I truly feel you're my soul mate.








--> Man

[Man]

Poem



What is love

By Natasha A. Lawrence

what is love
Love is life.

it is joy and peace
if there are sorrows,

it wouldn't last.
love is trust .

There would be no doubtfulness between each other there would be faithfulness.
love is patience.

there are no rush when there is love.
It is sharing,

it is caring,
it is a light when you're in the dark.

it is water to quench your thirst.
love is life.










--> Man

[Man]

Poem



On the Wings of Dreams



By Dawn M. Wille

On the Wings of Dreams
I'm flying free
with a dreamer's dream,
To a land without fear, darkness, and doubt;
Where shadows and hauntings
of all time and space,
Are rainbows with colors that endlessly grace...
happiness, hope, and all joys to embrace.

A land with no storms, without pouring rains,
where changes abound and great comfort remains;
Where all hate is replaced,
all questions erased;
Where new memories are shaped,
with wonderous light...
of romance and love, before out of sight;
A dreamland of heaven without jaded thought,
where butterflies are free,
their colors uncaught;
With milk oceans to see,
fresh air to breathe;
Countless flowers and trees,
fragrancing the soft whispering breeze.
No more webs of deceit,
where lovers have fought;
No battles of hopelessness,
where all love is lost.

Maybe our dreams hold the land of our thoughts,
Or maybe our hearts have learned lessons well taught.
It is the stairway to heaven,
this dreamland we seek...
Hopefully for all is more than a peek...
at a future end to the ultimate pain,
of great loyalty and love...
lost and estranged.

This dance of life I endlessly write,
Is an end to the pain, and every soul's light.
To a life fulfilled at the end of our time...
to dream second chances for new love we can find.
Here's to all of us ending our heavenly climb,
With the company of romance and lovelight sublime.

~DaLady Dawn~








--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Five Senses


By Jeremy L. Mohr



The warmth of your voice
Received through a whisper
Heals a hopeless heart
Once torn and blistered

The gaze of your eyes
Creates a feeling of limitation
I fall to my knees
Numbed by the sensation

The brush of your hand
Sends a chill to my soul
Energy surges from my heart
Out of control

Your scent, such an aroma
A perfume of infinite intensity
Consumes the air in my lungs
Burning a relaxation through my veins

The taste of your lips
Soft, subtle, and sweet
Can recharge a life
And is yet so discrete

Only five senses to absorb your love
How I wish there were more
But the five existing I appreciate
For with these I am restored








--> Man

[Man]

Poem



My Final Plea

By Melony N. Hill

Do you love me?

You say you do but do you really? Do you even know what love is? Not that puppy love, real love. I don't need you to carry my books for me. I need you to take the trash out. I don't want to go to a movie and grab a burger afterwards; I want to go to dinner and then dancing. I don't need you to get my hair done; we live together, how about some help on the rent. I don't want a boyfriend, I want a man.

I know this is new to you. Your first adult relationship and you're not sure what to do. But it's different now than it was in high school. We easily argue over little thing that are so dumb. I can't express my own thoughts and opinions because when I share my feelings with you I have to deal with your immature attitude. My world revolves around you, true, but that's by my choice. But the minute it seems it's not all about you, here comes that child in you again.

The child in you is seen more in this relationship than the man you're supposed to be. How many times a day do you run to go see your mommy? How many times have you gotten upset or not eaten because I wouldn't cook for you? How many times have I had to flush the toilet behind you or pick you clothes and shoes up out of the middle of the floor? Why do I have to assign chore to get you to do something a real man does anyway? Why is it that you can go anywhere you want anytime you want while I wait yet I get ignorant messages on my phone while I'm sleep because you're scared I'm not home waiting on you.

You say you love me but in what way?

