The Year I Almost Became A Catholic by Raul Voz
(translated from the Spanish by Warren Falcon)
The year I almost became a Catholic
5 stars rose from your breasts in Spring.
My nest was a sudden disturbance in blue.
A veil
a floating head
bleeding thorns
adorned your white throat.
I fled from my boat after one
long night of fishing only to
arrive ashore with torn nets
and apparitions upon my knees.
Without will my cursing ceased.
I discovered I was speechless.
I learned to speak with my hands.
Curious circular clouds surrounded
particular heads without logic.
Genuflections strange rearranged
the air in front of my chest while I
sat upon or hid my left hand.
Purple became everything dear.
Roses diminished before your
bare feet treading upon a serpent,
a tourniquet of gold each ankle
entwining.
Virgin stars minus 5 surrounded
your curved shape defiant of robes
meant to convey the holy restraining
in my groin.
Odd collections mounted in the attic
where I retired to cloister and wait.
Leaden pilgrimage up and down pointless
stairs accumulated distance.
My beard became a convention of lepers and bells.
Fingernail parings
clumps of hair
bits of flesh
sacks of ears
all were relics in the making.
I became an accountant listing and numbering each holy scrap.
I tried not to be critical but my eyes lied.
I could not confess except by pencil,
leaving notes and grease stains
for the priest to interpret.
Absolution my hope,
a mute vow was my prosthesis.
Then Spring returned.
My boat sank. All mended nets,
a year's work, were lost.
Nothing to do.
I return to you, a parenthesis in the sea of loneliness.
Each star, each breast, you have removed
in my absence, mourning made permanent,
scars upon your throat oddly fish-shaped.
Astonished, my voice returns, curses then caresses,
withered left hand free to unravel regret nerve for
nerve, the only net worth mending.
I reserve this one strange act from a year of orthodoxy,
to anoint your feet with tears.
I dry them with my hair, your outstretched arms
a beseeching beyond emptiness, your chest barren
but for my hands remembering the uses of prayer,
kisses but murmurs, rumored stars where swollen sails had been.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Your Throat Oddly Fish-Shaped - Making Amends
I return to you, a parenthesis in the sea of loneliness.
Each star, each breast, you have removed
in my absence, mourning made permanent,
scars upon your throat oddly fish-shaped.
Astonished, my voice returns, curses, then caresses,
withered left hand free to unravel regret nerve for
nerve, the only net worth mending.
I reserve this one strange act from a year of orthodoxy,
to anoint your feet with tears.
I dry them with my hair, your outstretched arms
a beseeching beyond emptiness, your chest barren
but for my hands remembering the uses of prayer,
kisses but murmurs, rumored stars where swollen sails had been.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Excelsis Deo - A Surrealist Carol For Madrigal Choir To Be Sung While Bathing
.
Hair of soap and head of tears
rinse mine eyes of Christmas stars
O bells, the bells sear me
Wash my hair of splendid fears
water me hot and redly rare
O trumps, the trumpets blear me
Scars heal me up to here
scald me pinkly if you dare
O gay, the gay sleds slay me
Is that flesh floating on the surface me
who swims or sinks fraternally?
I know a strange me
with soap for eyes
and suds for see
Eternally yours,
He.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fishing
They dropped the sails of their boats
near the shore of the Sea of Galilee
at early morning-light
and were heavy-eyed and tired
having worked in vain
all night long
and washed the nets
while the sun rose hot
in the blue cloudless sky.
From the distance a crowd
came nearer following
a holy man and listening to him
and he climbed into one of the boats,
asked Simon to sail
a little bit off shore
and sat teaching the people
from the boat.
The fishermen stopped working
and started listening
to the beautiful things that he said
and yet there he was still
just a man to them
and maybe a great prophet.
He instructed Simon
to sail into deep water
and to set the nets
for a catch.
Shaking his head
Simon explained that they
had worked all night long
without catching anything
but something about this holy man
made them obey.
