The Heart Of The Woman
O WHAT to me the little room
That was brimmed up with prayer and rest;
He bade me out into the gloom,
And my breast lies upon his breast.
O what to me my mother's care,
The house where I was safe and warm;
The shadowy blossom of my hair
Will hide us from the bitter storm.
O hiding hair and dewy eyes,
I am no more with life and death,
My heart upon his warm heart lies,
My breath is mixed into his breath.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Possession
THE child was yours and none of mine,
And yet you gave it me to keep,
And bade me sew it raiment fine,
And wrap my kisses round its sleep.
I carried it upon my breast,
I fed it in a world apart,
I wrapped my kisses round its rest,
I rocked its cradle with my heart.
When in mad nights of rain and storm
You turned us homeless from your door,
I wrapped it close, I kept it warm,
And brought it safe to you once more.
But the last time you drove us forth,
The snow was wrapped about its head,
That night the wind blew from the North,
And on my heart the child was dead.
The child is mine and none of yours,
My life was his while he had breath,
What of your claim to him endures,
Who only gave him birth and death?
poem by Edith Nesbit
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The Farewell
He rides away with sword and spur,
Garbed in his warlike blazonry,
With gallant glance and smile for her
Upon the dim-lit balcony.
Her kiss upon his lips is warm,
Upon his breast he wears her rose,
From her fond arms to stress and storm
Of many a bannered field he goes.
He dreams of danger, glory, strife,
His voice is blithe, his hand is strong,
He rides perchance to death from life
And leaves his lady with a song;
But her blue-brimmed eyes are dim
With her deep anguish standing there,
Sending across the world with him
The dear, white guerdon of her prayer.
For her the lonely vigil waits
When ashen dawnlights come and go,
Each bringing through the future's gates
Its presages of fear and woe;
For her the watch with soul and heart
Grown sick with dread, as women may,
Yet keeping still her pain apart
From the wan duties of the day.
'Tis hers to walk when sunsets yield
Their painted splendors to the skies,
And dream on some far battlefield
Perchance alone, unwatched, he dies;
'Tis hers to kneel in patient prayer
When midnight stars keep sentinel,
Lest the chill death-dews damp the hair
Upon the brow she loves so well.
So stands she, white and sad and sweet,
Upon the latticed balcony,
From golden hair to slender feet
No lady is so fair as she;
He loves her true, he holds her dear,
But he must ride on dangerous quest,
With gallant glance and smile of cheer,
And her red rose upon his breast.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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Her Wet Hair Feels Cool on My Skin
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin
As she came fresh from the shower.
She lies near me and rest begins.
Her whispers soft, a quiet wind
Caress my senses for an hour.
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin.
I’m at peace more than ever when
I lay down with her in her bower,
She lies near me and rest begins.
Now love’s sensations lie within
A subtle simple touch of power-
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin.
She holds my heart fast with a grin
Delicately, like a flower.
She lies near me and rest begins.
I say that now if this be sin
I don’t in fear of death cower.
Her wet hair feels cool on my skin:
She lies near me and rest begins.
2009
poem by William Mcgehee
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Mother Song
_From the Portuguese._
HEAVY my heart is, heavy to carry,
Full of soft foldings, of downy enwrapments--
And the outer fold of all is love,
And the next soft fold is love,
And the next, finer and softer, is love again;
And were they unwound before the eyes
More folds and more folds and more folds would unroll
Of love--always love,
And, quite at the last,
Deep in the nest, in the soft-packed nest,
One last fold, turned back, would disclose
You, little heart of my heart,
Laid there so warm, so soft, so soft,
Not knowing where you lie, nor how softly,
Nor why your nest is so soft,
Nor how your nest is so warm.
You, little heart of my heart,
You lie in my heart,
Warm, safe and soft as this body of yours,
This dear kissed body of yours that lies
Here in my arms and sucks the strength from my breast,
The strength you will break my heart with one of these days.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Keep Each Other Warm
If you're looking for the dream you dreamed of
Open your eyes
If you're looking for the one and only
In your life, oh darling
If you're looking for a friend to turn to
Someone to care
When all the world is out to hurt you
I'll be there, oh darling
Reach out your hand, reach out for me
I'll be walking beside you through it all
And we'll stand tall
When we're blown by the wind
Torn by the storm
We'll always find the love we need
To keep each other, keep each other warm
When you talk about toleration
Well I know the score
And if you ever want liberation
There's the door, oh darling
Living in love is bitter sweet
You've got to have faith on a lonely street
But I'll be walking beside you through it all
And we'll stand tall
When we're blown by the wind
Torn by the storm
We'll always find the love we need
To keep each other warm
Come sail into my arms
The harbor of my heart
And trust that love is all we need
To keep each other, keep each other warm
Blown by the wind
Torn by the storm
We'll always find the love we need
To keep each other warm
Come saild into my arms
The harbor of my heart
And trust that love is all we need
To keep each other, keep each other warm
We'll keep each other warm
We'll keep each other warm
We'll keep each other warm
Were going to keep each other warm
We'll keep each other warm
We'll keep each other warm
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Contentment
Happy the man that, when his day is done,
Lies down to sleep with nothing of regret--
The battle he has fought may not be won--
The fame he sought be just as fleeting yet;
Folding at last his hands upon his breast,
Happy is he, if hoary and forespent,
He sinks into the last, eternal rest,
Breathing these only works: 'I am content.'
