"halle" poems
My father is black and my mother is white
And though we live in a new generation I still find myself having to give explainations on how all of this works
The ignorance of race really hurts
No this is not good hair
No you can't touch it keep your ******* hands to yourself
No I'm not Mexican or Puerto Rican
Stop guessing above all else
I'm black like you
And I'm white like her
I'm flesh and blood not claws and fur
But see you don't want to accept me
Of course unless I'm president Obama or Halle Berry
Did you know they were mixed?
Or were you so deep in the lime light you don't care
Because on the streets I'm not considered black no matter how coarse my hair
I use relaxers too
I've had my hair braided
I've been called ******
I've been followed in stores
I've been sent to the end of the line for no reason
Denied friendship for seasons
And wouldn't you know
(Being black was the reason)
But its just not enough to gain any trust
I don't look anything like white people so I dont even try
Only hope for full acceptance from the other side
And yet still I'm left feeling quite empty inside
Where the hell do I fit in?
Who's on my side?
Since claiming black or white is considered a crime
This was when I decided to become an advocate of self
I found who I was
Didn't need any help
I don't let my race define who I am
But I embrace both my colors
They work well with each other
And that's something society just will not understand
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 11:21 AM UTC
For free, but hardly costless,
for you big lollipop suckers,
c a u s e,
every time I breathe in some atmosphere,
outcome these up chucked integers and alphabets to poll-
-ute the remaining "good air," which isn't i know very fait fair,
but would you rather this thin poesy lighter-than-whipped cream and
jello shaking handshaking easy eating than all that other stuff I obsess
about in no particular order, like life and death, counting my re-main-
lining breaths, love 'n like, awesome vs. trite, hot love and cold po-
-tatoe mustardy salad, punch and paunch, my endless declination into febrile old age and the wasting away processes most unfortunate,
that fuels a trillion dollar healthcare IN-dustry (midwest pro-nun-she-ate-sean), vitamins and supplements, manufactured in contaminated
factories in the farout east, that are not usda grade A, unless mixed with good **** and to hell with this graffiti wordley ***** even i'm
fed up from writing all this serious stuff, and Brother Leonard,
who is always very ****** says
fkinA, halle-lou-y'all
the end is near***
Sep 6, 2025
Sep 6, 2025 at 10:17 PM UTC
In your eyes
I see a different light,
A lighter side of you
And that's when I realize
How beautiful you are to me.
From the softness of your skin,
The wonderful smile on your face
Beauty that's outside in
Divorcing all other thoughts of you.
From Cleopatra of my soul,
To the Halle Berry of my dreams,
You are one well-put together woman I would like to know
No matter how crazy it may seem.
Like the sweet nectar in the morning
I bathe in your loving arms
Your love, your love is showing
Making me sweat from my head to my palms.
You with me alone
Basking in the moonlight
With such love and appreciation shown
That really makes my night.
Me with you together
With words unspoken the best way
No matter the weather
With nothing really to say.
Moonlight O moonlight,
Can you just shine on me please?
Make our night such a delight
As I kneel on my knees.
You, me and the moonlight,
Alone together night after night,
How 'bout us?
How 'bout you and I?
(C) 2004
Jul 4, 2017
Jul 4, 2017 at 1:35 AM UTC
Who's always taking pictures
Who's always on the scene
Snaps the Stars at their worst
Bikini thunder thighs with cottage cheese
He catches Stars out jogging
When they are a sweaty slimy mess
That is when this Paparazzi
Is at his photogenic best
He finds them out to dinner
Makes sure their forks are full
So he can catch them stuffing face
Halle Berry...you've just been schooled
The Stars have no idea how much
It is that they need him
To keep their names in the press
And their butts down at the gym
He loves the feeling that he gets
Adrenalin rush that keeps him high
Never is a job complete
Till he can make a Big Star cry
There's not a project that he won't take on
The one in which he is most proud
The pic of the President having lunch with the aliens
That photo shop was his brain child
So give it up for the Paparazzi
Who entertains in the grocery isle every day
Giving us all the latest scoop
On who is and isn't gay
Yes, without the Paparazzi
We would never be in the know
And now knowing all that Hollywood does
We can be thankful for a life that's dull!
