Hinged To Forgetfulness Like A Door
Hinged to forgetfulness
like a door,
she slowly closed out of
sight,
and she was the woman I loved,
but too many times she slept like
a mechanical deer in my caresses,
and I ached in the metal silence
of her dreams.
poem by Richard Brautigan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Stuck With Mixed Emotions
You've got me,
Locked.
You've got me hinged.
You've got my heart to open up.
But you keep yours,
Hidden within.
I am locked.
And magnetized.
I feel as if a need is clinging,
To never let this feeling end.
You've got me locked.
You've got me hinged.
You've got my heart to open up.
But...
Your door stays closed within.
What am I to do?
You've got me stuck with mixed emotions.
What am I to do?
I can't saddle up and leave.
What am I to do?
You've got me stuck with mixed emotions.
And,
I'd rather not be sure...
Than be sure I've been delusioned.
You've got me locked.
You've got me hinged.
You've got my heart to open up.
But...
Your door stays closed within.
What am I to do?
You've got me stuck with mixed emotions.
What am I to do?
I can't saddle up and leave.
What am I to do?
You've got me stuck with mixed emotions.
And,
I'd rather not be sure...
Than be sure I've been delusioned.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The nudity, no need
Than the sight of a woman in circus,
Who bares herself save chest and hip,
The sight of a housewife excites more
When she walks through a stream
With her sari tucked up above the knee.
Than the sight of a supple woman in gymnastics,
Who shows her bare limbs and contour,
The sight of a woman next door excites more
When she stoops to sweep the yard,
Her blouse betraying her cleavage.
Than the sight of a virulent woman in swimsuit
Who swims in apparent transparency
The sight of a known woman excites more
When seen behind in front seat of the bus,
Her bra cut seen through beneath the blouse.
To excite, no need to expose
01.11.98
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Voice
I do not wish anyone to be near my sadness—
Not even your dear step and your loved face,
Nor your indolent hand which caresses with a finger
The lazy ribbon and the closed book.
Leave me. Let my door today remain closed;
Do not open my window to the fresh wind of morning;
My heart today is miserable and sullen
And everything seems to me somber and everything seems vain.
My sadness comes from something further than myself;
It is strange to me and is not of me;
And every man, whether he sings or he laughs or he loves,
In his time hears that which speaks low to him,
And something then stirs and awakens,
Is perturbed, spreads and laments in him,
Because of this dull voice which says in his ear
That the flower of life in its fruit is ashes.
poem by Henri de Regnier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Engravings Of The Heart
everyday is a
betrayal
a closed door
assures
one dreams
wide awake
smiles are
sub-chapters
no matter what
two are still one
lies are sweet
creams coating
everyday is a
comfort too
there is a promise
of growing together
older and bolder
and number
everyday is
forgiving
betrayal and
forgiving marry
the home is still
the apple of the eye
a closed door is
always reassuring
silence is the sky
mouths beautifully shut
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I am the woman
I am the woman who is unstoppable
I am the woman
Whose dreams are immeasurable
I am the woman
Of a different breed, unbelievable
I am the woman
Of all times, incredible
I am a woman
With passion and purpose, unspeakable
I am the woman
Who decides where I should fall
In this universe, unpredictable
I am the woman
Who refuse to lessen my dreams
To meet man’s expectation, inconceivable
I am a woman
Of greatness and this greatness
Should never be compromise, remarkable
I am that GREAT WOMAN
poem by Kathy Elliott
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Woman of my imagination's dreams
Wonderful Woman
Wonderous Woman
Woman of my imagination's dreams
How did you find me?
How do I know you?
Wonderful Woman
Wonderous Woman
It is you I have longed for
Yet still I long for you
Woman of my imagination's dreams
Wonderful Woman
Wonderous Woman
How you have loved me
Yet how I have loved you
Woman of my dreams
poem by Peter Stavropoulos
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Ode To The Only Girl
I've seen you many times in many places--
Theater, bus, train, or on the street;
Smiling in spring rain, in winter sleet,
Eyes of any hue in myriad faces;
Midnight black, all shades of brown your hair,
Long, short, bronze or honey-fair.
