Today's poet

[Mossdog]

Love Sonnet XVII

by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.


Sweet or what?

[Hes]

Wow...I'm the only person on the entire forum!!! I could go and write on every thread and make a bid for forum domination except that doesn't interest me. My loyalty lies here and with all your great posts this evening. I loved the Neruda, Mossdog; the Rollinson HHH and Freckle's lovely poems to change your life. Poetry does indeed change your life! Off for a few hours sleep.

[freckle]

Hey Mossy, we are always missing each other !...i loved your two poems just gorgeous..thank you..

Hes...i think it woudl be great if you were some kind of forum despot, but a bit tiring and it might take you away from your art! so in the spirit of your beautiful creativity I do hope you got some shut eye!

right cuppa now, then quick search for a poem to post....

Love Sonnet XVII

by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.


Sweet or what?

[Nathaniel Lee]

Suicide in 9 easy steps.

Tears,anguish,dread.
Thoughts,action,knife.
Slice,bleed,dead.

By Matt Harmston.

[freckle]

morning tri...as usual an elegant piece from you well done...


Last night as i was sleeping

Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt -- marvelous error!—
that a spring was breaking
out in my heart.
I said: Along which secret aqueduct,
Oh water, are you coming to me,
water of a new life
that I have never drunk?

Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt -- marvelous error!—
that I had a beehive
here inside my heart.
And the golden bees
were making white combs
and sweet honey
from my old failures.

Last night, as I was sleeping,
I dreamt -- marvelous error!—
that a fiery sun was giving
light inside my heart.
It was fiery because I felt
warmth as from a hearth,
and sun because it gave light
and brought tears to my eyes.

Last night, as I slept,
I dreamt -- marvelous error!—
that it was God I had
here inside my heart.

Antonio Machado

could always replace God with something else if an atheist like me!!!!!

[Derby Tup]

sunlit homebound drive
paint splattered ewes graze wet turf
redwing flock scatters

[freckle]

sunlit homebound drive
paint splattered ewes graze wet turf
redwing flock scatters

what a beautiful image DT thank you for sharing it with us.......

[Derby Tup]

I love those Neruda Sonnets Mossy!

[freckle]

I love those Neruda Sonnets Mossy!

speaking of which, how apt is this like?...dedicated to all those who frequent this thread....

Poetry

And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I don't know how or when,
no they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

I did not know what to say, my mouth
had no way
with names,
my eyes were blind,
and something started in my soul,
fever or forgotten wings,
and I made my own way,
deciphering
that fire,
and I wrote the first faint line,
faint, without substance, pure
nonsense,
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing,
and suddenly I saw
the heavens
unfastened
and open,
planets,
palpitating plantations,
shadow perforated,
riddled
with arrows, fire and flowers,
the winding night, the universe.

And I, infinitesimal being,
drunk with the great starry
void,
likeness, image of
mystery,
felt myself a pure part
of the abyss,
I wheeled with the stars,
my heart broke loose on the wind.

Pablo Neruda </B>

[Hes]

sunlit homebound drive
paint splattered ewes graze wet turf
redwing flock scatters

Gorgeous DT! Wow, only 11.50am and already some amazing poetry to start the day. Tri-mind, powerful stuff! Freckle, we are on the same wavelength again...whilst looking for a poem that I hope to post later, I came upon this by Edward Thomas and thought it was relevant for the thread:

Words

Out of us all
That make rhymes
Will you choose
Sometimes -
As the winds use
A crack in a wall
Or a drain,
Their joy or their pain
To whistle through -
Choose me,
You English words?

I know you:
You are light as dreams,
Tough as oak,
Precious as gold,
As poppies and corn,
Or an old cloak:
Sweet as our birds
To the ear,
As the burnet rose
In the heat
Of Midsummer:
Strange as the races
Of dead and unborn:
Strange and sweet
Equally,
And familiar,
To the eye,
As the dearest faces
That a man knows,
And as lost homes are:
But though older far
Than oldest yew, -
As our hills are, old, -
Worn new
Again and again:
Young as our streams
After rain:
And as dear
As the earth which you prove
That we love.

Make me content
With some sweetness
From Wales
Whose nightingales
Have no wings, -
From Wiltshire and Kent
And Herefordshire, -
And the villages there, -
From the names, and the things
No less.
Let me sometimes dance
With you,
Or climb
Or stand perchance
In ecstasy,
Fixed and free
In a rhyme,
As poets do.