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You Sleep Alone

What dark sea holds thee from me
We have felt the grave of Keats
Young dying poetry
Gather the garlands of the womb
Smothered in first love
Concepts as wet as Monroe
Invent yourself
I need nipples that write
The wind is not sullen but free
Precarious thorns in the quill
Crows as blue as Matisse
Immortality in ink
You are invisible but here
You carry a lamp of Sylvia Plath
Walk the oak floors
Shut out the expected
Embrace the deep quiet you
There in your mind comes I
Your candle aglow
My fingers are words
We dance like the stars
Bards of sanity gone
Balm of dreams whisper
I must leave before you realize
You sleep alone

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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She Knows There Are Ghosts

Golden fish of Hemingway
Sylvia Plath is lost in the mirror
This morning hides the war
We walk amidst dark corridors
She wrestles with aliens
They come out of closets
They peer with sullen eternity
She knows they are there

Roman legions march without dreams
Frozen like nightmares
My mountain is so steep
The quiet rain has morning fingers
The basement light is dim
My mother’s photo is true
My father was wounded in the war
These circles draw blood

Take that poster of Jim Morrison down
The hallway whispers
Something dead wants to make love to me
Why is the air so thick with confusion?
Don’t ask them if their there
They might answer
Is that a mouse I hear?
I wished I wouldn’t have read the exorcist

We must fight them
These creatures of a séance
Leave a night light on
Their icy fingers reach
Time is their end
She wakes up
What’s that?
She knows they are there

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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I Must Be Patient

Nothing in the wind except aborted angels
Do you rock to the stiff night?
Have you felt the illegal topaz stars
Strippers are like bending guitar strings
I want one that goes to church
That reads Shakespeare
That wears garter belts
That sails for ideals frustrated as Monroe

She has been abused
Behind the pirate tattoos I can be gentle
Her toes curl like a bad girl
We are roses in the forest
We are blessed rain

Love comes like a mirror
Love raises joy and sorrow
Preach to me with your smile
Make up hides tears
Has the city sucked your thighs
Your mind is my arm chair
You don't get it!
I don't want to use you
You cry because your not honest
Can't you see your self righteous?
Images hide self doubt

Her guitar is a Martin
Her blue eyes are fires
The monster guards the gold
A sister makes us understand
Are we angels flying gardens
Hope is sanity
Don't give up on me
These wounds show in poetry
Write something for me sublime
Write between the crowd
The crows bend you into their shill
I know you wet

I must be patient

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Sylvia Plath

I wish I had a sylvia plath
Busted tooth and a smile
And cigarette ashes in her drink
The kind that goes out and then sleeps for a week
The kind that goes out on her
To give me a reason, for well, I dunno
And maybe shed take me to france
Or maybe to spain and shed ask me to dance
In a mansion on the top of a hill
Shed ash on the carpets
And slip me a pill
Then shed get pretty loaded on gin
And maybe shed give me a bath
How I wish I had a sylvia plath
And she and I would sleep on a boat
And swim in the sea without clothes
With rain falling fast on the sea
While she was swimming away, shed be winking at me
Telling me it would all be okay
Out on the horizon and fading away
And Id swim to the boat and Id laugh
I gotta get me a sylvia plath
And maybe shed take me to france
Or maybe to spain and shed ask me to dance
In a mansion on the top of a hill
Shed ash on the carpets
And slip me a pill
Then shed get pretty loaded on gin
And maybe shed give me a bath
How I wish I had a sylvia plath
I wish I had a sylvia plath

song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Snatching solitude

Snatching solitude from sleep
For a few wakeful hours, to reclaim myself
From the web of relationships that define us
And the responsibilities that dictate our days

Now that isn’t such a wise thing!
Doctors often say, while they tend to the heart
As an organ, rarely seeing the soul
That needs mending too

But now that stillness overcomes hurtling day
I tend to my temple
That stands with windows open
Welcoming new winds from o’er the land

That quiet corner is my favourite place
Where a candle glows, softly
Lighting up dark corners, and freeing my spirit
To commune with the vastness beyond

Sometimes a quiet whisper holds clues
To a story yet to unfold, while at others
The quiet holds me in a warm embrace
While I snatch solitude from sleep.

poem by Anita Atina
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Do You Really Find It Hard To Write A Poem?

let me tell you
it is not hard to write the poems in your mind

they are already there in the first place
inside your heart
always wanting to be written

all you need is just your way of waking your fingers in deep sleep
let them be
let them write the words
at the tip of your fingers
let the words speak for themselves
do not intervene
let them be
let the emotions dance like the wind
let the thoughts trickle like the rain
let them be
follow the river as it winds along the banks of your feelings
then watch
how all the waters of your self fall like

a water fall.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Fog on the Hillocks Melts Away

The fog on the hillocks melts away,
it’s another bright sunny day
and people do not really know me
the beings beyond the stars
look down at me and cannot properly
make up their minds
if I am living like a saint, or sinner
or is a little bit of both,
the smell of smoke from the train,
and the nearby black township
is on the air
but the light wind blows it away

and the flowers in the garden
all smile up at me, as if delighted
to have my company
and nothing really threatens,
the heaven is blue above me
and at night the stars sparkle invitingly
are drawing me to a world,
a place in the beyond
where my dear father waits
and everything is clear, lovely and sunny
without pain or regret
and nothing bad besets anyone.