When they brought the nets up
there were too many fish
for the nets to hold
and they beckoned their partners
in the other boat to help
and filled both boats
past their capacity
and suddenly Simon knew
that the Son of God
was sailing with him
and fell on his knees crying out:
'Go away from me, Lord;
I am a sinful man! '
And the fishermen were astounded
at the large catch that they had taken
and Jesus said that henceforth
they would be catching men
and they shored their boats,
leaving everything
to follow Him.
[Reference: Luke 5: 1-11.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Excelsis Deo - Variations Of A Surrealist Carol For Madrigal Choir To Be Sung While Bathing
1
Hair of soap and head of tears
rinse mine eyes of Christmas stars
O bells, the bells sear me
Wash my hair of splendid fears
water me hot and redly rare
O trumps, the trumpets blear me
Scars heal me up to here
scald me pinkly if you dare
O gay, the gay sleds slay me
Is that flesh floating on the surface me
who swims or sinks fraternally?
I know a strange me
with soap for eyes
and suds for see
Eternally yours,
He.
2
Hair of soap
and head of tears
Rinse mine eyes
of Christmas stars
O Bells, the Bells sear me.
Rinse mine eyes
of Christmas stars
Water me hot
and redly rare
O Fey, the Fey stars blear me.
Water me hot
and redly rare
Scald me pinkly
if you dare
O Gay, the Gay sleds slay me.
Is that flesh
floating on the
surface me who
swims or sinks
fraternally?
I know a strange me
with soap for eyes
and suds to see
Eternally yours,
He.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Excelsis Deo - A Surrealist Carol For Madrigal Choir To Be Sung While Bathing 2
.
Later revision
Hair of soap
and head of tears
Rinse mine eyes
of Christmas stars
O Bells, the Bells sear me.
Rinse mine eyes
of Christmas stars
Water me hot
and redly rare
O Fey, the Fey stars blear me.
Water me hot
and redly rare
Scald me pinkly
if you dare
O Gay, the Gay sleds slay me.
Is that flesh
floating on the
surface me who
swims or sinks
fraternally?
I know a strange me
with soap for eyes
and suds to see
Eternally yours,
He.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Year Of Meteors, 1859 '60
YEAR of meteors! brooding year!
I would bind in words retrospective, some of your deeds and signs;
I would sing your contest for the 19th Presidentiad;
I would sing how an old man, tall, with white hair, mounted the
scaffold in Virginia;
(I was at hand--silent I stood, with teeth shut close--I watch'd;
I stood very near you, old man, when cool and indifferent, but
trembling with age and your unheal'd wounds, you mounted the
scaffold;)
--I would sing in my copious song your census returns of The States,
The tables of population and products--I would sing of your ships and
their cargoes,
The proud black ships of Manhattan, arriving, some fill'd with
immigrants, some from the isthmus with cargoes of gold;
Songs thereof would I sing--to all that hitherward comes would I
welcome give; 10
And you would I sing, fair stripling! welcome to you from me, sweet
boy of England!
Remember you surging Manhattan's crowds, as you pass'd with your
cortege of nobles?
There in the crowds stood I, and singled you out with attachment;
I know not why, but I loved you... (and so go forth little song,
Far over sea speed like an arrow, carrying my love all folded,
And find in his palace the youth I love, and drop these lines at his
feet;)
--Nor forget I to sing of the wonder, the ship as she swam up my bay,
Well-shaped and stately the Great Eastern swam up my bay, she was 600
feet long,
Her, moving swiftly, surrounded by myriads of small craft, I forget
not to sing;
--Nor the comet that came unannounced out of the north, flaring in
heaven; 20
Nor the strange huge meteor procession, dazzling and clear, shooting
over our heads,
(A moment, a moment long, it sail'd its balls of unearthly light over
our heads,
Then departed, dropt in the night, and was gone;)
--Of such, and fitful as they, I sing--with gleams from them would I
gleam and patch these chants;
Your chants, O year all mottled with evil and good! year of
forebodings! year of the youth I love!
Year of comets and meteors transient and strange!--lo! even here, one
equally transient and strange!
As I flit through you hastily, soon to fall and be gone, what is this
book,
What am I myself but one of your meteors?
