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#languor
Il pleure dans mon coeur (“It rains in my heart”) by Paul Verlaine loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It rains in my heart As it rains on the town; Heavy languor and dark Drenches my heart. Oh, the sweet-sounding rain Cleansing pavements and roofs! For my listless heart's pain The pure song of the rain! Still it rains without reason In my overcast heart. Can it be there's no treason? That this grief's without reason? As my heart floods with pain, Lacking hatred, or love, I've no way to explain Such bewildering pain! Published by Better Than Starbucks Paul-Marie Verlaine (1844-1896) was a French poet and a prominent figure in the Symbolist and Decadent poetry movements. Verlaine has been called "one of the most purely lyrical of French poets."  Keywords/Tags: Verlaine, French, translation, rain, languor, heart, treason, reason, pain, hatred, love, Arthur Rimbaud Ophélie (“Ophelia”), an Excerpt by Arthur Rimbaud loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch On pitiless black waves unsinking stars abide ... while pale Ophelia, a lethargic lily, drifts by ... Here, tangled in her veils, she floats on the tide ... Far-off, in the woods, we hear the strident bugle’s cry. For a thousand years, or more, sad Ophelia, This albescent phantom, has rocked here, to and fro. For a thousand years, or more, in her gentle folly, Ophelia has rocked here when the night breezes blow. For a thousand years, or more, sad Ophelia, Has passed, an albescent phantom, down this long black river. For a thousand years, or more, in her sweet madness Ophelia has made this river shiver.
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Mar 28, 2020
Mar 28, 2020 at 2:13 AM UTC
Paul Verlaine translation "It rains in my heart"
Il pleure dans mon coeur (“It rains in my heart”) by Paul Verlaine loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch It rains in my heart As it rains on the town; Heavy languor and dark Drenches my heart. Oh, the sweet-sounding rain Cleansing pavements and roofs! For my listless heart's pain The pure song of the rain! Still it rains without reason In my overcast heart. Can it be there's no treason? That this grief's without reason? As my heart floods with pain, Lacking hatred, or love, I've no way to explain Such bewildering pain! Published by Better Than Starbucks Paul-Marie Verlaine (1844-1896) was a French poet and a prominent figure in the Symbolist and Decadent poetry movements. Verlaine has been called "one of the most purely lyrical of French poets."  Keywords/Tags: Verlaine, French, translation, rain, languor, heart, treason, reason, pain, hatred, love, Arthur Rimbaud Ophélie (“Ophelia”), an Excerpt by Arthur Rimbaud loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch On pitiless black waves unsinking stars abide ... while pale Ophelia, a lethargic lily, drifts by ... Here, tangled in her veils, she floats on the tide ... Far-off, in the woods, we hear the strident bugle’s cry. For a thousand years, or more, sad Ophelia, This albescent phantom, has rocked here, to and fro. For a thousand years, or more, in her gentle folly, Ophelia has rocked here when the night breezes blow. For a thousand years, or more, sad Ophelia, Has passed, an albescent phantom, down this long black river. For a thousand years, or more, in her sweet madness Ophelia has made this river shiver.
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Evening sun's, hot pulsating lips, fervently seek the ocean blue, touch for a sizzling, long,passionate kiss. The ecstasy resulted makes inroads as waves of anesthetic darkness, engulfing the glow of consciousness bringing the world as a whole in to a soporiferous languor,pleasurable.
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Nov 8, 2017
Nov 8, 2017 at 6:15 AM UTC
That kiss made a difference.
A white porcelain coffee cup she gently raises up to her lips with a satiated look on her face; this gift, a much awaited moment attained by satisfying her yen not for choicest, gourmet food alone. Those dark droopy eyes, suggest a luxurious languor, she does cherish, as long as the after tremors would last. Slyly she looks at his swollen red lips with a crafted guilt, it gives her yet another high, sending ripples over her ******* his eyes do a recce on this then go up to her lips,finds his ardor last hour had  made them crimson all over, throwing his head backwards he smiles at her.
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Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 4:58 AM UTC
The After Hour
No. 1 there is a pane of glass which now occupies the air between us an indifferent arrow has flown through it leaving a web of cracks for which I am trapped reaching for you No. 2 the light you bend reaches across room the same distance travels your voice it makes me a ghost not to touch you with all that I am exhaling wanting in your direction as stars are brought down over head by the weight of unfulfilled wishes No. 3 victim to a whisper pious to an echo tomorrow I'll be swallowed I didn't even need a name lost and unwanted things are entitled to each other so long as they don't hide no. 4 it's an open hand it's a broken window it's a perpetually naive sky it's off beat but we're out of line and I'm waiting for you one hundred percent of the time no. 5 out of context misshapened in parallax past my expiration date but you looked at me in a way that dared both of us to exist when all this is dust the loudest we'll ever get to be is a secret
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May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 4:08 AM UTC
Gardened Languor