Poetry

The Magic Of Love

Love is like magic
And it always will be.
For love still remains
Life's sweet mystery!!
Love works in ways
That are wondrous and strange
And there's nothing in life
That love cannot change!!
Love can transform
The most commonplace
Into beauty and splendor
And sweetness and grace.
Love is unselfish,
Understanding and kind,
For it sees with its heart
And not with its mind!!
Love is the answer
That everyone seeks...
Love is the language,
That every heart speaks.
Love can't be bought,
It is priceless and free,
Love, like pure magic,
Is life's sweet mystery!!

- Helen Steiner Rice -
 
Somewhere there's someone who dreams of your smile,
and finds in your presence that life is worth while.
So when you are lonely, remember it's true
Somebody somewhere is thinking of you.

- K. Blackburn -
 
Purple on Purpose

I painted it purple.
I like purple.
It’s deep, calm
comforting.
Sometimes I dream in purple;
I feel safe there.
This isn’t about some freaky dinosaur
on some kid’s show,
this is about purple.
The majesty of purple satin,
lavender thrones.
This is about royalty taking a backseat
to me.
This is about me.
So I guess that’s what it comes down to—
me.
And purple.
Can I go home now?
 
Bertolt Brecht: Zufluchtsstätte (1937)

Ein Ruder liegt auf dem Dach. Ein mittlerer Wind
Wird das Stroh nicht wegtragen.
Im Hof für die Schaukel der Kinder sind
Pfähle eingeschlagen.
Die Post kommt zweimal hin
Wo die Briefe wilkommen wären.
Den Sund herunter kommen die Fähren.
Das Haus hat vier Türen, daraus zu fliehen.


My translation, brought to you by Humble, Quick & Co.:


Bertolt Brecht: Shelter (1937)

An oar is lying on the roof. An average wind
won't carry away the straw.
In the yard, for children's swing,
the posts are driven in.
The post arrives two times
where letters would be welcome.
Down the Sund, the ferries are coming.
The house has four doors to flee through.
 
My creation for my wife on this Valentine's Day:

Symphony

Not all trumpets
and hallelujahs.
Not really head banging,
ear-splitting,
crazy either.
When I hear our love
I am filled with the gentle pluck
of violin strings,
the draw of the bow
slowly
across the bass’s strings,
a soft lilting melody
of flutes and oboes,
a French horn
and tuba
laying a rhythm;
the tuning symphony
starting slow and building
with me
looking forward to the day
when it reaches that perfect pitch:
our symphony of love
in wondrous tune.
 
I'd marry you, Katinaire, for the poem alone.

Here's something related to his poem. Or more specifically, where our misguided Packers fan describes "laying a rhythm", a symphony "starting slow and building" toward a perfect pitch. Sometimes one of life's "peak experiences" can challenge us to see and live our lives differently --in Kat's case, though he describes himself as on the journey toward it, it's all for the better. Rumi (I've post him before) talks about such an experience:

At dawn, the moon appeared
and swooped down from the sky to look at me.
Like a falcon hunting a meal,
the moon grabbed me and away we went!
I looked for my self, but my self was gone:
In the moon, by grace, my body became like soul.
Luminous, I journeyed on as soul,
until the mystery of Self and self was clear.
Nine shimmering heavens mingled in that moon,
and the boundaries of my being disappeared in the sea.
 
"I Thought of You"


I thought of you and how you love this beauty,
And walking up the long beach all alone
I heard the waves breaking in measured thunder
As you and I once heard their monotone.

Around me were the echoing dunes, beyond me
The cold and sparkling silver of the sea --
We two will pass through death and ages lengthen
Before you hear that sound again with me.

Sarah Teasdale
 
Beach Chairs


Sitting on the beach chairs
watching the setting sun
holding hands and reminiscing
how it all begun

Sitting on the beach chairs
watching the ships out on the sea
holding hands and smiling
together we're meant to be

Sitting on the beach chairs
watching people walking past
holding hands and knowing
that our love will always last

Sitting on the beach chairs
watching the waves along the shore
holding hands we realize
our love is stronger than before

Sitting on the beach chairs
watching the changing tide
holding hands with happiness
to be by each others side

Sitting on the beach chairs
watching the sunrise
holding hands with tears of joy
there are no more good-byes

joyce ebrecht
 
Lambs


He sleeps as a lamb sleeps,
Beside his mother.
Somewhere in yon blue deeps
His tender brother
Sleeps like a lamb and leaps.

He feeds as a lamb might,
Beside his mother.
Somewhere in fields of light
A lamb, his brother,
Feeds, and is clothed in white.

Katharine Tynan
 
Writer's Block

I can't think up of what to write
I for hell wish I knew
I'm no poet I'm a rocker
O boohoohoohoohoo!

I need Shakespeare to do my homework
So I can get an A
Writer's Block is killing me
This is really gay

I'll hit my head with the brick beside me
Hoping to revive my brain
Now I realize that I just
Put myself in pain
 
A lullaby, for Darkesia, who is feeling ill.

Hush Darkesia, don't you fret,
Tho' you're ill there's no upset
Pretty soon you will be right as rain
So sleep, or I will sing this again.
 
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