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Before Choir One Friday Eve
Before choir practice
before entering
the vestry door
you and Judith
stayed behind
and waited until
the others
had gone inside
and Judith said
look at those stars
and how dark blue
the sky is
you gazed up
at the evening spread
of dark blue
and stars
and moon
to one side
and you put
your hand
around her waist
and drew her close
and she lay
against you
and you said
I read some place
that some
of those distant stars
burned out
centuries ago
and what we see
is the ghostly glow
of dead stars
and she turned your head
towards her
and kissed you
and the pressing
of her lips on yours
and her hands
on your waist
and her 13 year old
breasts pushing
against your
14 year old chest
and the sound
of the choir starting up
in practice in the church
and the flight of bats
across
the evening sky
and she holding you near
and the lips engaged
and the eyes closed
and the breathing
taken in
coming up for air
and behind you
the aging graves
the tombstones
with moss
and half lit
by moonlight
and star's glow
and you held her
in place face to face
with your hands
upon the cheeks
of her behind
eyes still closed
in the land
of the love sucked
blind.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It Was Nothing....
orally fixated said he
to the two handsome men aboard that boat
going to an island
where paradise is rumored
on the other side
is a young man and a young woman
too in love
they were holding hands
throughout the trip
her head resting on his
chest
the sound of the boat is insistent
slashing the sea
into a slit of foam and bubble
i was alone, spying on every human aspect
of the trip
to that rumored paradise
they all look at me
thinking that i must be weird or cruel
not having with me anyone
i do not mind
i am on this curious trip to that rumored paradise
spying on every one who is on that boat
i am the spectator
taking notes inside my mind
humanity is mixed nuts
and i am enjoying it
now orally fixated on every one
aboard that boat that shall take us to that rumored paradise
when we arrive there
it was nothing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Take This Body
Take this body, my love,
my body, my love,
feel my knees and my arms,
feel my fingers on your hair,
cold fingers, sad fingers,
kiss my mouth, my love,
ever so gently
caressing my chest and stroking my hair,
play with it-whatever is left of it-
I'm sad, my love,
and as I hear you laugh,
I feel the water around my eyes,
my brown eyes, the eyes of a poet,
the eyes of a stranger-
I'm a stranger, my love,
I'm a stranger in a strange land
of secret kisses and lovelorn faces,
of cold bodies huddled together,
hiding behind stiff dresses
and tightly fitting jeans,
I'm a stranger to a kiss,
I'm a stranger to a moist mouth
and a playful tongue,
I'm a stranger to a warm breast,
I stand here bespectacled and confused,
scratching my scraggly beard,
forcing a faint smile-
there is so much pain, my love,
right here in the palm of my hand,
right here in the lump of my throat,
right here in the tightness of my chest,
I'm strung like an instrument
with shrunken testicles
and immobilized toes-
see me tremble, my love,
see me shed a tear
onto this dusty world-
I'm with you, my love,
I'm with you alone,
I'm with you in embrace
of tender passion,
I'm in love with you
and that's why
I'm full of
tears.
poem by Alexander Shaumyan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Leda
Do you remember, Leda?
There are those who love, to whom Love brings
Great gladness: such things have not I.
Love looks and has no mercy, brings
Long doom to others. Such was I.
Heart breaking hand upon the lute
Long last made musical by you?
Sharp bird-beak in the swelling fruit,
Or raise the eyelids of these flowers?
I dare not watch that hidden pool,
Nor see the wild bird's sudden wing
Lifting the wide, brown shaken pool,
But round me falls that secret wing,
And in that sharp, perverse, sweet pain
That is half-terror and half-bliss
My withered hands are curled on pain
That were so wide once, after bliss.
And gold is springing in my hair
As my thought spring and flower with it,
Though I sit hid in my grey hair,
Without love or the pain of it.
Yet, oh my Swan, if love have wings,
As the gods tell us, you were love
Who took and broke me with those wings.
I, weak, and being far gone in love
Let blushless things be breathed and done-
Things flowered out now in bitter fruit
That once done are no more undone
Than last year's frost and last year's fruit.
For what has come of love and me
Who knew the first joy that loving is?
Where has love led and beckoned me
But to the end where nothing is?
