0075 The Connoisseur
Do come in. I’m so glad that you came –
it’s good to have someone to
share one’s pleasures and delights with.
Some of my family think I’m
some sort of misanthrope, hiding away
with my collection of Chinese porcelain…
I tell them, it’s the opposite – I feel that
I’m in touch with the finest work of
contented men, creating some sort of memory of
perfection, for others to enjoy – I guess
you feel the same way about those poems
you write? Now –
your hands are clean? Not because of
this celadon Sung vase, let’s start with that –
but I’d like you to feel the outer layer
of skin on your fingertips touching
the surface of the vase and yet
not quite touching, feeling
the air between – silk on silk,
almost – I was going to say, the skin of
a young girl’s cheek greeting
another young girl’s cheek, but that wouldn’t
sound quite right – you must have
the same problems, with choosing just the right
similes and metaphors, that are
thrilling without being ‘clever’?
I don’t want to be pretentious about
all this – just feel the surface: not matt,
not shiny, the colour not bright, not blatant,
but not in hiding – and see
how the potter takes the vase’s curves and contours
from neck to belly, like a yacht,
like a horseman, like a lover – put
this vase in a room to itself and its stillness
fills the room with presence…
they talk a lot of nonsense about
connoisseurship – it’s just loving what
is fine, and long reflected over, and
as human an activity as can be. You meet
the maker in the art. And yes,
there are other connoisseurs who
love the roughness of a cracked, irregular
Japanese tea-cup, a one-off from a woodman’s kiln…
I expect you feel just the same
about poetry? How fortunate
we are, you and I..
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
0068 The Connoisseur (2)
Is there a god
sleeping in this room?
even the doorhandle, gently turned,
seems to speak a message
before the room entered, the first breath taken
of the room’s own air
and on the table, the grey-green vase seems
to be the host; the silent messenger: the furniture
somehow eternal in its order; every line and curve
within the room speaking of some
divine geometry; the shaded sunlight seems
to fall on tiptoe, touch in silent praise;
the air, to be refined; and the silence –
what does the silence say unspoken
as if it holds some god-smiled word,
some solemn laughter, about what
is there and is not there, has made
of this room, this ordinary room,
a shrine where one can worship without form
oneself?
the vase too holds itself both
open and reserved; its perfect curves
the subtle decisions of a history
of centuries, of generations
of human hands; of things made
for oneself, for others, for all else
where all else is known;
silent the vase; the room full of its sound.
Is there a god
sleeping in this room?
you; moving forward with respectful quiet step
to touch this grey-green
Chinese vase
poem by Michael Shepherd
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0009 Persian vase, Persian thoughts
As you enter this quiet and peaceful sunlit room,
it seems at first all space; but then your eye
- as is intended – straightway drawn
to that fine Persian vase which sits
upon an old oak chest, its lid, polished
with the wax of love and years,
a crack across it somehow speaking
of trials borne and overcome;
the tale of life, of time, of history, of lessons learnt.
The chest – it’s cedar lined, as aromatic as memory
when the lid is opened – does not now hold,
as when it was first carpentered, a bridal trousseau;
a girl given with fine clothes to destiny -
now, precious family documents
that tell of rights and duties, high positions
and their responsibilities, once held;
past, present and future, public life and private,
aromatic in the memory.
The vase is cool and vivid, curls of blue and white;
a cobalt blue, the colour of far-seeing beauty –
the surface colour seen in deepest sea;
the colour which the upper air, in flight,
seems to yearn for; as if we look
into the vase and through it and beyond it;
the white’s so white, it speaks of purity;
and here are touches of an emerald green
which sets off both, as if jewelled thoughts
are never far away from golden minds
I am the potter, speak that vase:
I am the eye that draws your eye,
I am the beauty that may touch your heart;
and to your mind, I bring the thought –
I too was born of dust, of clay and precious water,
decorated with a potter’s love;
one day I shall, by that accident which reigns
in life that passes, be broken into pieces
and return to dust…
you and I, our past is dust, our future dust –
but oh, the beauty of the present that’s eternal,
the joyous dancing of the here and now…
cobalt blue like sea and sky, innocent as white,
emerald as green fields fresh diamonded with dew..