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 8:08 AM UTC
If I had to create my object of love.
The way God created us.
I guess I have to imagine her.
She would have the sexuality of Marilyn Monroe.
The face of Halle Berry just for starter.
If I had to create my own creation.
She would have the charm of Kelly Ripa.
And the voice of Angela Bassette.
Plus, the grace of Deborah Kerr.
And the heart of many good women.
If I was to create my own creation.
But those are fantasy dreams of mine.
Any good hearted quality woman would suit me fine.
It's not that the prettiest women are the best.
Because many average women loves the best.
But if I was to make my own creation.
I guess she would be just like my mom.
Full of love.
Full of warmth.
Mixed with a whole lot of compassion for others.
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 8:45 AM UTC
I've always aspired to be a little bit of everything
Try everything once, give everyone a second chance
I dreamt of making mountains from milwaukee's molehills
And find prosperity and pleasure in the potholes
Ask not what your city can do for you but what you can do for your city
And I'll give my city a little bit of everything
Befriend a little bit of everyone
Some see my city as small, but it gives birth to such big dreams such high hopes
A state that has given birth to my state of creativity
A city that has certified that anything can happen
At any second
My city is a little bit of everything
Dangerous like the streets as the numbers get lower
Rambunctious like the fireworks at the lakefront on the 3rd of July
Still like the suburbs of Wauwatosa all the way to Muskego
Freezing like Madison mid January
Scorching like the city during summertime
My city has made me as
Poetic as Maya Angelou
Brave as Martin Luther King
Intelligent as Thurgood Marshall
Soulful as that lady that sung the blues
**** as Dorothy Dandridge in her red dress
Delicate as Diana before she met the Wiz
Quiet as Celie
Sweet as Suga
Arrogant as Ali
Humble as Halle
Milwaukee, the city that made my dreams.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
Between Five and Seventy Five By Phyllis T, Halle November 9, 2009
At night, we would whisper, brother and I, that we simply could’t wait
For the coming days to fast fly by; til that breath holding, happy morning
When, while we were sleeping, a little fat man in fur trimmed coat and boots,
Would sneak into our house and leave gifts so grand; then we’d rise with hoots!
Oh! The time would fly by!
and he did!
and we did!
It was grand!
At night, now, I think to myself, that the days are still whizzing past
but no jolly morning is coming on fast
When the house will be filled with family and laughing and song
So, I think I must have done something forbidden, cruel or very, very wrong
For my life did fly by!
And memory taunts
And loneliness haunts
Yet it all was grand!
For life is a series of anticipations ! I always taught my children, " Anticipate nothing! It is the only way you won’t ever be disappointed! "
Yet anticipate we must. It is something that flows in and out of our days and nights.
When the day arrives that nothing is worth anticipating, then life has lost all meaning and becomes a black hole, ******* all light and joy from breath and thought.
~.~
So, now, no red suited fur warmed chubby fellow with cherry cheeks and hard working reindeer will ever come again, to delight this child’s heart that still beats (though sometimes, reluctantly.) Now, reason strongly teaches me: This Time! Yes, This Time! you can indeed anticipate and no disappointment will drown your hope and joy! This Time!
This time! You will not awaken on a bright morn, where there are harsh words and quarreling, nor sad, nor chilling feelings, nor to seek comfort from the cold, hard, stiff legged, staring doll that lay under the sparse little tree. This time! The promises of that bright morning will prove warm and true and my earthly mind will no longer struggle with 'whys' and 'what ifs' and 'help me, Lords.'
