Longings
Like the beautiful bodies of those who died before growing old,
sadly shut away in sumptuous mausoleum,
roses by the head, jasmine at the feet -
so appear the longings that have passed
without being satisfied, not one of the granted
a single night of pleasure, or one of its radiant mornings.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Desires
Like beautiful bodies of the dead, who had not grown old
and they shut them with tears, in a magnificent mausoleum,
with roses at the head and jasmine at the feet --
that is how desires look that have passed
without fultillment; without one of them having achieved
a night of sensual delight, or a moonlit morn.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Red Roses
Offer him roses, exactly the same roses
You picked in the middle of the day.
Light is travelling from them, forcing its way,
Like the roses in colour, in bloom, in love.
The colour is red but not light,
Just scented like the red rose.
We form levels of straightness
Of our comfort and condition.
The eyes feel sumptuous yet our bodies do not,
The roses must dazzle the individual.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Light Seems to Shine
He loved me well ~ I loved him too
His melodies of love were all for me.
And into his arms I always flew
Whenever he smiled upon me.
We danced and danced the night away
In the moonlight before our wedding day.
Dancing belongs to the days of old,
The beautiful springtime before he died.
Without my 'Ken' the nights grew cold
Yearnings and longings multiplied.
I cried and I cried each night away
Recalling our beautiful wedding day.
With forty long years here in my heart
I am still his, and he is still mine.
We kept our vows 'Till death us do part'
And as I write, a light seems to shine
Inviting me to a life on cloud nine
A life of sweet music, roses and wine.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Summer's Yearnings
Summer's eyes look me for heat and flowers
succeeding the spring buds with which adorned her
I am cast as Spring Calling
buds my Siren Flowers
I rose
inside her
flower petal Springings
because I
heat from inside
lying down with her Summer Fevered Longings.
Her roses bloom from my Spring Pollinations;
I give her Summer Glory
and and receives
all my Spring
Offerings.
'What good it be
dressed up in Summer Light' you say
'in Summer Jasmine Perfumes
if you do not arrive each time
to kiss me in my feverish night? '
'What sates sweet summer lips' longings
without your spring kisses joining
kisses which seal our souls
In unspoken understandings;
lips which kiss and hold in the secret night
hearts pounding
melding souls
swept up in destiny's yearnings
you offering a wet mouth
I a crimson cheek quivering
we two lost in Shudderings Desire
which press us two together
two on two
making then between us
Love's Single Season.
because lovers
make things
previously apart
into One
and
Discrete Time
fades into
into
Summer's Eternities.'
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Night Coming Into A Garden
Roses red and white,
Every rose is hanging her head,
Silently comes the lady Night,
Only the flowers can hear her tread.
All day long the birds have been calling,
Calling shrill and sweet,
They are still when she comes with her long robe falling
Falling down to her feet.
The thrush has sung to his mate,
' She is coming ! hush ! she is coming ! '
She is lifting the latch at the gate,
And the bees have ceased from their humming.
I cannot see her face as she passes
Through my garden of white and red ;
But I know she has walked where the daisies and grasses
Are curtseying after her tread.
She has passed me by with a rustle and sweep
Of her robe (as she passed I heard it sweeping),
And all my red roses have fallen asleep,
And all my white roses are sleeping.
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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Call My Name
The bold and the beautiful,
The young and the attractive,
The old and the less attractive,
Much of the pleasure of many and the act of money!
But, who will bear my grief and my loneliness?
To part wildly in pleasure with the sweet pain!
But i don't know who she is;
To swim wildly in the name of love!
But i don't know who he is;
However, they came along and shared the shelter of my single bed.
Could you be loved?
Yes! With more flowers and much scent from the roses;
For, i cannot explain how i do feel about you! !
And, they came and shared with me under the roof of my single bed.
Call my name and i will be there!
And feel free to be very creative with your muse on mine;
For this life is all about the pleasures of mankind,
But try to learn and know with the moves around you.
In this life,
Of this pleasure,
In this world,
Of my mind,
With your acts,
And of my own world!
But, try to say: 'I am sorry' when, you hurt someone;
For, the banana trees do not stand up straight always.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Cannonball Days
What's come to stay from the Cannonball days
but a house and some clothes on the line.