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Vase Built With Love
For Melvina Germain
Who suggested I write something about a simple vase.
A vase stood on the mantle piece
and two red roses within it stood
one for each heart for whom the vase belonged.
A century before on a potter’s wheel
the vase was carefully crafted by two loving hands
then fired in an oven to keep the love within.
It was then decorated with the same loving care.
The images on it told a story
of two lovers parted by a war.
It told how they had met down a leafy lane
and how their love had grown.
Then came the thunder of an approaching war.
It recorded their last kiss together
before the war tore them apart.
It also told of the years of agony
of waiting for his return,
then of the joys of reuniting,
and how after so long
their love began again to burn.
All this lovingly painted
so everyone could learn
that love never diminishes
even when separated by a war.
18 October 2008
poem by David Harris
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Love Desires
A Rose in the vase which sits
Scent of desire fills the room
Your bitter sweet touch I feel
I need all your love to consume
Love Desires
You have that special touch
A touch I never felt in my life
It's the way you excite me so
With you there can be no strife
Love Desires
poem by Suelynn Walters
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I Need To Feel You Near
Do you stay with a craving...
That is a hunger for me?
And,
Is this...
Just more than a 'fling'?
And is it...
More than midnight 'thing',
Between...
You.and me,
To be?
Is it...
Just more than a 'fling'?
And is this...
More than midnight 'thing',
Between...
You.and me?
Do you stay,
With a hunger for me?
And...
Do you crave,
A taste to treat to feed,
From me...
Everyday?
Or...
Is this,
What I hope to see?
I'm the one who needs you...
Breathing on me.
And...
Touching my skin.
with a warmth that never ends.
And....
Am I the one who needs you,
More than I'm wishing...
You wont let go once you know.
Do you crave,
A tasty treat from me everyday?
And do you....
Stay with a hunger this way,
Just for me.
Do you stay with a craving...
That is hunger for me?
And,
Is this...
More than a midnight 'thing'.
'Cause....
I need to feel,
You touching me.
And I need to feel,
You breathing...
On my skin.
I need to feel,
You touching me.
And I need to feel,
You breathing.
And...
On my skin.
I need to feel you near and breathing...
On my skin.
I need to feel your touching to breathe,
On my skin.
I need to feel you touching,
On my skin.
I need to know that feeling here,
Next to me.
I need to know it and to have it here,
Next to me.
Next to me.
Next to me,
I need to know it and to have it here...
Next to me.
I need to know it with you showing it,
Next to me.
Next to me.
Next to me.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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When I Was A Young Girl
(A Song of Old Ballads)
WHEN I was a young girl, all in a green arbor,
When I was a young girl in Springtimes gone by
All the long days I went singing and smiling,
Down by the roses the sweet days beguiling,
Love in the arbor and love in the sky . . .
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, how happy was I!
Oh, the long days I must sit at my sampler,
Oh, the slow way that the still time would go!
I longed to be running across the bright heather,
'Off with the silk gown and on with the leather,
Following the raggle-taggle gypsies, oh!'
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, a long time ago!
When I was a young girl in days that were golden,
When I was a young girl, and life had no smart,
All the world seemed a place for my playing,
Full of great lovers to come to me, saying,
'Madam, I give you the keys of my heart . . .'
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, and dreaming apart!
When I was a young girl, I dreamed of my lover,
A tall cavalier who should whisper me low,
'Love, on your lips are red roses a-blowing,
I am your true love, and fast is time going
Am I your true love? Oh, say yes or no!'
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl–
When I was a young girl, a long time ago!
