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 Sep 2015
Gianfranco Aurilio
Is it more beautiful the moon
or the sun?
A night of stars
or a day of summer?
A drop of dew
or a reflection on the water?
Is it more beautiful
the almond tree in spring
or the mimosa
in its most intense yellow?
Don't ask me
what I love most
because an ocean
wouldn't be enough
to appease my thirst
and the universe
to fill up my heart.

20.2.'13
The original poem ("Il più bello") is in Italian.
There is no good translation for a poem.
I apologize for mine. Corrections are welcome.
 Sep 2015
M
let's sit and be nothing, do nothing,
in the silence and murmur of the flowers
while the breeze holds and hugs those who sit alone
and let our hearts move with this wind.
 Sep 2015
Anais Nin
And then the day came,
when the risk
to remain tight
in a bud
was more painful
than the risk
it took
to Blossom.
XXXII

The first time that the sun rose on thine oath
To love me, I looked forward to the moon
To slacken all those bonds which seemed too soon
And quickly tied to make a lasting troth.
Quick-loving hearts, I thought, may quickly loathe;
And, looking on myself, I seemed not one
For such man’s love!—more like an out-of-tune
Worn viol, a good singer would be wroth
To spoil his song with, and which, snatched in haste,
Is laid down at the first ill-sounding note.
I did not wrong myself so, but I placed
A wrong on thee. For perfect strains may float
’Neath master-hands, from instruments defaced,—
And great souls, at one stroke, may do and doat.
 Aug 2015
Liz Delgado
The first time I saw you,
I knew your eyes weren't just brown.
I stared into your eyes
and they reminded me of soil.
The comparison itself doesn't sound so pretty,
but I stared a little longer
and your eyes reminded me even more of soil.
Soil that life peeps through to spit beautiful flowers,
Soil with rich health growing among it,
Soil that holds more than billions of lives;
memories, tears, laughter and anger.
Soil that trembles the world averagely two inches into disaster,
Soil that covers the nickel nucleous of our precious blue star,
Soil that preserve resting ansestors,
dust they became.
Soil that clasp secrets scientists breathe for revealing,
Soil that hides the bones of the first organisms to roam this planet.
Your eyes weren't just brown,
they weren't just ordinary brown eyes.
Your eyes were heavy with the world.
And as I clawed deeper and deeper into your soul,
I felt how your body cracked
little by little
like fragile glass wanting to burst with burning hot water.
Your eyes are so brilliant,
but to cradle tremendously vast amounts of the Earth's existence must be
so frightening.
 Aug 2015
Amanda In Scarlet
When they buried me in the dark, I was frightened.
I didn’t like the taste of earth.
And I was so thirsty.
Some people are no good with plants,
Even the hardiest shrubs
Wither and wilt in their careless hands.
You aren’t one of them.
When no-one else could see,
You took such good care of me.
Water, warmth and love.
These are my needs, but I had no voice
With which to ask; without you
I would have remained inert
A lost life, in the dirt.
See now, how I blossom?
Just a shoot, but I will astound them all
With my beauty, in time.
Thank you for caring for me,
Thank you for helping me to grow.
For my Agent of Fortune, Paul M Chafer.
 Aug 2015
oh-the-oddities
i saw a beautiful star in the night sky.

while staring at it from a far distance
under the moonlight,
i was mesmerised by its luster,
inspired by the light it gave.

as i got closer and closer,
i fell in love with the pulchritude
of its flaming infernos.

as the distance between us slowly started diminishing,
i stood there still smiling,
thinking,
*"someday, you'll be the death of me"
perhaps i was too blinded by its bright blaze to realize this sooner
 Aug 2015
Conrad Aiken
I (Bread and Music)

Music I heard with you was more than music,
And bread I broke with you was more than bread;
Now that I am without you, all is desolate;
All that was once so beautiful is dead.

Your hands once touched this table and this silver,
And I have seen your fingers hold this glass.
These things do not remember you, beloved,
And yet your touch upon them will not pass.

For it was in my heart you moved among them,
And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;
And in my heart they will remember always,--
They knew you once, O beautiful and wise.

