When daylight is here i dream of the night,
The stars of a country sky that shine so bright.
A night sky without clouds, for the moon to hide under,
Revealing every twinkle and every beam, of the Milky Way's wonder.
I grow sad in the morning,
And i pay the day no mind.
Every time i see the light coming,
I know the sunset's not far behind.
Connubial
Because with alarming accuracy
she’d been identifying patterns
I was unaware of—this tic, that
tendency, like the way I've mastered
the language of intimacy
in order to conceal how I felt—
I knew I was in danger
of being terribly understood.
Mots clés love poetry poem accuracy intimacy patterns identifying alarming connubial undersand
[...] the body is what we lean toward,
tensing as it darts, dancing away.
but it's the voice that enters us. even
saying nothing. even saying nothing
over and over absently to itself
from time to time, i think of him watching me
from over the top of his glasses, or eating candy
from a jar. i remember thanking him each time
the session was done. but mostly what i see
is a human hand reaching down to lift
a pebble from my tongue
Mots clés poem
My heart is lost; the beasts have eaten it.
Charles BaudelaireMots clés poetry lost heart poem eat conversations beasts charles-baudelaire the-flowers-of-evil eaten les-fleurs-du-mal
Caleb dumped me on my birthday,
Before I’d ordered an entrée,
“What a dick!” some might say!
But don’t you worry my little sheep,
I am not sad and will not weep,
For Caleb Jones is a cheat!
He two-timed me with some ho,
Whose name is Kacey ‘Slut’ Munroe!
But I don’t care about my foe,
For I have found a brand new guy,
My Blue Eyed, Mr Berry Pie!
And I know, he won’t make me cry,
For I did fall under his spell,
To him, I am his gorgeous Belle,
So Caleb Jones can go to Hell!
Ceux qui errent ne sont pas toujours perdus.
J.R.R. TolkienMots clés poem lord-of-the-rings middle-earth
Love leads us to write poetry because love improves our hearing; like prayer, poetry is every bit as much about listening as it is about speaking. To 'get' the poem is to hear the eloquence of the silence that it calls forth through its manifestation of love.
David PattersonMots clés love poetry poem poems wrestling-with-the-angel
Until we say the truth, there can be no tenderness.
As long as there is desire, we will not be safe
The world's an incessant transformation, and to meditate
is awareness, with no
clinging to,
no working on, the mind.
It is a floating; ever-moving; 'marvellous emptiness'.
Only absorption in such a practice will release us
from the accidents, and appetites,
of life.
And upon this leaf one shall cross over
the stormy sea,
among the dragon-like waves.
Mots clés poem meditation
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