When I was a young girl there came my true lover,
Swiftly I knew him in glad days gone by;
Never a sword or a lovelock or feather,
But oh, at his touch 'twas our hearts came together,
Love in the arbor and love in the sky . . .
When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl,
When I was a young girl, how happy was I!
poem by Margaret Widdemer
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Where There's Smoke, There's Failure
So it goes like this,
Guy meets girl.
Guy buys flowers.
Girl puts them in a vase.
Guy buys a ring.
Girl says yes.
Guy goes to work.
Girl goes to work.
Guy meets girl.
Girl meets guy.
Guy and girl fight about girl and guy.
Guy leaves work for new work and gets an apartment by himself.
Girl moves over seas and doesn't have to work any more because she has a new guy and the old guy has to send her money from his new work.
Guy writes poems.
Guy writes about new girl and old girl and new guy and work and old friends.
Guy wants to stop working and sell poems about the stuff in his life so that he can do other stuff in his life without having to go to real work.
Guy does not yet have high selling collection of poems.
Guy goes to work.
Guy meets girl.
Guy buys flowers.
poem by John W. McEwers
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In This Skin
They see me in a magazine
I'm the one they want to be
Still don't feel I'm good enough
Still don't feel I'm thin enough
I stand up and I'm pushed back down
And every opinion now
It makes me feel inhuman
Giving in and giving up
To be worthy
To feel beautiful in this skin
Be beautiful in this skin[love the skin I'm in]
Love me for me
Have confidence in this skin
Be confident in this skin[in the skin I'm in]
So tell me what is wrong with me
I'm the girl with everything
So why am I not strong enough
I want to be strong enough
To tell you how I really feel
I know my talent is real
So don't tell me, don't tell me
I have to be 102
I don't have nothing to prove
So don't tell me, don't tell me
Cause I am worthy...
To feel beautiful in this skin
Be beautiful in this skin[love the skin I'm in]
Love me for me
Have confidence in this skin
Be confident in this skin[in the skin I'm in]
Be real, be real
See the beauty inside this skin
I don't have to hide this skin[love the skin I'm in]
I feel, I feel
An awakening in this skin
Stop forsaking me in this skin
I am, I am,
[Beatiful in this skin
'beatiful' lies within
Beatiful in this skin
I am]
To be worthy
Be beautiful
Love me for me
'Cuz I am beautiful
To feel beautiful in this skin
Be beautiful in this skin[love the skin I'm in]
Love me for me
Have confidence in this skin
Be confident in this skin[in the skin I'm in]
Be real, be real
See the beautiful in this skin
'Cuz I don't want to have to hide it
I feel, I feel
I'm beautiful in this skin
Beautiful in this skin
I'm beautiful
And your beautiful
Beautiful in this skin
I'm beautiful
And you are beautiful
Beautiful in this skin
song performed by by Jessica Simpson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Profusion
There are too many questions
There is not one solution
There is no resurrection
There is so much confusion
And the love profusion
You make me feel
You make me know
And the love vibration
You make me feel
You make it shine
There are too many options
There is no consolation
I have lost my illusions
What I want is an explanation
And the love profusion
You make me feel
You make me know
And the love direction
You make me feel
You make me shine
You make me feel
You make me shine
You make me feel
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
There is no comprehension
There is real isolation
There is so much destruction
What I want is a celebration
And I know I can feel bad
When I get in a bad mood
And the world can look so sad
Only you make me feel good
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
(Spoken:)
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
And the love profusion
You make me feel
You make me know
And the love intention
You make me feel
You make me shine
You make me feel
You make me shine
You make me feel
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
I got you under my skin
And I know I can feel bad
When I get in a bad mood
And the world can look so sad
Only you make me feel good
song performed by by Madonna
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Closer Look
I feel sorry for her, that girl
who looks at me,
with such sadness in her eyes
I feel sorry for her, that girl
who looks so desperate,
for a hug or a smile
I feel sorry for her, that girl
who sees the good in everyone
apart from herself
I feel sorry for her, that girl
who is so lost
and trying to reach for help
I feel sorry for her, that girl
who can solve others problems
but never her own
I feel so sorry for her, that girl
looking back at me,
from the mirror.
poem by Cabaline xxx
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Be clay
Don’t be half-hearted about this –
be clay.
