I'm with you in Rockland
in my dreams you walk dripping from a sea-journey on the highway across America in tears to the door of my cottage in the Western night.
Tags: friendship journey america travel tears california howl reunion love-poem
To My Wife
You are like a young
white hen.
Her feathers ruffle
in the wind, her neck curves
down to drink, and
she rummages in the earth:
but, in walking, she has
your slow, queenly step,
haughty and proud.
She is better than the male.
She is like the females
of all the serene animals
who draw near to God.
Here, if my eye, if my judgment
doesn’t deceive me, among these,
you find your equals,
and in no other woman.
When evening lulls
the little hens to sleep,
they make sounds that call
to mind those mild, sweet
voices with which you argue
with your pains, and don’t know
that your voice has the soft, sad
music of the henyard.
You are like a pregnant
heifer,
still free, and without
heaviness, merry, in fact;
who, if someone strokes her, turns
her neck, where a tender
pink tinges her flesh.
If you meet up with her, and hear
her bellow, so mournful
is this sound that you tear
at the earth to give her
a present. In the same way,
I offer my gift to you
when you are sad.
You are like a tall, thin
female dog, that always
has so much sweetness
in her eyes and ferociousness
in her heart.
At your feet, she seems
a saint who burns
with an indomitable fervor
and in this way looks at you
as her God and Lord.
When you are at home, or going
down the street, to anyone who tries,
uninvited, to approach you,
she uncovers her shining
white teeth. And her love
suffers from jealousy.
You are like the fearful
rabbit. Within her narrow
cage, she stands upright
to look at you, and extends
her long, still ear; she deprives
herself of the husks and
roots that you bring her,
and cowers, seeking
the darkest corners.
Who might take away
this food? Who might
take away the fur which
she tears from her back
to add to the nest where
she will give birth?
Who would ever make
you suffer?
You are like the swallow
which returns in the spring.
But each autumn will depart—
you don’t have this art.
You have this of the swallow:
the light movements;
that which, to me, seemed
and was old, you proclaim
another spring.
You are like the provident
ant. She whom the grandmother
speaks of to the child as they
go out in the countryside.
And thus I find you
in the bumble bee
and in all the females
of all the serene animals
who draw near to God.
And in no other woman.
Tags: love-poem
تصوَّر أنني أُحبُّك - والله أُحبُّك -
بهذا الشكل العفوي
وأنا أشقُّ برتقالةً نصفَينِ... أتذكّرك
وأنا أعبر الشارع نحو الرصيف المقابل... أتذكّرك
وأنا أضع طلاء أظافري الأحمر البرّاق... أتذكّرك
وأنا أُمرِّر يدي فوق رؤوس الأطفال... أتذكّرك
وأنا أقف أمام البحر الهائل الزُّرقة... أتذكّرك
وأنا أختار أثاث البيت... أتذكّرك
وأنا أُغلِّف هدايا العيد... أتذكّرك
وأنا أستيقظ صباحاً... أتذكّرك
إييييه يا صديقي؛
البنت المُتوجِّسة خيفةً من زمن سيء؛
تُحبُّكَ الآن .
ليتني وردة تغرسني في حوضِ تُربتك
قُربَ نافذتكَ الشرقيّة
تقطفني أيّها الولد الأسمر على مطلعِ أيلول؛
لا تتركني أبداً أموت وحيدة كما الآن.
Tags: love-poem
My love has eyes blue as the sky.
Her warm, bright smile makes me want to try
To give her the world,
And when she's curled
Up in my arms where I can feel her touch,
I realize again that I love her so much.
My world has turned from black to white.
Kissing in starlight, basking in sunlight, dancing at midnight.'
~John's poem for Belle
Tags: love-poem splendid original-poetry
Chipmunks jump, and
greensnakes slither.
Rather burst than
not be with her.
Bluebirds fight, but
bears are stronger.
We've got fifty
years or longer.
Hoptoads hop, but
hogs are fatter.
Nothing else but
Us can matter.
Tags: love-poem incantation
Beneath her curls, I forget the world,
With a mere gaze she raises my hopes of gold.
Love is as much in her heart as in mine,
But she doesn’t say it, her punishment so divine.
Tags: love romance love-poem unsaid-words
I'd gladly trade the world
And all of its gold,
To see you safe in this fragile life.
My second thoughts condemn
And wonder how I dare
To look you in the eye.
What right have I to swear
Even at one a.m.
To love you till I die?
Earth meets too many crimes
For fibs to interest her;
If I can give my word,
Forgiveness can recur
Any number of times
In Time. Which is absurd.
Tempus fugit. Quite.
So finish up your drink.
All flesh is grass. It is.
But who on earth can think
With heavy heart or light
Of what will come of this?
Tags: love beauty poem love-poem w-h-auden song-ix
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