Instantly have I loved, have never spoken;
Slowly a truck passed, a light changed,
A door closed--all seemingly pre-arranged--
Then you were gone forever, the spell was broken.
Ubiquitios only one, we've met before
A hundred times, and we'll meet again
As many more; in hills or forest glen,
On crowded street or lonely, peaceful shore;
Somewhere, someday--but how will we ever know
True love, how wil we ever know?
poem by John Williams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mechanical Angel
The Mechanical Angel
Is made of tin
Put together with screws
And mixed with sin.
The Mechanical Angel's
Paint never fades.
Underneath her perfect fingers
Hide hidden blades.
The Mechanical Angel
Must constantly grease her joints.
Her nails are sharp
And her teeth filed to points.
The Mechanical Angel's
Head is dusty.
She is uncared for,
She's getting rusty.
The Mechanical Angel
Cannot feel.
She cannot hear, cannot understand,
Her wings are made of steel.
The Mechanical Angel
Is made of tin.
She shuts the world out
And locks herself in.
poem by Tessa Marshall
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Forgetfulness
Forgetfulness is like a song
That, freed from beat and measure, wanders.
Forgetfulness is like a bird whose wings are reconciled,
Outspread and motionless, --
A bird that coasts the wind unwearyingly.
Forgetfulness is rain at night,
Or an old house in a forest, -- or a child.
Forgetfulness is white, -- white as a blasted tree,
And it may stun the sybil into prophecy,
Or bury the Gods.
I can remember much forgetfulness.
poem by Hart Crane
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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The dream merchants
You wanted dreams,
but didn’t have any
or so you thought
as if they had been robbed from you
by weird goblins
during the dark night
who were ready to sell them
to each and any one
but you
and were there
when ever you closed your eyes.
Yet, I heard you talk in your sleep
and sometimes having fun
and at other times having night mares
you slept next to me dreaming on.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Forgetfulness
Forgetfulness is like a song
That, freed from beat and measure, wanders.
Forgetfulness is like a bird whose wings are reconciled,
Outspread and motionless, --
A bird that coasts the wind unwearyingly.
Forgetfulness is rain at night,
Or an old house in a forest, -- or a child.
Forgetfulness is white, -- white as a blasted tree,
And it may stun the sybil into prophecy,
Or bury the Gods.
I can remember much forgetfulness.
poem by Harold Hart Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fairy Tale
Many times upon a time
There was a man who loved a woman.
Many times upon a time
There was a woman who loved a man.
Many times upon a time
There was a man and there was a woman
Who did not love the ones who loved them.
Once upon a time
Perhaps only once
A man and a woman who loved each other.
poem by Robert Desnos
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Perhaps The Cat!
he rose from the coffin,
shook himself, and walked,
out the door, out of sight.
the body he left behind,
nothing but an empty shell!
the mourners wept for the body.
who sings the song of
the spirit set free?
who sees with his eyes?
who knows his heart?
perhaps the blind man
at the piano...
perhaps the cat that followed
his steps, in search of food!
perhaps the wind that
closed the door behind...
perhaps the ones who really loved,
or the child waving at the window!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Derelict
Written by dave walker.
Oh I slept in a derelict
And I ate off the floor
I was wrapped in a blanket
As a knock came on the door
You can get out of here
Said a man in a raincoat
So I moved in with you and you loved me
Took a trip down the highway
And I spoke with my folks
Its a serious business
And theres no time for jokes
You can get out of here
Said a middle aged lady
So I moved in with you, and you loved me
Yes you loved, you loved me
There was so much at stake
Too much confusion
Id had all I could take
No more get out of heres
From a man in a raincoat
Cause I moved in with you, and you loved me
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Her Desire for 40G
Now back when I was 28,
I met and loved a 38 –
DD!