You know all about clay –
be clay.
Humble, submissive, reverent –
awaiting the Potter’s hands.
Enjoy that humility, that surrender –
feel already so near God.
Now the wheel begins to turn –
the Potter is here!
Feel His hands – the more you feel them,
the more you know the love in them.
Now you’re being shaped:
turned on the wheel like a dervish turns,
you’re becoming like that tall column of stillness,
rising from the centre of the whirling skirt;
still; in the memory of the Potter’s hands;
you recognise yourself who waited for you.
*
[leaning on the poems of Hafiz]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Flowers In A Vase
A bunch of flowers
Sat in a vase
Colourful and lonely
A mind looks at them
Wondering
What is it they have to say
Are they a thank you
Or a gift of love
Are they an apology
Or given in remorse
Perhaps they are for nothing
Given to bring a smile
The mind looks on
Wondering for a while
The flowers sit in their vase
Unmoved by thought
Or the reason given to them
A little water at their base
To keep them fresh for a while
They are the end of the day
Just flowers in a vase
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Were Living In Our Own Time
Maurice white, michael colombier & allee willis
I feel it in the night
I hear a whisper, a ray of light
A flash across the sky
Through the window in my eyes
A bolt of thunder
Exploding in my mind
Is it real, what I feel
Its just like floating away
While the moon floods the room
I can hear music start to play
I see it on your face
Oh, what a difference lovin can make
Silence of the dark, words are falling
From my heart
Its all around us
My thoughts are calling
Imagination is born when loves alive
A spirit creating a place for you and i
Together lets ride away to find the universe
And let our dreams live our lives
Living in our own time
You are the answer
Loving on our own time
We found the answer
Hiding in the midnight
Now Im so willing to discover
Believing forever touching each other
Nothing out there can stop us tonight
All that were feeling so right
You mean so much to me
I feel so wanted, but still so free
The warmth of your embrace
I know time will not erase
Making it easy to go loving
You are the answer
Loving on our own time
We found the answer
Hiding in the midnight
song performed by by Earth Wind And Fire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The Other World
try standing naked by this mirror
see yourself to every detail
look closer to your eyes
count the waves of your eyelashes
open your mouth and see how many teeth you have
all white, pure white lining up on your pink gums
feel your lips with your fingertips
feel the pulp the flesh of the lower lip
to the upper lip
touch your hair
do not imagine them all black
closely they are not at all
move a little bit closer and see your body
this beautiful human body
flesh, contours, curves, some muscles
the whole of your skin wrapping
everything in your body holding them all
nothing falls, on this erect body, this
god before you, standing steel-like with dignity
in front of the mirror
do not claim you have seen your soul with your eyes
do not lie
be honest to yourself now,
alone, you are alone, do not imagine
any god, any soul, any spirit,
just be honest,
touch your body with your hands
feel the joy of having this body
your body, pinch a part of it to feel
not pain, but just to feel that you are alive,
do you ever ask what made these parts stay as one?
look again at the mirror of this stature
your body, it is you, touching your body
take a hammer, and destroy the mirror
shatter everything to pieces
this is the world without a mirror
there is nothing to reflect you now
nothing to imagine, it is you, the real you
do you ever ask now, where is that other world?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Be My Space-Time Einstein Valentine
Yesterday...