Fired away your drunken brigade
In the streets of New York as a child.
Woman so fine, fine as a girl
Slow like an Italian wine.
Her hair all a mess and a dress off the shelf
But all of your roses have died.
Better luck in the next life
Cuz you're gonna need it dear.
Loved you back then, but i couldn't say when
Cuz all of your roses have died
All of your roses have died.
I tasted your lips with my hands on your hips
Danced in apartment named Nine.
Cats on the sill and my head to your breast
Beating your rhythms divine.
West Jersey Queen with a rattled machine
Tasted the salt through your skin.
Loved you back then, but I couldn't say when
Cuz all of your roses have died.
Better luck in the next life
Go give em some hell and goodbye
Loved you back then, but i couldn't say when
Cuz all of your roses have died
All of your roses have died.
Basked in the heat down on Christopher street,
Bought you a rose from a bum
Left you a note, had it stuffed in your coat
You laughed and said it was dumb.
Broke like a stem, and I guess you're with him
I'm sure that he treats you just fine.
So bottoms up, cheers, baby here's to your tears
all of your roses have died.
Better luck in the next life
I'll miss you, but go on, goodbye.
I feel like a stray from these cannonball days
when all of your roses were mine.
all of your roses were mine
all of your roses........were mine
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Single Is Fair
Single
I am single
Question of double
Does not arise.
I am single
Only single.
Single sun
Single moon
Single earth
Single air
Single sky
Sngle water
Single fire
Single soul
Single body
All are there
All are fair.
Single is single
Single is beautiful
Single is fair.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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It Must Have Been The Roses
Annie laid her head down in the roses.
She had ribbons, ribbons, ribbons, in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
I dont know, it must have been the roses,
The roses or the ribbons in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
Ten years the waves roll the ships home from the sea,
Thinkin well how it may blow in all good company,
If I tell another what your own lips told to me,
Let me lay neath the roses, till my eyes no longer see.
I dont know, it must have been the roses,
The roses or the ribbons in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
One pane of glass in the window,
No one is complaining, no, come in and shut the door,
Faded is the crimson from the ribbons that she wore,
And its strange how no one comes round any more.
I dont know, it must have been the roses,
The roses or the ribbons in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
Annie laid her head down in the roses.
She had ribbons, ribbons, ribbons, in her long brown hair.
I dont know, maybe it was the roses,
All I know I could not leave her there.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wind, One Brilliant Day
The wind, one brilliant day, called
to my soul with an odor of jasmine.
'In return for the odor of my jasmine,
I'd like all the odor of your roses.'
'I have no roses; all the flowers
in my garden are dead.'
'Well then, I'll take the withered petals
and the yellow leaves and the waters of the fountain.'
the wind left. And I wept. And I said to myself:
'What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?'
poem by Antonio Machado
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A Poem For The Heart, Its Day...
on the day of the hearts
why should you let that heart weep?
do not be cruel, give the heart what is
due for its day
give it a dose of happy pills,
add more blood to its vessels,
put more moisture to its skin
color it by all means
with the brightness of
twenty roses, red as red,
bright as the light of two
happy mornings,
give it its night too,
not as dark as that evil thought
gray perhaps, a little confusion will do,
but if you can, make that evening
romantic, a little teasing finger, lips that
search and find, longings satisfied,
if only illusions, then why not?
give it a drink it deserves,
vodka or tequila, make it dance,
a little tip for tipsy,
raise its hands, in surrender,
curl it in bed, and have it be filled
with love,
a meat cooked well and filled with
gravy,
a salad of fresh lettuce and tomatoes
garnished with Italy,
red wine, red cherry, satisfy the tongue
and the nose,
more fire in the body, rest the arms,
close those eyes,
live those dreams.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Do Not Be Cruel On This Day...
on the day of the hearts
why should you let that heart weep?
do not be cruel, give the heart what is
due for its day
give it a dose of happy pills,
add more blood to its vessels,
put more moisture to its skin
color it by all means
with the brightness of
twenty roses, red as red,
bright as the light of two
happy mornings,
give it its night too,
not as dark as that evil thought
gray perhaps, a little confusion will do,
but if you can, make that evening
romantic, a little teasing finger, lips that
search and find, longings satisfied,
if only illusions, then why not?