I have seen my blood beat out again
Red in the hands of all my line,
My sin has swelled and flowered again
Corrupt and fierce through Sparta's line.
Bred through me-bred through delicate hands
And wandering eyes and wanton lips,
Sighing after strange flesh as sighed these lips,
Straying after new sin as strayed these hands.
Mother of Helen! She whose breasts
To new desires unshaped the world;
Above Troy's summit towered these breasts
Helen who wantoned with the world!
Helen is dead (she had love enough
To mock at doom and laugh at shrine)
And Clytemnestra, quiet enough
To-night beneath Apollo's shrine.
And I am left, the source, the spring
Of all their madness. They are dead
While I still sit here, the old spring
That fouled them flows above the dead.
But I have paid. I have borne enough.
I am very old in love and woe.
For all souls these things are enough-
Who have known love are the friends of woe.
There those who love, and who escape,
There are those who love and do not die.
I loved, and there was no escape,
Long since I died and daily die.
And death alone makes hate and love
Friends with each other and with sleep . . .
All's quiet here that once was love,
This that is left belongs to sleep.
poem by Muriel Stuart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lost In The Stars
(kurt weill/maxwell anderson)
Before lord God made the sea and the land
He held all the stars in the palm of his hand
And they ran through his fingers like grains of sand
And one little star fall alone
Then the lord God hunted through the wild night air
For the little dark star in the wind down there
And he stated and promised hed take special care
So it wouldnt get lost again
Now, man dont mind if the stars grow dim
And the clouds blow over and darken him
So long as the lord gods watching over him
Keeping track how it all goes on
But Ive been walking through the night and the day
Till my eyes get weary and my hair turns grey
And sometimes it seems maybe gods gone away
Forgetting the promise that we heard him say
And were lost out here in the stars
Little stars, big stars
Blowing through the night
And were lost out here in the stars
Little stars, big stars
Blowing through the night
And were lost out here in the stars
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
This Is A Boat
this is a boat and it is in my hand
the hand is the sea
and my fingers keep it wavy
this is the boat and it is wooden
and it is loaded unevenly on its left side
and so it leans on the heavy
edge like it is a man
with a shorter left foot
and walks like the
floor is uneven
and imperfect
this is my body and it has become an ocean
and the boat sails on without the sun
my eyes the moon and stars
and they are closed
this is the darkness where the boat sails
and this is the silence
of its journey
this is my mind
and everything: the boat, the sea, the ocean
the tilting, the weight of the load,
things exist because i let them so
this is my hand and this is the sea of waves
these emotions
this is the mouth speaking
without any sense at all like a woman nude
running for life away from the atomic bomb
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Boy With A Moon And Star On His Head
A gardener's daughter stopped me on my way, on the day i was
To wed
It is you who i wish to share my body with she said
We'll find a dry place under the sky with a flower for a bed
And for my joy i will give you a boy with a moon and
Star on his head.
Her silver hair flowed in the air laying waves across the sun
Her hands were like the white sands, and her eyes had
Diamonds on.
We left the road and headed up to the top of the
Whisper wood
And we walked 'till we came to where the holy magnolia stood.
And there we laid cool in the shade singing songs and
Making love...
With the naked earth beneath us and the universe above.
The time was late my wedding wouldn't wait i was sad but
I had to go,
So while she was asleep i kissed her cheek for cheerio.
The wedding took place and people came from many
Miles around
There was plenty merriment, cider and wine abound
But out of all that i recall i remembered the girl i met
'cause she had given me something that my hear could not
Forget.
A year had passed and everything was just as it was a year
Before...
As if was a year before...
Until the gift that someone left, a basket by my door.
And in there lay the fairest little baby crying to be fed,
I got down on my knees and kissed the moon and star on
His head.
As years went by the boy grew high and the village looked
On in awe
They'd never seen anything like the boy with the moon and
Star before.
And people would ride from far and wide just to seek the
Word he spread
I'll tell you everything i've learned, and love is all...he said.
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Boy With A Moon & Star On His Head
A gardeners daughter stopped me on my way, on the day I was
To wed
It is you who I wish to share my body with she said
Well find a dry place under the sky with a flower for a bed
And for my joy I will give you a boy with a moon and
Star on his head.