For the promises of standing before my Maker, my Savior, will make all that was confusing and difficult, come clear and easy before my soul.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 4:34 PM UTC
We endeavor to construct boxes and file folders
This life being ****** complex
And messy to boot, so we approximate sanity
By filling compartments and writing thumbnail biographies,
And even though she packed the costume admirably
(Already forty, mind you, but nowhere near gone to fat)
Julie Newmar had already filled both outfit and niche
(And never mind Halle Berry’s turn,
Different raiment for a different time, after all,
And one suspects the next iteration of said slinky supervillainess
Will wear nothing more than feline-shaped ****** rings),
Not to mention she’d already entered our collective consciousness
With a frothy Noel novelty (unsubstantial, inconsequential
In and of its ownself, perhaps, but then one considers
The version foisted off on the populace by that woman
Who appropriated the moniker of the Blessed ******
All phoned-in faux Betty Boop, and one reconsiders)
So this was who she was, the book closed and sealed
(English only, never mind the other three tongues she spoke
Plus three more she proficiently purred in.)
They say when she died, she did not go gently, as it were,
But screamed and yowled for all she was still worth,
And maybe it was the cancer, certainly enough to do the job itself,
But perhaps it was the notion
That her era of innuendo and intimation was all done,
That she was transitioning to the static, to becoming a legacy,
A permanence that was stalking her,
Murderous, insatiable, inexorable.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
Te busco en las esquinas del pueblo
Te busco en los ojos de los caballeros
Te busco como una niña perdida
busca a su madre
Con angustia, con miedo
Miedo a encontrarte entre otros brazos
Miedo de hallarte con otra boca
Pero aun asi tengo esperanzas
de encontrarte entero
porque de poder encontrar pedazos tuyos
eso si pude hacer
Encontre tus ojos mientras miraba el cielo estrellado
una noche oscura en el Beni
Halle tu sonrisa por ahi en el mar
azul de Brasil
Senti el rozo de tus dedos
Mientras el viento jugaba con mi pelo
en pleno Los Angeles
No te he perdido para siempre
Eso me sigo diciendo
Y sigo viajando porque
te sigo buscando con esperanzas
de poder juntar todos los pedazos tuyos
y que formen el rompe cabezas
mas bien rompe corazones y mentes y almas
y que finalmente te pueda nuevamente ver
Deje mi corazon en tus manos hace mucho tiempo
y al irme, me lo quise llevar
termino en dos pedazos
yo con una mitad y tu con la otra
espero que al igual que yo estes buscando la otra mitad
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 4:24 AM UTC
Baby,
Don't just stand there hold me,
Don't end there Hug me,
Tightly. Kiss me, slightly
Slowly, to the neck. Tenderly.
You're my motivation like Kelly
This Row is our Land, more like our bed
Now down you go,
You love my brown skin I know,
Kiss my belly, lick it, you like it?
Let your love Hail (Halle) over me like I'm Berry. Celebrity love,
Let's get drunk inlove like we Jay and Bee
Jabu and Bongeka
.. Now undress me,
.. Unbutton my shirt,
.. Unzip my jeans,
.. Pull down my pants
Now pull them up, you know I'm not ready,
Lol and my poem ends here
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 12:07 PM UTC
Emma Stone must have known she was a dead cert to take home the award for best actress — her gold Givenchy gown was calling out for accessorising with the gold statuette. Stone led the charge for shimmering metallic gowns at a ceremony that was underwhelming from a fashion perspective, bar a handful of stand-out stars.
Those included Nicole Kidman, Jessica Biel, Halle Berry, Charlize Theron and fashion’s latest It girl Janelle Monae, who translated fashion chops from her musical background into acting with spectacular results, courtesy of designer Elie Saab.
Fashion pushes a more casual agenda and elements of this are filtering onto the red carpet. Hair was more undone: loose waves for Kirsten Dunst, a half-up style from Felicity Jones and Alicia Vikander’s messy topknot. Berry’s wild curls deserved their own statuette.
A mini-trend emerged with actresses wearing jewelled headpieces, including Ruth Negga, Salma Hayek and Monae.
While things did get political in speeches at the event, embracing diversity in the arts, stars didn’t give in to the current feminist mood. There was a distinct lack of pantsuits, which had been increasingly common at recent awards. Meryl Streep almost went there, in a “drouser” ensemble of dress over trousers, but that was as close as it got.
The lone political nod was an abundance of blue ribbons, supporting the American Civil Liberties Union’s action against the Trump administration’s immigration policies. Best supporting actress nominee Ruth Negga pinned one to her red Valentino gown, Karlie Kloss to her white Stella McCartney, while Moonlightdirector Barry Jenkins and best original song nominee Lin-Manuel Miranda added them to their tux jackets.