I am supposed to be your woman not your second mother. It is not my job to clothe you, feed you, clean up behind you AND tend to your every need. But that's the kind of love you're used to, a mothers love. So let me ask you are you sure you want to marry me or would you like me to adopt you? I have a child already and I'm not ready to take on another. So could you try to grow up and be a man for me because if you don't, the next question I will be asking are Did you really love? Do you miss me? And the ever popular, How's your mommy today?





--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Your Voice

By Annie R. Collins

Your voice is not music to my ears as the old saying goes. It's so much more. It's more like the trickle of water in a babbling
brook -- cool, clean and crisp. A breath of air fresher than crisp sheets off of a clothes line after hanging in the summer sun to dry. A spring that sounds like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower.

Your voice is sweet like the taste of cotton candy at the county fair. Like the icing on a Krispy Kreme donut. Like the sugar on my lips after sipping a strawberry daiquiri.
Your voice is mesmerizing like the keys of a piano. Like the strings of a harp being gently plucked to produce sound. Like the cricket's symphony in the summer evening. Like a violin playing a romantic melody.

Your voice is warmth. A ray of sun on a summer's day penetrating the skin. Like the warmth of a fire's burning embers. Like the feel of hot chocolate slowly warming my throat.
Your voice is so much more than music to my ears. Your voice is consuming, drawing me close, and leaving me longing for your touch.







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Hard to Explain


By LaShaytra J. Heard

Is it hard to explain
because your scared of his reaction.
It is hard to explain
because you feel that he will hurt you.
Are is it hard to explain
because he's the one who sweeps you off your feet.

Is it hard to explain
because he's the one who makes you were you can't eat or sleep.
Is it hard to explain
because he's the one you love each and everyday.
Are is it hard to explain
Because he's the one you want to spend the rest of your life with.







--> Man

[Man]

Poem



One and Only You


By Monica Eads

Each night I pray for you as I lay me down to rest,
I ask God to keep you safe and give you all the best.

I pray that you remain grounded and hold on to your faith,
For God has great things in store for those who patiently wait.

I hope you are joyful and strong, compassionate and sincere,
I hope you believe in love and are able to love without fear.

I pray that you pray the same for me and my existence you do not fret,
I pray this for you, my future companion, but have I met you yet?








--> Man

[Man]

Poem



Goodbye


By Heather M. Williams

At first when we met
We said hi

Now we're still friends
But we've said goodbye

I gave you a chance
And you rejected

You said it's not good right now
And you stand corrected

You see what you've lost
At least I hope you do

You see what others can have
But not you

I don't mean to sound conceited
Or vain in any way

I'm just merely pointing out
What you had, and threw away

I liked you a lot
I honestly did

But did you feel the same?
Were there feelings you hid?

If you had feelings for me
You didn't show it

Because things are over now
And I didn't know it

If you didn't have feelings
Then why did you say so

When the only person you trust, lies
Then where do you go?

I just wanted to say
Thought you needed to know

These feelings I have
Need to be let go






--> Man

[Man]

Poem



The Girl of My Dreams


By Brian L. Heisler

There she is, once again, standing all alone.
'Go talk to her, do not stand here like a stone.'

There is no way, her beauty is too good to be true;
Oh please tell me, tell me, whatever shall I do?

'Do not be afraid, for I will help you on your way;
You must listen carefully, and do exactly as I say.'

'Introduce yourself, tell the girl your name,
Do not simply stand here in shame.'

I cannot, my legs are heavier than steel,
And I fear for her emotion, I fear how she will feel.

'Believe in yourself, I assure you you'll be great.
Quickly though, for soon you will be late.'

Wish me luck, I shall be going on my way.
'Good luck! For you I will surely pray.'

As he meets the halfway point, with the beauty straight ahead,
Oh no, I have forgotten what he said!

He turns around, only to meet a big surprise;
His fellow companion is wearing an invisible disguise!

Oh dear, this surely cannot be any worse!
Yet upon turning back, his beauty had dispersed.

It was too good, I was put into a bind;
She was only a dream, an image in my mind.





--> Man