Her silver hair flowed in the air laying waves across the sun
Her hands were like the white sands, and her eyes had
Diamonds on.
We left the road and headed up to the top of the
Whisper wood
And we walked till we came to where the holy magnolia stood.
And there we laid cool in the shade singing songs and
Making love...
With the naked earth beneath us and the universe above.
The time was late my wedding wouldnt wait I was sad but
I had to go,
So while she was asleep I kissed her cheek for cheerio.
The wedding took place and people came from many
Miles around
There was plenty merriment, cider and wine abound
But out of all that I recall I remembered the girl I met
cause she had given me something that my hear could not
Forget.
A year had passed and everything was just as it was a year
Before...
As if was a year before...
Until the gift that someone left, a basket by my door.
And in there lay the fairest little baby crying to be fed,
I got down on my knees and kissed the moon and star on
His head.
As years went by the boy grew high and the village looked
On in awe
Theyd never seen anything like the boy with the moon and
Star before.
And people would ride from far and wide just to seek the
Word he spread
Ill tell you everything Ive learned, and love is all...he said.
song performed by by Cat Stevens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Guardian Angels
A Ballad
Father John in the green lane went
And he drew his robe full tight,
'I would,' quoth he, 'I were home again
For there's evil in the night.
'I would,' quoth he, 'the gold I bear
Were safe with the poor and old,
For strange the fear that follows me
That my eyes cannot behold.'
He looked him left and there he saw
A white rose climb and cling,
He looked him right and in the brake
A wild bird shook his wing.
He looked him back and far there stood
The old church tall and dim,
Yet on the lonely path there came
A terror strange to him.
Without the shadow of the trees
That bent above his way,
Where lost the moon her silver light,
He stood at last at bay.
And on his gown, from his pale brow
Fell great tears of his fright;
His shaking hands held close the gold
Wrapped in its cloth so white.
He knelt him down upon his knee
And prayed the Lord to hear,
'Christ, loosen Thou these laggard feet
That hold me slow in fear.
'Oh, strengthen Thou this childish heart
That trembles all afraid,
In pity for the calling sick
Who die without my aid.
'And let me bring all safely through
The shadows of the night,
The gold I bear for old and poor,
Still Thou this strange affright.'
And as he prayed from off his heart
Fear's clutching fingers fell,
A holy joy grew in his heart
He knew that all was well.
He turned him left and stayed to take
A white rose from her tree,
He turned him right and lilted low
A wild bird melody.
He looked him back and smiling saw
The tall church guarding him,
And then all fearless laughing sped
Through shadows strange and dim.
When but a year had passed away
There came before his gate,
A dying man who 'Succour,' cried
'Before it be too late.'
'Oh, shrive me, Father, ere I die,'
The moaning stranger said;
He took him to his own hearth side
And laid him on his bed.
'Oh, Father! Father! hear me now
And let me rest in peace.'
'Now speak, my son, and tell your sin
To give your soul release.'
'It was one night a year ago—
Sweet Mary, ease my pain—
I followed far your toiling feet
Within a lonely lane.
'The red gold for the old and poor
You had beneath your gown,
I hid within a darksome place
Where I could strike you down.'
Now Father John he smiled and leant
In pity by the bed,
'I did disarm you by my prayer,
I thank the Lord,' he said.
'I went in fear upon my path
I knew some danger lay,
And lone I knelt upon the road
A little while to pray.'
The dying man he raised his head
And laughed both long and loud,
'Oh, ne'er a prayer would hold my hand
Or keep you from your shroud.
'But by you went two mighty men
To guard you either side,
Else had my dagger reached your heart
And surely you had died.'
Then Father John upon his knees
Bent low his holy head,
'God's angels walked beside me there
Lest you my blood should shed
My guardian angels walked by me,
I thank Thee, Lord,' he said.
poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Late Spring
I
Ah, who will tell me, in these leaden days,
Why the sweet Spring delays,
And where she hides, -- the dear desire
Of every heart that longs
For bloom, and fragrance, and the ruby fire
Of maple-buds along the misty hills,
And that immortal call which fills
The waiting wood with songs?