give it a drink it deserves,
vodka or tequila, make it dance,
a little tip for tipsy,
raise its hands, in surrender,
curl it in bed, and have it be filled
with love,
a meat cooked well and filled with
gravy,
a salad of fresh lettuce and tomatoes
garnished with Italy,
red wine, red cherry, satisfy the tongue
and the nose,
more fire in the body, rest the arms,
close those eyes,
live those dreams.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Frown Of The Other Roses
Request: Please read this poem only after reading the one titled ' THE BLACK ROSES'.
The frown upon the faces of the other Roses
Disheartens me quite often, you know not.
But I am amused at the liberation of the Black ones
Around us and they never let a sigh out these days.
I rejoice at the tranquil and charming sight of many
A Garden of the Black Roses around your homes.
Your agonies and mine have died for ever as you know
The fragrance is the same as for all of them.
The Red Rose, the Lily, the Jasmine and the Hibiscus
Cast their eyes off me to make me feel annoyed.
Annoyances and embarrassments can never be felt
For my present has been re written by you all.
I salute your goodness in accommodating
All these flora of great identities in your gardens.
The liberation of these Black Roses has thus revolutionized
Your world of prejudices and done the work!
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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One Flower Grows, One Dies
that rose that grows is surrounded by the suns light, glowing
that rose grows, while my rose dies
my beautiful rose
with the smell of a million roses together
not the store bought roses that just smell like plastic and chemicals
no, the natural smell that i wish i could keep forever
she was my rose, she was the rose that died
and she is the one growing for another one
my flower dies, and the other one grew
not for me, but for you.
poem by Sarah Rabago
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6 1
I bet you fall in bed too easily
With the beautiful girls who are shyly brave
And you sell yourself as a man to save
But all the money in the world is not enough
I bet youve long since passed understanding
What it takes to be satisfied
Youre like a vine that keeps climbing higher
But all the money in the world is not enough
And all the bridges blown away keep floating up
Its cold
And rough
And I kept standing six-feet-one
Instead of five-feet-two
And I loved my life
And I hated you
(yeah)
Its cold out there
And rough
And I kept standing six-feet-one
Instead of five-feet-two
And I loved my life
And I hated you
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dreary Night
What happened on that day before the sun set?
Has anyone ever seen a star in the sky on a dreary night?
Has anyone ever ridden upon the tail of a shooting star?
Too hard for me to believe, as I cannot fathom reality-
I would go in my father’s garden trying to find myself- though
All I can see are the roses-
My eyes see clearly and I look all about but all I see are roses.
Yesterday I was walking home terrified of people walking behind me.
I saw a daffodil in full bloom, in all of its glory.
But I wept, though unobtrusively- tears of destitute fear.
It cannot be spring on the fourth day of February,
Although I may long for it to be-
I cannot sing songs of love and hopefulness, as
I have never been in love, or never wished to be.
I ask myself- have you ever seen a star on a dreary night?
Did you ever ride bareback upon the tail of a shooting star?
My sanity is buried beneath tons of stones upon
Which I have fallen, while running, trying to escape the pathway of my delusions-
I am strong inside, I have been told, and I rarely scream aloud.
When I close my eyes all I can see are roses-
As those growing in my father’s garden-
It has been years since he has passed away.
I hear voices early in the morning threatening me.
They cannot be silenced. It is still dark outside.
But when I close my eyes I can still see the roses- yellow, red and white-
I ask myself- what happened on that night I recall, twenty years ago?
My father died and his garden remains-
My mother died soon afterward, leaving nothing but memories behind.
I remember the daffodil I saw yesterday-
I should have picked it for my mother and placed it in a vase-
But she would never see it because she left this world- without saying “goodbyeâ€.
I am a stranger to this world and am still trying to find my way through the darkness.
I could take a ride on the tail of a shooting star and close my eyes and dream, as
I am searching for a new place in time, even though mysteriously-
When I close my eyes- all I can see are the roses dancing in a gentle winter’s breeze,
Though they are now withering away and dying.