“I think art is inherently political,” said Miranda.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 8:38 PM UTC
A Moment in My Thoughts
by Phyllis T. Halle c. January 6, 2006
Breezes blow and change the world.
Raindrops fall and wear away the hills.
Snow comes quietly; no rage, nor pain in those icy shapes.
And all is changed, is changed and not the same.
How tall the trees can grow and yet the sky's not filled.
The mountains sit in silence, yet the earth groans for sounds.
People come and go and breathe their little moment in the air.
And all is changed, is changed and not the same.
So, you have walked a moment in my thoughts
So, I have held your eyes and arms and one small hope.
All words bear weight and yet the mind's not overfilled.
And all is changed, is changed and not the same.
Then when the sun comes back and dries the rain
And snow and mountains take relenting rest
And leaves burst forth on every tree
And nothing's changed, not changed; all's just the same.
Words can never be put away; they blow as breezes where they will
So this spirit must soar above the truth of loss:
In "what might have been" thoughts of yesterday, tomorrow and today
I find that all is changed, is changed and not the same.
Dec 27, 2012
Dec 27, 2012 at 4:18 PM UTC
My hands are there
just like an instrument
in need,
to feed
to embrace
to **** out your space
And so do people
as they like
to disguise themselves
unlikely greedy
to feed the world
with love of none
to scare the others
who are finding them
dumb
And what a frightenance
to seek a skeleton
like wind blows
imence
in a greater atmosphere
of the 8th sky over divine.
Unlost.
Halle lujah , who will praise
who will try to seek their own
way.
As sparrows eat the seed
and narrows finding their ****
The babys still can grow
the world needs more to show
and when you are there
you hope and find later what was worth
was an ego of longings
to enter the harder ship
were humans are contaminous
into sensitive.
fragical,
Just gaze, what is there
and the beauty appears
rehealing the one and beauty
of Gods,
were humans still can
that little
feel.
and powers reheal
your hands ,
and you Breath.
Mar 18, 2017
Mar 18, 2017 at 8:53 PM UTC
Don't pray for me, in the back seats of interchangeable cars streaking interchangeable nights from here to the edge of manifest destiny, daydreams of sleeping cities on waking seas, whiskey shots in the crowded western fog, chain smoking deaths of mindfulness, of where it starts and where it ends, of friends pledging reverence to Halle Sellasie in wire framed lenses fogged by the afterthoughts of a failed drug test, by the curves of highways beckoning the sick to leave it all behind forever, while all the freaks in the freak kingdom watch Thompson's wave crash against the pier, waiting for the resurgence, the return of the feeling that shook the streets and forced the living to live, and the streets responded, hushed under the shadow of the marquees: This cannot happen on its own. The fight is not yet over and it never will be. Do not lay your arms to rest until they bury you in the rain. Embrace your human war. Leave your house. Make them hear you
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 1:41 AM UTC
El mar es un azar
qué tentación echar
una botella al mar
poner en ella por ejemplo un grillo
un barco sin velamen y una espiga
sobrantes de lujuria algún milagro
y un folio rebosante de noticias
poner un verde un duelo una proclamados rezos y una cábala indecisa
el cable que jamás llegó a destino
y la esperanza pródiga y cautiva
el mar es un azar
qué tentación echar
una botella al mar
poner en ella por ejemplo un tango
que enumerara todos los pretextos
para apiadarse a solas de uno mismo
y quedarse en el borde de otro sueño
poner promesas como sobresaltos
y el poquito de sol que da el invierno
y un olvido flamante y oneroso
y el rencor que nos sigue como un perro
el mar es un azar
qué tentación echar
una botella al mar
poner en ella por ejemplo un naipe
un afiche de dios el de costumbre
el tímpano banal del horizonte
el reino de los cielos y las nubes
poner recortes de un asombro inútil
un lindo vaticinio de agua dulce
una noche de rayos y centellas
y el saldo de veranos y de azules
el mar es un azar
qué tentación echar
una botella al mar
pero en esta botella navegante
sólo pondré mis versos en desorden
en la espera confiada de que un día
llegue a una playa cándida y salobre
y un niño la descubra y la destape
y en lugar de estos versos halle flores
y alertas y corales y baladas
y piedritas del mar y caracoles
el mar es un azar
qué tentación echar
una botella al mar
823
Gorgeous, beautiful and pretty too.