(In Answer to Sylvia Plath/Reference: Sheep in Fog by Sylvia Plath.)

poem by Gert Strydom
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Sylvia

Sylvia is missing -
Dark stars tattooed
Across her face...
Tiny bruises
Black & blue
The dedication on her arm
Reads love & hate
Yea yea
Passing through the underground
Sylvia is coming down
The queen has lost her crown
Today...
She wants to fall
Into a deep deep sleep
So she can forget herself
Run away to london
Lipstick tainted
Powder painted
Perfume in her hair
Run away to london
A thousand cold caresses
Couldnt keep her there
Yea yea
She wants to fall
Into a deep deep sleep
So she can forget herself
The finger prints
Of strangers
On the ugly bedroom floor
Reveal the only traces
Of what sylvia was for

song performed by by Eurythmics
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Realize My Mind

I wake in the morning to the darkness of my soul
Look into your eyes and my body senses the fire below
Move myself close to you and lay upon your breast
Reach up and light your long black cigarette

My winged angel your embrace surrounds me
You realize my mind
My winged angel your touch binds me
You realize my mind
My winged angel cast your spell on me
You realize my mind
My winged angel give myself to you
You have all of me

You move smooth, dance slow I feel your dark tenderness
Wings around me, mesmerize me love to serve my hearts temptress
Feeling free touching you, you accept your little pet
You have a walk so bold and I know
Your eyes burn me to death

I give my words to you to please you each and everyway
They spring forth from truths you release within me with the games you play
This girl is grateful to be so uninhibited and free for you
This girl knows girl is so happy to serve you

poem by Barbara Vanier
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I see thee better—in the Dark

I see thee better—in the Dark—
I do not need a Light—
The Love of Thee—a Prism be—
Excelling Violet—

I see thee better for the Years
That hunch themselves between—
The Miner's Lamp—sufficient be—
To nullify the Mine—

And in the Grave—I see Thee best—
Its little Panels be
Aglow—All ruddy—with the Light
I held so high, for Thee—

What need of Day—
To Those whose Dark—hath so—surpassing Sun—
It deem it be—Continually—
At the Meridian?

poem by Emily Dickinson
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Depression in Early Spring

Meathooks, notebooks,
the whole city sky palely flaming
& spectral bombs
hitting that patch of river
I see from my eastern window.

The poets are dead, the city dying.
Anne, Sylvia, Keats
with his passionate lungs,
Berryman jumping from the bridge & waving,
all the dreamers dead
of their own dreams.

Why have I stayed on as Horatio?
Anne sends poems from the grave,
Sylvia, letters.
John Keats's ghostly cough
comes through the wall board.
What am I doing here?
Why contend?

I am a corpse who moves a pen that writes.
I am a vessel for a voice that echoes.
I write a novel & annihilate whole forests.
I rearrange the cosmos by an inch.

poem by Erica Jong
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A Deep Love

Sighs sweep the legends forward
Cries of the deep mind dying
The stage dismantled
Slowly leaving the documented
To the end I cling to thee
For dreams are seldom heavenly
The shattered earth is what we know
I too am a guilty dreamer

Come toward me once again
Bring your son, bring your friend
Journey with noble intent
Teach me to let it all go
Such a lusty man I am
Lift your dress for I am deep
Talk of God and of light
I want to believe

Walk with me toward the stars
Never pretentious
Aware of our precarious path
Some how hopeful still within reach
Searching like Jacob
Awakened like the prodigal son
I have laid in many arms
I have scowled and ran

Now I seek a deep love

poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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The Herb Of Grace

Find some freckled fern seed to sprinkle in your shoes
And you may step invisible down the peopled street,
Or curve about the apple boughs like swallows if you choose,
Lifted by the elfin wings that tingle in your feet.
Oh, you may cull a-many sweets with fern seed iin your shoe!
But leave alone the rue--
Little boy, little girl,
Leave alone the rue!

Keep the downy dittany and storms will bring you calm,
Fill a vervain pillow for a thought-grieved head;
Cherish balm whene'er you can, there's none too much of balm,
And never stop for rosemary, 'twill follow where you tread.
Taste the scarlet love-apple, if youth will drive you to,
But leave alone the rue--
Fair lass, fine lad,
Leave alone the rue!