The snow-drops came so long ago,
It seemed that Spring was near!
But then returned the snow
With biting winds, and all the earth grew sere,
And sullen clouds drooped low
To veil the sadness of a hope deferred:
Then rain, rain, rain, incessant rain
Beat on the window-pane,
Through which I watched the solitary bird
That braved the tempest, buffeted and tossed,
With rumpled feathers, down the wind again.
Oh, were the seeds all lost
When winter laid the wild flowers in their tomb?
I searched their haunts in vain
For blue hepaticas, and trilliums white,
And trailing arbutus, the Spring's delight,
Starring the withered leaves with rosy bloom.
The woods were bare: and every night the frost
To all my longings spoke a silent nay,
And told me Spring was far and far away.
Even the robins were too cold to sing,
Except a broken and discouraged note, --
Only the tuneful sparrow, on whose throat
Music has put her triple finger-print,
Lifted his head and sang my heart a hint, --
"Wait, wait, wait! oh, wait a while for Spring!"
II
But now, Carina, what divine amends
For all delay! What sweetness treasured up,
What wine of joy that blends
A hundred flavours in a single cup,
Is poured into this perfect day!
For look, sweet heart, here are the early flowers,
That lingered on their way,
Thronging in haste to kiss the feet of May,
And mingled with the bloom of later hours, --
Anemonies and cinque-foils, violets blue
And white, and iris richly gleaming through
The grasses of the meadow, and a blaze
Of butter-cups and daisies in the field,
Filling the air with praise,
As if a silver chime of bells had pealed!
The frozen songs within the breast
Of silent birds that hid in leafless woods,
Melt into rippling floods
Of gladness unrepressed.
Now oriole and blue-bird, thrush and lark,
Warbler and wren and vireo,
Confuse their music; for the living spark
Of Love has touched the fuel of desire,
And every heart leaps up in singing fire.
It seems as if the land
Were breathing deep beneath the sun's caress,
Trembling with tenderness,
While all the woods expand,
In shimmering clouds of rose and gold and green,
To veil the joys too sacred to be seen.
III
Come, put your hand in mine,
True love, long sought and found at last,
And lead me deep into the Spring divine
That makes amends for all the wintry past.
For all the flowers and songs I feared to miss
Arrive with you;
And in the lingering pressure of your kiss
My dreams come true;
And in the promise of your generous eyes
I read the mystic sign
Of joy more perfect made
Because so long delayed,
And bliss enhanced by rapture of surprise.
Ah, think not early love alone is strong;
He loveth best whose heart has learned to wait:
Dear messenger of Spring that tarried long,
You're doubly dear because you come so late.
poem by Henry Van Dyke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Surrealistic Sutures For The Acetylene Virgin
'I think that poetry should stay
awake all night drinking in dark cellars.' - Thomas Merton
Look to the body for metaphor -
Look to blood, use this word
in relation to dreams or flowers
while silver runs in veins which
are usually streets or vines.
Breasts, male and female,
are stars, have to do with
a handful or feet to span them.
Abdomen, then, is a great
Milky Way gathering,
holding, expelling comets,
caroling colons' humming.
Spleens are bones
to pick teeth with, teeth
which are, of course,
sea horses or gravestones
bearing images of the Flagrant
Heart to tame this spot
of gypsum and flint, to charm
where Violin's cut throat sings
itself awake, one black breast
out of its fold slapping metal seas
against dropping metal shores in
Sidelight's shadow across this
hand writing now, slap of waves
mute in this stillness of knees.
So lend a darkness to gardens,
ancient pattern of a breast,
cloth lightly lifting, black on black.
From Her chest reveal a slenderer throat
that nods when she swallows
and names her peace.
The delicate will not pass away just yet.
Great Seamstress of Space
sew, please,
with fingers of dew.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Stories Of Hope Series #12 Forsaken
My heart was forsaken by the one I loved
She said my love wasn’t good enough.
If I truly loved her I would give her the material things
Necklaces, pearls, and diamond rings.
She said that love is in the giving
Without these things life is not worth living.
That’s when I decided to change my tune
I couldn’t get away too soon.