This is the way I personally see you.
Strange that men describe what they seek?
Someone like Heidi Klum or Halle Berry.
Or some other fame person, we all know.
But, you're beautiful than any woman I know.
To me and in my eyes alone.
You're the best described woman in the world.
You deserve the cover of a magazine.
But that's not that important to me.
Never have been.
Never will be.
I accept you for you.
As you have accept me for me.
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
Sobre el camino se ve la venta.
Risueño el valle,
claveles rojos, olor de menta,
de madreselvas y frondosa calle.
En el corral amplio, vacas y perros
altos magueyes,
el sol dorado de altos cerros,
carros tirados por lentos bueyes.
Frente a la casa, los barrizales
bajo madroños;
sobre la vega, rubios maizales,
y junto al plátano, verdes retoños.
Marcando prados en las campiñas
se ven las zanjas;
junto al vallado se alzan las piñas,
y al gusto encintan ya las naranjas.
Cuelgan los troncos fuertes y erectos
las níveas barbas,
sobre las hojas vuelan insectos,
bajo las hojas duermen las larvas.
Entre los fondos, ***** al antiguo
trapiche humea,
y por la cuesta, sendero exiguo
que zigzagueando llevan a la aldea.
Verán tus ojos en la verdura
y a donde vayas,
los mararayes en la espesura,
sobre las piedras, las pitahayas.
Con sus pinceles la tarde pinta
vívido cromo;
de plata el río semeja cinta,
y el pozo, lejos manchas de plomo.
Amarillento sobre la falda
se abre un barranco,
y de los campos en la esmeralda
Se alza, de techos, el humo blanco.
Una flor roja, vivas oscila,
tiembla su estambre,
y bajo cedros, en doble fila,
sobre el camino, cerca de alambre.
La azada al hombro, tardo el labriego
vuelve del campo.
y en ella fulge, roca de fuego,
del sol poniente vívido lampo.
Gris una nube, pasando finge
velera barca;
otra, un castillo, y otra, una esfinge,
y un dragón otra, que el cuello enarca.
El horizonte cortan los techos
las cumbres calvas,
y en el remanso, por entre helechos,
los pastos tienden sus plumas albas.
Abre sus flores los alhelíes
cerca del río,
y el café luce, como rubíes,
sus rojos granos bajo el plantío.
En las paredes de la posada
se ven letreros;
son un recuerdo para la amada,
o vanidades de pasajeros.
Por los bardales se ven las rosas
sobre el camino;
Pasan volando las mariposas,
y a un canto, lejos responde un trino.
¡para el reposo, feliz quien halle
tu puerta franca!
¡qué paz más honda la de tu valle!
¡qué paz, la tuya, casita blanca!
722
Volver al barrio siempre es una huida
casi como enfrentarse a dos espejos
uno que ve de cerca / otro de lejos
en la torpe memoria repetida
la infancia / la que fue / sigue perdida
no eran así los patios / son reflejos /
esos niños que juegan ya son viejos
y van con más cautela por la vida
el barrio tiene encanto y lluvia mansa
rieles para un tranvía que descansa
y no irrumpe en la noche ni madruga
si uno busca trocitos de pasado
tal vez se halle a sí mismo ensimismado /
volver al barrio siempre es una fuga
583
De tu peso vencido,
verde honor del verano,
yaces en este llano
del tronco antiguo y noble desasido.
Dando venganza estás de ti a los vientos,
cuyas líquidas iras despreciabas,
cuando de ellos con ellas murmurabas,
imitando a mis quejas los acentos.
Humilde agora entre las yerbas suenas,
cosa que de tu altura
nunca temer pudieron las arenas;
y ofendida del tiempo tu hermosura,
ocupa en la ribera
el lugar que ocupó tu propia sombra.