Mix tansy in your Easter cake and earn a placid year,
For though you cross the Little Folk they cannot then offend;
Give a spray and take a spray of ivy from your dear,
But pay with coin for parsley, or its price will be a friend.
Wear a four-leafed clover and the charm will win you through;
But leave alone the rue--
Grave man, wise woman,
Leave alone the rue!

Lovelier than wealth is laughing potentilla's gold,
Eyebright is beautiful and kind to eyes that weep;
Rich herbs of healing the wild glens hold
With hemlock and foxglove for those sick for sleep.
Surely there are flowers enough and strong leaves too!
Must you gather rue?
Poor things, poor things,
Leave alone the rue!

Come the aged creeping, each with wreaths for his own grave,
Dried roses, laurel leaves, wisps of dead grass,
Young-eyed forget-me-nots that old tears lave,
Heartsease, and love-lies-bleeding, bare thorns, alas!
Choice of life's harvesting that tells the tale true!
And all carry rue,
Evergreen, bitter green,
All carry rue!

poem by Elsie Cole
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In Silent Winds

In that darkness lurking in-between
Deep sleeps and hazy waking
There resides a clear and clean
Whisper of brisk air that has me quaking

Like dark sand running through my fingers
Like water dripping from the leaves of nettle stingers
Smooth and rushing
This dark sand silently gushing

Like the stars in the sky lament
Shining and dark with every twinkling moment
The dark sands of a beach far away
Rushing in the oceans waters astray

Waking once red embers, now black
Like death, revived to enkindle
My heart, the strings have gone slack
Dark sand repair, filling the spindle

The one that holds the flame, it dwindled
Reclaiming that pain so aptly swindled
The peace of mind and half of my light
The candle flickers in black and white

In silent winds, taken aback,
Sweet were those dreams that attack
Sewed into the present and past
Somewhere with dark sands so vast.

poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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I sleep Poetry

Last night I wrestled with poetry
As if a lion wrestling with its prey

I sleep poetry
I dream poetry

I walk poetry on thin line ropes
binding together steeply slopes
I make love to poetry like a new catch
On heat waiting to be let loose from its latch

So out of ten if I am bad, take a pen
And give me a score of five or a four
I constantly make love to poetry
With dramatic grammatical metaphors

The root of my poetic hunger
Is I starve myself a bit longer
In sleep I twiddle my poetic lines
Sharpen them to be as fine as a riddle

I sleep poetry
I drink poetry
Not just to quench my thirst
But to differentiate amongst
Good, Better and Best

There shall come the day
I have to say
When I will definitely call it a truce
When I have run out of poetic juice

2006 - Sylvia Chidi

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Beginning Just Begun!

we walk barefoot the stony path,
in the company of crows.
our eyes wet with the dew,
dreams clinging to our tongues.
and the song of the ancient ones,
from some dark valley within.
we carry the cross of self denial,
on the path to find ourselves!
to the beat down house
that time forgot...
up the steps to an open door.
while spiders race across broken glass,
and rats race across the floor.
we sit across the table,
and light a single candle.
then one by one confess our thoughts,
and undress the pain of being.
then drained, and strangely empty,
warmed with release,
we touch fingers beneath the flame,
and whisper silent prayers.
and rising walk out together,
companions first, then lovers...
we find the world, both new and just born,
as if beginning just begun!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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What Would You Like

Tell me you name, tell me your sign.
Please tell me that my mind is right.
I just want to take you to my home.
Where we can talk by a fire all alone.
There's just one thing that I need to know.
Could you ever be there when I woke up,
Or will you be just another and be gone?

Should I buy you a dozen roses?
Should I write you a love poem,
Of how my heart can't stop beating for you?
Should I take you to a lakeside with a romantic dinner?
Would you like candle light flickering in front of us?
Would you like the lovely words that could roll off my tongue?
Would you like me to express how much you mean to me?
Would you like that soft romantic music in the background?

I take one look at you and my heart can't stop smiling.
It begins to display on the outside and my lips curl up.
Looking at you from across the void I can see my life with you.
You take a glance at me and can't help but notice to.
I walk around the corner and fade out of your sight.
I love playing this game.

You chase me around the corner at the end of the aisle.
And we both meet each other eye to eye.
My hands behind my back.
Can you guess what I've got in mind.
Oh I think you'll be suprized.
You look at me and begin to smile.

I see the moonlight fall across your face as you sleep.
I take one look at you as my fingers gently stroke your cheek.
You breathe in and breathe out and stir awake.
Looking up at me and smiling all the while.
I bend down and kiss you ever so slowly.

My lips want to take in every taste it can.
My fingers what to rub your smooth skin.
My eyes want to see all your love dep inside.
And no matter how hard I try.
My mind can't comprehend the beauty within.