It is a dreary winter’s night - but the stars are out and the moon is full.
It now illuminates the path I walk and I would give my soul to the world for
Some peace of mind and all I can do is close my eyes and
Follow the pathway of my fantasies and pray-
My wish would be to see the light shine upon the world of my delusions.
As I close my eyes and wish upon a star I weep- though
All I can see are roses, their petals to the wind- dead to the world outside.
Darkness prevails but I believe I see a star on this dreary night, silencing my tears.
And while that daffodil looks striking beneath the light of the full moon-
A night has never looked so beautiful, not even in a dream.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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The Rose
You gave me a rose
last time we met.
I told myself
if it bloomed
our love would bloom,
& if it died-
O I did not
consider
the possibility.
It died.
Though I cut
the stem
on a slant
as my mother
taught me,
though I dropped
an aspirin
in the water,
it hung its head
like a spent cock
& died.
It stands
on my desk now-
straight green stalk,
blood-red clot
of bud
drooping
like a hanged man's
head.
Does this mean
we are doomed?
Does this mean
all lovers
are doomed?
O my love-
I have not read roses
as amulets
in seven years. . . .
Which doom
is worse?
To love
& lose?
Or to lose
love
altogether
& not care
whether roses
live or die?
poem by Erica Jong
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The Black Roses
In the garden of wild plants
I search for a Rose or a Lily.
The laugh of the plants get subdued
Then I look for a Jasmine or a Hibiscus.
Then I hear the sob of a flower a little away
With black petals all within her.
'Who are you all? ', I queried.
'You call us black roses', they said.
Unplucked, untouched and unfelt they remain
The black roses of a wild region!
'May I pluck one of you? ' I asked.
'You are welcome to liberate us all' they said.
Liberation! I am a bit confused,
Liberation of a flower is a novel idea
And I return with a few black roses
For I cant liberate them by plucking at a go.
The Rose fades, the Lily shrinks,
The Jasmine dries up and the Hibiscus falls.
But my mind says to me now for certain,
'These Black Roses will bloom in your gardens once'.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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The Secret Sin, The Concealed Pleasure
what appear outside
the body
this house of flesh
mostly are the acceptable
& at least
what the eyes can
tolerate, at least expense
of repercussion,
the conformity
parlance
admirable, kissing the woman you
say you love and marrying
not only her but her
family as well, the banquet and
the rituals, all perfect
a sir, a madam
no turbulence of the heart
nothing to
a ripple,
in the hidden depths of
human vacuous
longings
those that you cannot say
but ultimately giving you
indescribable pleasure
you hide but soon
like a second personality
speaking during the
night
a shape takes you
silently into the place
where multiplied
ecstasies
spread a view
invites you
to drink and dance and
sleep with
it
not sleep really
if sleep be just considered
as another
obvious metaphor for
something
obscene
by recklessness you
give in
of course
hypocritically
allegedly coerced
by the set of
circumstances
beyond your
restraints,
and indeed
those that have not lied
begin to
concoct whatever possible
beautiful
excuses that abound
like a bouquet of
assorted flowers
saying i cannot imagine having
done it
(i can still imagine the
magnanimity of the
intricate and
detailed design of
embroidered pleasure
in that
expensive water-bed)
saying how on earth
have i done this
exclaiming
trying to eradicate the stain
of bliss
(or sin and asking
how can sin exist
on such a beautiful feeling?)
it was good, it was extremely
beautiful
i have experience heaven
i have seen the face of God
in simple prose
you go home devastated
though no one
knows
except the one who also
live in another
island
the one who slept with you
and licked your
armpit
you ask: Was it worth it?
conscience, shut up!
that is now how you end up like.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Wishing Star
A wish to be granted
is a wish to be heard,
A star passes through
the earth's atmosphere,
Filling the night with
peaceful dreams.
I never doubt a single wish,
I say it with meaning,
Knowing every wish will be
granted,
Making this night special and
magical.
A wishing star will always keep
a promise,
If you open your heart and say
your wish with truth and meaning,
That is how you know your wish
will be granted.
'Thank you, wishing star, for
listening.'
Until the next time I see a
wishing star,
I will be waiting and ready to
make another wish.
poem by Derek James
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