Valentine's, you missed it, too bad, he left no forwarding address-
I watched from the pub window
as a van from a high-class Consultant on
spatial and temporal problems
it implied
in one of those pretentious titles
of enterprising thirtyish freelance entrepreneurs
gunning for a profitable big corporation buy-out I guess
pulled up and parked in the very place
and for the very time
guaranteed to cause most disruption
to the desperate gotta-buy-her-sump'n traffic on the busy road
while I in my righteous citizen mode
frowned and awaited developments
until many minutes later
he returned
looking very pleased with himself
carrying a bunch
of not many red roses
in a cut-glass vase (clever florist) ,
i'm not sure about the water - the vase was tilted
in his hasty, laddish, anticipatory hand
and drove off.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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So Good So Right
This one is special for all the ladies
You never know I was that type of man
So good so right so good so, so good so
right so good so
So good so right so good so, so good so
right so good so
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
But you keep on watching the time,
Wondering what's on my mind
So you say you can't stay too long, cause
You know what I'm all a...
What I'm all about, what I'm all about
I don't have to sing and shout, what I'm
All about
You know what I'm all about
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Yes it's the truth it's the fact, I'm coming
To you straight from
The back in a mastering room style
Don't be shy, don't you lie, look into my
Eye
I'll tell you why, I'll teach you about
Feeling high
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Never before have you seen this, so I say
This feeling sink within my head, oh yea,
Oh yea
Never before have you believe it, so I mean
What I say
You just got to be yourself
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Yea, feel so good about something so
Right could it last another night
A feel so good about something so right
A feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
So good so right so good so, so good so
Right so good so
So good so right so good s, so good so
Right so good so
Yes it is the strife of my life, to explain
What's in my brain
If you believe what I say, baby, baby
A check in, check in, check check, check in
Check in
Check in, check in, check in, a check in,
Check in, check into my hotel
A feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
A feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
So good, so right, so good, so right, so
Good, so right
So right, I feel so good could it last
Another night
A feel so right could it last another
Night
A feel so good something so right, so
Good
Lord, I said I feel so right
A feel so good, oh could it last another
Night
A feel so right, oh could it last another
Night
A feel so good oh could it last another
Night
A feel so right oh could it last another
Night
So good, o right, so good, so right, so
Good, so good, so right
song performed by by Ziggy Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Feel Good
What a beautiful morning
Just to wake up beside you
Is something Ive missed for so long
Im so glad that you came back home
Baby let me tell you
How my days slipped away
And how I was afraid of the night
But now Im alright
I feel good
Feeling like a lover should
What else can I say
Wont forget the day
You came back to stay
I feel so good (I feel good, I feel good, I feel good)
Finally we understood
You and me were meant
True lovers from the start
We can never part
Our love is grown stronger
More than any temptation
In this world could possibly be
Theres no doubt cause its plain to see
I feel good
Feeling like a lover should
What else can I say
Wont forget the day
You came back to stay
I feel so good (I feel good, I feel good, I feel good)
Finally we understood
You and me were meant
True lovers from the start
We can never part
I feel good
Feeling like a lover should
What else can I say
Wont forget the day
You came back to stay
I feel so good (I feel good, I feel good, I feel good)
Finally we understood
You and me...
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Vase
the vase where
your flower is put
is filled with
mosquitoes
do you still want to
put it there?
in this lousy metaphor
my body is the vase.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Zen and the art of plastic flower maintenance
From time to time, when
I’ve been meditating, and
these things matter, I pick respectfully
the plastic flowers from their vase,
wash the vase, wipe the dust
off the leaves with a moist cloth,
dip the flower-heads in water
as one would give someone
a holy bath
and then replace them in
a slightly new position in the vase,
a slightly new position on the table.
absurdity and
something beautiful
have met and got along together rather well.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Touching
Touching are words expressed,
When hearts are filled with such emptiness.
Touching is that lost contact,
We long to hold and feel against our chests.
Touching are the flow of memories,
Coming when someone has left.
So touching we are when those times arrive.
And touching we wish,
To be done when the end comes.
As tears are cried.
And those with touching emotions,
Felt with sighs...
Inside.
Rising to surface...
Are not found to be at their best.
When wept!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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