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if you knew how
if you felt how often

I am truly here with you

would it make any changes
could it give me a key

your brain, not your ***


my only map
A bad year, harsh as drought
First plague, then madness
This is the worst of it

Man turned to beast
Yet may come, but
We are better than this

Oh my beloved ones
Your birthright a wealth of love
Go tell your soul it will survive
I Am Not Yours
Sara Teasdale, 1884 - 1933


I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love—put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.
And see this poem set to music...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6cUbI8ibYZo


I was fortunate enough to see the New World School of Arts High School Choir perform  it last night...the music led me to the poetry and Ms. Teasdale will make an appearance in my next poem...

On August 8, 1884, Sara Trevor Teasdale was born in St. Louis, Missouri, into an old, established, and devout family. She was home-schooled until she was nine and traveled frequently to Chicago, where she became part of the circle surrounding Poetry magazine and Harriet Monroe. Teasdale published Sonnets to Duse, and Other Poems, her first volume of verse, in 1907. Her second collection, Helen of Troy, and Other Poems, followed in 1911, and her third, Rivers to the Sea, in 1915.

In 1914 Teasdale married Ernst Filsinger; she had previously rejected a number of other suitors, including Vachel Lindsay. She moved with her new husband to New York City in 1916. In 1918, she won the Columbia University Poetry Society Prize (which became the Pulitzer Prize for poetry) and the Poetry Society of America Prize for Love Songs, which had appeared in 1917. She published three more volumes of poetry during her lifetime: Flame and Shadow (1920), Dark of the Moon (1926), and Stars To-night (1930). Teasdale’s work had always been characterized by its simplicity and clarity, her use of classical forms, and her passionate and romantic subject matter. These later books trace her growing finesse and poetic subtlety. She divorced in 1929 and lived the rest of her life as a semi-invalid. Weakened after a difficult bout with pneumonia, Teasdale committed suicide on January 29, 1933, with an overdose of barbiturates. Her final collection, Strange Victory appeared posthumously that same year.
The soldiers stand in straight, straight lines,
ranks straight, files straight,
diagonals perfect;
white and black and every tone between,
dressed in olive green,
they are young,
they are ready.

* * *

The stones stand in straight , straight lines,
ranks straight, files straight,
diagonals perfect on the rolling hills,
every one as white as new paper,
standing in spring's greenest grass
on a Monday in May in the rain.

The people stand in huddled clumps,
spring dresses and rumpled suits
beneath black umbrellas,
the little flags red, white and blue,
the mason jars filled with fresh-cut lilacs.

The rain sifts down, and a few tears,
soft talk and memories;
then, the closing doors of cars
and going home,
winding roads and tangled thoughts
a little sad,
a little proud,
a little free.
a small craft,
barely deserving of such a compliment as
c r a f t e d,
a few boards, just enough caulking,
made quick, with no regard for artistry,
but sturdy none the less,
purposed for naught,
other than to get from there to
here

even, then, all the more,
as if time chose to reverse itself,
solidified it, this ships soul strength
rather than wore~warped
its character essential

unclear who was the wood
and who, the caulking glue,
but they held together in bonding so powerful

when strangers asked
what its purpose be,
this modest boat,
the locals
to a one,
always answered,
answered always consistent:

ancient and ungainly, not shapely,
purposed as if to be, simply
a reminder
that nothing
could ere
be graced more,
complimented, honored as,

seaworthy,
than this human loving crafting,


long-lasting,
maybe ever-lasting,
a tiny notional idea,
that two could get
you from here to
there

it  is in the more stronger strength,
of one thing
created from a loving,
two combinatory realization,
ruled and ruling,
this
craft
came to be
ruler of the sea of humanity



8/15/17 12:36am
born, falling, borne into sleep, to
the music of Johann Pachelbel
combined with a gentling snoring
Simplistic
My vocabulary
Until my words
Get rearranged
In and out of order
Let the darkness rain
Washing me down
Rain all over me
I need to feel
I need to breath
I need to write
   Sweet poetry!!

Alone I am
I am not free
Hell and fury
Deep in my sea's
Come up for air
Still I can't breathe
Words bleed
Out of me
Forming
Sweet poetry
...............................
TT

Sweetened with darkness!
Like dark chocolate
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