But happier he, that, while his blood is warm,
See hopes and friendships dead about him lie--
Bares his brave breast to envy's bitter storm,
Nor shuns the poison barbs of calumny;
And 'mid it all, stands sturdy and elate,
Girt only in the armor God hath meant
For him who 'neath the buffetings of fate
Can say to God and man: 'I am content.'
poem by Eugene Field
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Growing
I began in the beginning
in my mother's womb.
What was it like?
Like a warm happy room
But they soon squeezed me out of there.
They said she's cute but not much hair.
And I began to grow and grow.
There wasn't anything I didn't know
but they beat it out of me.
They didn't like what they could see
reflected in my eyes.
I was too young and yet too wise.
They tried to fill me up with lies
and yet somehow I knew.
Just what I knew
I do not know
for I forget more
the more I grow.
But this I know
its lies
Its lies.
There's hollowness behind their eyes.
They fill us up with lies.
They make us grow foolish
though we were born wise.
poem by Gillian Commerford
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Come, Let Us Find
Come, let us find a cottage, love,
That's green for half a mile around;
To laugh at every grumbling bee,
Whose sweetest blossom's not yet found.
Where many a bird shall sing for you,
And in your garden build its nest:
They'll sing for you as though their eggs
Were lying in your breast,
My love--
Were lying warm in your soft breast.
'Tis strange how men find time to hate,
When life is all too short for love;
But we, away from our own kind,
A different life can live and prove.
And early on a summer's morn,
As I go walking out with you,
We'll help the sun with our warm breath
To clear away the dew,
My love,
To clear away the morning dew.
poem by William Henry Davies
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Translated from Geibel
O say, thou wild, thou oft deceived heart,
What mean these noisy throbbings in my breast?
After thy long, unutterable woe
Wouldst thou not rest?
Fall'n from Life's tree the sweet rose-blossom lies,
And fragrant youth has fled. What made to seem
This earth as fair to thee as Paradise,
Was all a dream.
The blossom fell, the thorn was left to me;
Deep from the wound the blood-drops ever flow,
All that I have are yearnings, wild desires,
And wrath and woe.
They brought me Lethe's water, saying, 'Drink!'
'Drink, for the draught is sweet,' I heard them say,
'Shalt learn how soft a thing forgetting is.'
I answered : 'Nay.'
What tho' indeed it were an idle cheat,
Nathless to me 'twas very fair and blest:
With every breath I draw I know that love
Reigns in my breast.
Let me go forth,--and thou, my heart, bleed on:
A lonely spot I seek by night and day,
That love and sorrow I may there breathe forth
In a last lay.
Dreams
While on my lonely couch I lie,
I seldom feel myself alone,
For fancy fills my dreaming eye
With scenes and pleasures of its own.
Then I may cherish at my breast
An infant's form beloved and fair,
May smile and soothe it into rest
With all a Mother's fondest care.
How sweet to feel its helpless form
Depending thus on me alone!
And while I hold it safe and warm
What bliss to think it is my own!
And glances then may meet my eyes
That daylight never showed to me;
What raptures in my bosom rise,
Those earnest looks of love to see,
To feel my hand so kindly prest,
To know myself beloved at last,
To think my heart has found a rest,
My life of solitude is past!
But then to wake and find it flown,
The dream of happiness destroyed,
To find myself unloved, alone,
What tongue can speak the dreary void?
A heart whence warm affections flow,
Creator, thou hast given to me,
And am I only thus to know
How sweet the joys of love would be?
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Is it Dark on the Other Side
What lies on the other side of death?
What happens at the last breath?
How will I feel inside?
When I take a look at life from the outside?
In life there is no place to hide,
No need to step aside,
Don't wanna have too much pride!
It is along life's truth that we must glide!
Is it dark on the other side?
Are we all gonna be fried?
No way, I say,
No need to be afraid!
When you feel it is time to rest,
Lay your head on love's breast,
And when you reach the other side,
You will see that I've not lied,
Life is love's game,
So don't be tame,
Set your hearts aflame,
No one but yourself to blame!
The Light shines bright next to the dark,
Within all life lies the spark,
Of eternal life and love,
Just wait until you see the Dove!
26 June 2012
poem by David Andre' Klopper
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Spring Plowing
Deeply furrowed,
the wide field
lies in muddy chaos.
Smell the sweet clay
as it fills this cloudy spring day.
Earth’s dark womb
lies bare.
Gleaming plow,
efficient engine
sunder black skin of soil
to plant the seed
deep
beneath the future.
See how it will be.
On a warm, summer’s morn
static breast
will rise with deeper breath,
and muddy death
give way
to ascendant, golden day
poem by Steven Federle
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A Brown Study
LET them sing of their primrose and cowslip,
Their daffodil-gold-coloured hair,
Their bluebells, blue eyes, and white violets,
All the pale dreamy things they find fair;
Give me stir of brown leaves in the sunshine,
The whir of brown wings through the wheat,
The rush of brown hares through the clover,
And the light in brown eyes of my sweet!