If I bought you a dozen roses would you fall in love?
If I wrote you that special love poem would you kiss me tight?
If I took you to a lakeside of of a romantic dinner would you stay the night?
Would you like the candle's flickering lights?
Would you like the expressions of my words rolling off my tongue?
Would you come be with me even though the night's young?
Would you like the kiss that takes the breath away deep within your lungs?

Would you want to be with me through the rest of your life?
Would you want to be with my heart through the beating might?
Would you want to grab my hands and love me through all the bad time?
Would you want to hug me in the anger of emotions and try to fight?
Would you stand within my heart and dance in the spotlight?
Would you like to be with me through the whole night?

poem by Josh Burnett
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A Poet To Be

A poet I claim not to be,
For words are never there.
In all the years I've tried to write,
I have no words to share.

I sit and think but nothing comes,
No inspiration here.
I want to write of anything,
But still no words I fear.

I read the works of other poets,
I wish I were like them.
How do they write such beautiful lines,
A poet, I'm not him.

I try to write from the heart,
From deep within my soul.
I try to write of the love I have,
But cannot reach my goal.

But why I ask, why can't I write,
Of love so pure and true.
Why can't I write about her eyes,
A mix of green and blue.

I want to write about her smile,
It brightens up my day.
I try to think of anything,
But words I cannot say.

I wish I knew how to write,
A poem with such bliss.
I wish I knew how to describe,
Her soft but tender kiss.

I cannot even begin to write,
How she holds me tight.
How her arms around me,
Makes everything just right.

A poet does not have to think,
The words flow right out.
When I sit and try to write,
I want to scream and shout.

I mean come on, how hard can it be,
To write about her hair.
Such long beautiful natural blonde,
That flows in the air.

I try to write about her laugh,
The words will not fly.
Time passes and finally,
I say it's soft and high.

It's been an hour and a half,
I'm here on verse twelve.
I had to go to Rhymezone,
To find out the rhyme is shelve.

A poet does not do that,
Go online to find a rhyme.
A poet has it in his head,
And can write at any time.

But a poet I am not,
For I cannot write of love.
How the girl I am with,
Is an angel from up above.

How I love her with all my heart,
And want to spend my life with her.
How her love for me is more,
Than I can ever be for sure.

As I draw near the end,
My mind is not so numb.
I realize I've just written of love,
A poet I have become.

poem by Adam McKim
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Poetic Embracement

Poetry - the mother of all emotion
Some call it mere ‘words in motion’
When I write, I love thee- Oh Poetry!
Thy branches deeper than the banyan tree
That’s why you are stronger than prose
Oh! Poetry! !

And as a poet I have all the freedom
And all the world’s verses in my kingdom
I can be fair or may be a little foul
I can see through the night like an owl
You can make night as day, your way
Oh! Poetry! Have your sway…

You have words stringed like beads
And a finger that pointedly needs
An applaud, a bow, a salutation
Sometimes a silent infatuation
You are the need of a man-to be free
That’s why you are –Poetry! !

If some one loves Thee, is it also me?
That sounds selfish but true you see!
For when I embraced you, Oh! Poetry -
An ‘embracement’ was ‘love’ I thought
But ‘embarrassment’ was what I got!
For she admired me, just for Thee! !
Oh! Poetry! !

So Wright is not wrong to send hugs to me
Or Petal isn’t having a fling with the sepals like me
A Rose no longer pokes on a prose so long
For today, just for you - ‘Poetry’ is on a song..
Let me be chainless today, let me be free
You are, what You are! My Poetry! !

poem by Jyo Jottypoet Love
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Everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it and the imagination to improvise.

Sylvia Plath in The Journals of Sylvia Plath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Gardener XXIX: Speak To Me My Love

Speak to me, my love! Tell me in
words what you sang.
The night is dark. The stars are
lost in clouds. The wind is sighing
through the leaves.
I will let loose my hair. My blue
cloak will cling round me like night. I
will clasp your head to my bosom; and
there in the sweet loneliness murmur
on your heart. I will shut my eyes
and listen. I will not look in your face.
When your words are ended, we will
sit still and silent. Only the trees will
whisper in the dark.
The night will pale. The day will
dawn. We shall look at each other's
eyes and go on our different paths.
Speak to me, my love! Tell me in
words what you sang.

poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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You Sleep Alone

Related quotes

She Knows There Are Ghosts

I Must Be Patient

Sylvia Plath

Snatching solitude

Do You Really Find It Hard To Write A Poem?

The Fog on the Hillocks Melts Away

Sylvia

Realize My Mind

I see thee better—in the Dark

Depression in Early Spring

A Deep Love

The Herb Of Grace

In Silent Winds

I sleep Poetry

Beginning Just Begun!

What Would You Like

A Poet To Be

Poetic Embracement

The Gardener XXIX: Speak To Me My Love

En.Citatepedia^®.ro