I took my heart and hid it deep in my chest
And to protect it I would do my best.
I became like a zombie- mindless and blank
And my heart I did forsake.
Surrounded by people that I did not see
Feeling hurt and angry as can be.
Friends and family started to pull away.
there was nothing left for them to say.
Then I was walking home from work one night
I glanced down the street, there was this
Woman rubbing her feet.
As I got closer I could see that her ankle
Was as swollen as can be.
Can I help you? Do you need a hand?
She answered: well! “If you could
Help me try to stand.”
Her foot so swollen she screamed in pain
Trying to walk would be in vain.
I asked her: where do you live?
She said: “up the block- the house on the corner
On the second floor.”
I knew that she could not walk no more.
I swooped her up in my arms, and started down the street
The smell of her perfume delicious and sweet.
I had never really looked at her face until then
She had light brown hair, and eyes as well
When I felt my heart begin to swell.
A smile from ear to ear, and of me she had no fear.
I carried her all the way home, and up the steps
To her door. (I felt as if I had been here before)
I asked: do you need a hand to get in?
She looked at me with a grin.
She said: you carried me this far, if you’d like
Some coffee, I’ll open the jar.”
I opened the door and carried her to a chair
The apartment looked small and comfortable
And quite fair.
I said: I’ll make the coffee! You just sit and rest
I’m not good at this, but I’ll do my best.
I made the coffee and we sat and talked
Time passed by quickly and we didn’t know
That the sun was coming up, and it was time to go.
The sun shone thru the blinds creating reflections
On the mirrored wall.
Prisms of light surrounded our faces
And we saw our faces all aglow
It was truly amazing and quite a show.
I asked her if I could see her again
And hopefully become more than a friend.
She said: I would really like that to.
So I told her I will call on you.
My heart had finally become free, and took me
Out of this misery.
For six months we dated and enjoyed each others company
The riches I gave her, she gave back to me.
Love has no price, but yet worth more than gold
And it is something that we can truly hold.
Not in our hands but in our hearts, and it becomes the biggest part.
We had become more than friends, and I guess you know the end.
HOPE IS THE KEY TO SET OURSELVES FREE.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Holy Mother
By eric clapton and stephen bishop
Holy mother, where are you?
Tonight I feel broken in two.
Ive seen the stars fall from the sky.
Holy mother, cant keep from crying.
Oh I need your help this time,
Get me through this lonely night.
Tell me please which way to turn
To find myself again.
Holy mother, hear my prayer,
Somehow I know youre still there.
Send me please some peace of mind;
Take away this pain.
I cant wait, I cant wait, I cant wait any longer.
I cant wait, I cant wait, I cant wait for you.
Holy mother, hear my cry,
Ive cursed your name a thousand times.
Ive felt the anger running through my soul;
All I need is a hand to hold.
Oh I feel the end has come,
No longer my legs will run.
You know I would rather be
In your arms tonight.
When my hands no longer play,
My voice is still, I fade away.
Holy mother, then Ill be
Lying in, safe within your arms.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Legend Of Big Foot
A hairy man once roamed the earth,
a hairy thing, was he from birth,
the years would come, the years would go,
each year that passed, his hair would grow,
it grew so thick, his mum dispaired,
yet she kept trimming off his hair,
til sissors worn to nubs one day,
he shucked his clothes, and ran away,
his back, his bum, his chest, his head,
was covered with thick hair, it's said,
no need for clothes, so he wore none,
people would laugh, and he would run,
no runner born on Earth could beat,
this hairy critter with big feet,
he slept by day and roamed by night,
for cruel folk, had made him shy,
quite good in heart was he, bigfoot,
he never stole, he never took,
one day while he munched watercress,
he found a maiden in distress,
amazed, he looked upon her form,
her feet were bare, her dress was torn,
he towered over her and stared,
at all this chick's excessive hair,
he helped her up, not one word said,
he touched her hand, and smiled instead,
hand-in-hand, they walked from there,
to go where people could not stare,
the legend of big-foot began,
the night two hairy people ran,
into the lovely forrest green,
To mostly lived their lives, unseen
poem by Elizabeth Lindberg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!