Gold hair? Well, I never could love it,
Yet gold, I suppose, has its worth;
The head that I love is as dusky
As the breast of our mother, the earth;
With a gleam like the shine of wet seaweed,
Round pools that the tide has left clear,
And warm like the breast of a linnet,
And as brown, is the hair of my dear.
From the edge of the cliff we look downwards
On the shore, and the bay, and the town,
And brown is the short turf we lean on,
The fishing-boats' sails are all brown:
The sky may be blue--that's the background,--
But the picture itself, to be fair,
However it's shaded and varied,
Should be brown as the dress that you wear.
A lark bursts to sudden sweet singing--
That tuft of brown grass is his home--
And now, a brown speck, he is rising
Against the clear windy sky-dome;
And he sings--how I know? Love instructs me
To know all his notes, what they mean--
That it isn't the colour I care for,
But yourself, oh, my gipsy, my queen!
Ah! the lark knows my heart--I his language;
It's my heart he sings out to the skies;
It is you that I love, and what matter
The colour of hair or of eyes?
No doubt I should love you as dearly
Were your hair like an apricot's down,
And your eyes like the grey of the morning;
But I'm glad, all the same, that they're brown.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Epitaph
Stop, Christian passer-by : Stop, child of God,
And read, with gentle breast. Beneath this sod
A poet lies, or that which once seem'd he--
O, lift one thought in prayer for S. T. C.--
That he who many a year with toil of breath
Found death in life, may here find life in death :
Mercy for praise--to be forgiven for fame--
He ask'd, and hoped through Christ. Do thou the same.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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The House of the Life: 36. Life-in-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That liv'd but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanish'd hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stor'd apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimm'd in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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XXXVI Life-In-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That liv'd but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanish'd hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stor'd apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimm'd in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Emo Genocide
We lie motionless on the cold wet ground
Hands bound behind our back blindfolds over our eyes
Left to rot out bodies never to be found
Just because we where the ones to question your lies
Our hair covers our now blood stained blindfolds
Clean crisp bullet holes mark each of our foreheads
Murdered because of our choice not to follow the rules of old
Now thousands of us are hiding or are already dead
We've been targeted like Jehovah's Witnesses during the holocaust
I watched so many old friends led to there impending death
Every single one of us refuse to change even if our lives are lost
Even if tomorrow we may breath out last breath
Even if all of us are killed we'll never truly die
Because there will still be girls and boys just like us
Who will one day challenge you and expose all of your lies
And those select few will fight to the death
You'll never be able to truly stamp us out
The thought's we've instilled will never die
It's a losing battle and you'll lose without a doubt
People will all know of your disgusting lie
poem by Patrick Shields
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What does the truth matter? Haven't we mothers all given our sons a taste for lies, lies which from the cradle upwards lull them, reassure them, send them to sleep: lies as soft and warm as a breast!
quote by Georges Bernanos
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Marble Nor The Gilded Monuments
THE praisers of women in their proud and beautiful poems
Naming the grave mouth and the hair and the eyes
Boasted those they loved should be forever remembered
These were lies
The words sound but the face in the Istrian sun is forgotten
The poet speaks but to her dead ears no more
The sleek throat is gone -and the breast that was troubled to listen
Shadow from door
Therefore I will not praise your knees nor your fine walking
Telling you men shall remember your name as long
As lips move or breath is spent or the iron of English
Rings from a tongue
I shall say you were young and your arms straight and you!
mouth scarlet
I shall say you will die and none will remember you
Your arms change and none remember the swish of your garments
Nor the click of your shoe
Not with my hand's strength not with difficult labor
Springing the obstinate words to the bones of your breast
And the stubborn line to your young stride and the breath to your breathing
And the beat to your haste
Shall I prevail on the hearts of unborn men to remember
(What is a dead girl but a shadowy ghost
Or a dead man's voice but a distant and vain affirmation
Like dream words most)
Therefore I will not speak of the undying glory of women
I will say you were young and straight and your skin fair
And you stood in the door and the sun was a shadow of leaves on your shoulders
And a leaf on your hair
I will not speak of the famous beauty of dead women
I will say the shape of a leaf lay once on your hair
Till the world ends and the eyes are out and the mouths broken
Look! It is there!
poem by Archibald MacLeish
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Sonnet XXXVI: Life-In-Love
Not in thy body is thy life at all,
But in this lady's lips and hands and eyes;
Through these she yields thee life that vivifies
What else were sorrow's servant and death's thrall.
Look on thyself without her, and recall
The waste remembrance and forlorn surmise
That lived but in a dead-drawn breath of sighs
O'er vanished hours and hours eventual.
Even so much life hath the poor tress of hair
Which, stored apart, is all love hath to show
For heart-beats and for fire-heats long ago;
Even so much life endures unknown, even where,
'Mid change the changeless night environeth,
Lies all that golden hair undimmed in death.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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