Hmm…I never really saw her eyes…
Perhaps I never needed to –
‘Twas all about her size.
Come on, be honest,
You really show surprise?
Oh yes, the storyline:
One sunny day she said to me,
‘I need to make you happy, see,
By undergoing surgery
So you can have my guarantee
That when you see my 40G,
You’ll hit new heights of ecstasy! ’
‘Phew! ’ I drew a breath.
‘Well thank you dear, you’re very kind,
But won’t you risk me going blind?
If one of those should catch my eye,
I’m sure to wave them both goodbye;
And after all, you’re rather tall –
With extra weight you’ll likely fall;
Forwards, I should clarify.
Hmm…we’re back again to my poor eye.’
‘It’s all about your precious sight! ’
She screamed at me with all her might,
‘I only want to make you proud
And me to stand out in the crowd.’
‘You do already stand right out!
Any more, then there’s no doubt
You might as well just poke me blind,
So in the streets I’ll tag behind,
Unaware of all the fuss,
Especially when on the bus –
Assuming you could squeeze on board…
Hmm…at least I know I’ll be ignored…
Okay – go get them done.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman woman woman
woman woman woman woman
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Closed Door
sometimes we want to enter
a door
a closed door that does not open
no matter how hard we
knock
we try being courteous and gentle
and so patient
eating every waiting time
like we are the most foolish of all fools
knocking a closed door
seducing it more often with our
pleadings
begging and even compromising
for a dance
to convince the owner of the door to
open it
but no one hears, no one cares to listen
to our pleadings,
no one likes the dance of compromises
the door is still closed
and then the last crooked thing happens
we take the axe
and break the door which is closed
forcing it open
only to find that all the people there are dead
there is nothing inside
but mystery and
grief
an unsolved crime, no more
no less.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How much we loved each other and we thought [Cât ne iubeam, şi cum credeam odată]
How much we loved each other and we thought
That our sincere affection would endure,
That what we had in mind were notions pure
About that world perpetual we sought!
Time and again, my wish to hold you tight
Against my chest, more ardent was and great,
And on my heart it put a heavy weight:
The day I die... and tears obscured your sight...
Today, it's just a tale, not even sore,
Because all things came quickly to an end;
There's not a trace of what it was before,
So many vain illusions, my dear friend!
A sign, a kerchief waving at the door.
And then we in forgetfulness descend.
poem by Alexandru Vlahuţă, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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A lump of old metal
It was a lump of old metal,
a car with no heart
cocooning him, purring
through back lanes,
down dark, cold streets,
warming him through
and he felt safe inside,
so that when, in December,
the car 'died' his body
shook with tears,
bitter, unrestrained tears
and I ached, to see him like that
on our last ride, so sad.
My sweet little boy
with his shirt hanging out
and his eyes, red and swollen
for a lump of old metal
that was our chariot of gold.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mind Dance
I caught my reflection in the mirror
It was my own hand that ran through my hair,
I listened as my favorite artist crooned
Closed my eyes
Imagined your touch
There in the warmth of your lap,
I rest my head
My eyes stay closed
Your hand
The hand of love and warmth
Gently caresses my face,
My mouth
And slowly
Your fingers run through my hair
From the base of my roots
to the tips of the strand
You touch me,
And I am whole.
poem by Nancy Fischer
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Natalia’s Resurrection: Sonnet XII
He slept as only under the free heaven
It is given to sleep, a slumber shadowless
As the broad river to whose banks at even
That spirit comes which brings forgetfulness,
A silence undisturbed by the world's tread,
Which sees not, hears not, feels not, yet is girt
With sound and light and sense; which seeming dead
Drinks in Earth's life in cure of every hurt
And so takes consolation. Dreams anon
Come for the soul's refreshment, apparitions
Begot of heaven's beauty and the sun,
No meaningless expectance of sad visions
But tales prophetic of new days more fair
And to be numbered with the things that are,
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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