(no subject)

[enaomi.livejournal.com]

sup ladies (and dudes)?

favorite poems about longing? sometimes life gets you down, you know.

Percy Bysshe Shelly, Stanzas Written in Dejection, near Naples

[miswired-zero.livejournal.com]

Stanzas Written in Dejection, near Naples
by P.B. Shelly

The sun is warm, the sky is clear,
The waves are dancing fast and bright,
Blue isles and snowy mountains wear
The purple noon's transparent might,
The breath of the moist earth is light,
Around its unexpanded buds;
Like many a voice of one delight,
The winds, the birds, the ocean floods,
The City's voice itself, is soft like Solitude's.

( I see the Deep's untrampled floor )

Tamura Ryuichi, "A Thin Line"

[the-grynne.livejournal.com]

A THIN LINE

You are always alone
There is something like a bitter light
in the pupils of your eyes that have never shown tears
I like it

       To your blind image 
       this world is a desolate hunting place 
       You are the winter hunter 
       who constantly chases down one heart 

You do not believe in words
There is a deep longing for fear
in your footsteps that have murdered all the hearts
It fascinates me

       On the thin line that you walk 
       the smell of blood is even on the top of the snow 
       No matter how far we separate 
       I can tell

You pull the trigger
I die inside a word


TAMURA RYUICHI

Translated from the Japanese by Samuel Grolmes and Yumiko Tsumura

Kiss the Eyes of Peace | Tomaz Salamun

[clocktowerkiss.livejournal.com]

Kiss the Eyes of Peace

Kiss the eyes of Peace, may it stream down
upon the trees. The sun shines and no longer roars
so intolerably. The soul again hopes to sense its
ribs, the sap. The cold has done me good. If the wind
blows, and I walk and watch the cars, life
brings me back to itself. It would be terrible
not to recognize anyone at the departure.
They'd be too far to touch or
be felt. In pitch darkness I would not hold the memory
of love. A crust of ice forms on molten lava.
In time I might again be able to slide off. Walk
these roads of dust. Shake the jacket off, if
it's dusty. There has been too much honey and grace, that's
all. Too many blessings break a man apart.

Translated by Mia Dintinjana

From The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger

[writtenbyhand.livejournal.com]

The Garden Under Snow
for clare

now the garden is under snow
a blank page our footprints write on
clare who was never mine
but always belonged to herself
Sleeping Beauty
a crystalline blanket
she waits
this is her spring
this is her sleeping/awakening
she is waiting
everything is waiting
for a kiss
the improbable shapes of tubers roots
I never thought
my baby
her almost face
a garden, waiting

(no subject)

[bellabarbarella.livejournal.com]

Russell Edson


A Letter From Home

 One night a man´s sahdow died. Slumping, it groped
is heart and dripped down the wall into a dark stain on
the floor in the shape of a man who died in his bedroom
alone..

The man writes home: Dear mom, my shadow is dead.
I may have to be reborn, if you and dad are up to it, and
have a new shadow attached...

His mother writes back: Dear Ken, please don´t counton
it. In truth, dear, given another chance I Think I would
ask for an abortion...

The Floewerpot

An old woman was examining one of her shoes, turning
it over and over again in her hands like a spider wrapping a
fly in its web.
What is that thing in your hands? cried her husband.
My womb, she sighed as she held it out to him.
Oh, no, he cried.
But wouldn´t the nice gentleman like to drop a seed or
two into an old lady's flowerpot?

The Travelling Circus

A white-faced clown lying in the gutter like an old tennis
shoe. The circus has left the town...
The last time the circus left it a fat lady dumped on
the sidewalk like a pile of varicose cottage cheese wearing
lingerie.
Packing and unpacking, the circus always on the move,
always forgetting something...
One time even forgetting to leave town...