II

My heart has become as hard as a city street,
The horses trample upon it, it sings like iron,
All day long and all night long they beat,
They ring like the hooves of time.
My heart has become as drab as a city park,
The grass is worn with the feet of shameless lovers,
A match is struck, there is kissing in the dark,
The moon comes, pale with sleep.
My heart is torn with the sound of raucous voices,
They shout from the slums, from the streets, from the crowded places,
And tunes from the hurdy-gurdy that coldly rejoices
Shoot arrows into my heart.

III

Dead Cleopatra lies in a crystal casket,
Wrapped and spiced by the cunningest of hands.
Around her neck they have put a golden necklace,
Her tatbebs, it is said, are worn with sands.
Dead Cleopatra was once revered in Egypt,
Warm-eyed she was, this princess of the South.
Now she is old and dry and faded,
With black bitumen they have sealed up her mouth.
O sweet clean earth, from whom the green blade cometh!
When we are dead, my best beloved and I,
Close well above us, that we may rest forever,
Sending up grass and blossoms to the sky.

IV

In the noisy street,
Where the sifted sunlight yellows the pallid faces,
Sudden I close my eyes, and on my eyelids
Feel from the far-off sea a cool faint spray,--
A breath on my cheek,
From the tumbling breakers and foam, the hard sand shattered,
Gulls in the high wind whistling, flashing waters,
Smoke from the flashing waters blown on rocks;
--And I know once more,
O dearly beloved! that all these seas are between us,
Tumult and madness, desolate save for the sea-gulls,
You on the farther shore, and I in this street.
 Aug 2015
Robert Burns
ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH, IN APRIL, 1786

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow’r,
Thou’s met me in an evil hour;
For I maun crush amang the stoure
Thy slender stem:
To spare thee now is past my pow’r,
Thou bonie gem.

Alas! it’s no thy neebor sweet,
The bonie lark, companion meet,
Bending thee ‘mang the dewy weet,
Wi’ spreckled breast!
When upward-springing, blithe, to greet
The purpling east.

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north
Upon thy early, humble birth;
Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth
Amid the storm,
Scarce reared above the parent-earth
Thy tender form.

The flaunting flow’rs our gardens yield,
High shelt’ring woods and wa’s maun shield;
But thou, beneath the random bield
O’ clod or stane,
Adorns the histie stibble-field,
Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
Thy snawy ***** sunward spread,
Thou lifts thy unassuming head
In humble guise;
But now the share uptears thy bed,
And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless Maid,
Sweet flow’ret of the rural shade!
By love’s simplicity betrayed,
And guileless trust,
Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid
Low i’ the dust.

Such is the fate of simple Bard,
On Life’s rough ocean luckless starred!
Unskilful he to note the card
Of prudent lore,
Till billows rage, and gales blow hard,
And whelm him o’er!

Such fate to suffering worth is giv’n,
Who long with wants and woes has striv’n,
By human pride or cunning driv’n
To mis’ry’s brink,
Till wrenched of ev’ry stay but Heav’n,
He, ruined, sink!

Ev’n thou who mourn’st the Daisy’s fate,
That fate is thine -no distant date;
Stern Ruin’s ploughshare drives, elate,
Full on thy bloom,
Till crushed beneath the furrow’s weight,
Shall be thy doom!
 Aug 2015
l i z a
The first time I wrote poetry
I presented it to my father
He laughed and said to me
"must you be in love?
only those in love write this--"
A 10yr old girl cried that night,
Humiliated.

But it was true. Now that I look at it.
That of being in love.
Because I fell in love with written words
Hopefully someone reads this
And falls in love as well.
 Aug 2015
prc
the most saddest people have the brightest smiles
the most shyest people have the loudest minds
the most happiest people have the saddest sobs
 Aug 2015
Javaria Waseem
paint me with all those messy colors and broken brushes.
paint me with your rough hands and scrappy fingertips.
paint me with all your love and your regrets.
paint me in a dark room with uneven breath.
paint me with dried out lips and the tip of your tongue
paint me all night till you're halted by the sun.
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