Menos gastos tendrá la primavera
en vestir este valle
después que faltas a su verde alfombra.
¿Qué hará el jilguero dulce cuando halle
su patria con tus hojas en el suelo?
¿Y la parlera fuente,
que aun ignorante de prisión de yelo,
exenta de la sed del sol corría?
Sin duda llorará con su corriente
la licencia que has dado en ella al día.
Tendrá un retrato menos
Pisuerga que mostrar al caminante
en sus cristales puros.
Cualquier pájaro amante
desiertos dejará tus brazos duros,
y vengo a poner duda
si, para que te habite en llanto tierno,
a la tórtola basta el ser vïuda.
Y porque tengo miedo que el invierno
pondrá necesidad a algún villano,
tal, que se atreva con ingrata mano
a encomendarte al fuego,
yo te quiero llevar a mi cabaña,
por lo que mi cansancio, estando ciego,
a tu sombra le debe.
Descansarás el báculo de caña
con que mi vida tristes años mueve;
y ojalá que yo fuera
rey, como soy pastor de la ribera,
que, cetro antes que báculo cansado,
no canas sustentaras, sino estado.
623
"What's your name?"
Rebekah Halle ***
"D.O.B?"
13 November 1XXX
"What are you here for today?:
Eye surgery
'Okay, you're going to feel a freeze go through your veins now --
and then start to feel very sleepy..."
.
.
.
I wake to....
Beep,
Beep, beep
Buzz the machines
Whee, whoosh, voo
Whirl goes the blood pressure machine.
.
.
.
Knock, knock, knock on the door
And a nurse peers into check,
then
Silence, for a sec.
.
.
Beep,
Beep, beep.
.
And then…
Knock, knock, knock,
"Your eyes are looking great,
I'll come back in the morning," Dr Kowal says.
.
.
.
Beep
Beep, Beep, Beep
I finally sleep...
.
And then…
Knock, knock, knock.
“Do you want your dinner now?!”
Inquires the hospitality staff.
.
.
Darkness strangles light —
Again nurses wheel in their trollies…
Volumous voices viscerate silence.
~
All In
a hospital room.
Jun 22, 2024
Jun 22, 2024 at 5:18 PM UTC
And in your eyes y find
Miself, in your female
hands
I am Defrosting in
Your arms, mi Defensive
coldness, the rigth way
In your eyes in find miself
In your females hands
Mi cold is lost loving your warmth
And a sensual scent caress me
all day, and the music in your female chest, complete, a Lioness
And in your eyes i find miself, in
Your female hands
The smell of your body, is mi beautiful dawn, in the cold nigth on mi soul
Dark echoes of pain, and betrayal
Defrosting between your arms, by kissing your skin
And in your eyes i found miself,
In your female hands,
And Your thighs, mi truth,
My eden, the scent of your body
Is my beautiful dawn
Works better on spanish
Y en tus ojos me halle,
entre tus manos de mujer,
me deshielo entre tus brazos
Y en tus ojos me halle,
Entre tus manos de mujer
Y mi frialdad se esfuma, adorando
Tus petalos, besando tu calides
El frio de mi pecho, se entibia por ti,
Y tu esencia me acaricia todo el dia
Y la musica en tu pecho de mujer completa, dice algo sobre mi
Y en tus ojos me halle, entre
tus manos de mujer
El aroma de tu cuerpo es mi bello amanecer, en la noche fria de mi ser
Y en tus muslos, mi verdad y el eden
Y el aroma de tu cuerpo es mi bello amanecer.
Apr 26, 2018
Apr 26, 2018 at 5:48 PM UTC
I am a born-again believer in me, in we, in us
I trust you and I will fly so high we forget the meaning of the word stand
Hand-in-hand we will be above both land and sea and our floor will be more air than comparisons of trees laid down
Hey— I know you, I’ve seen you before
Not in trouble, no no but still in my corner
The girl you were, should I warn her?
That we are about to fall irrevocably, recklessly in love
I’ve been in jams before but never in something so sweet it makes me wonder what makes you
Stick with me, it sounds like a pup explaining his carry-on before boarding but if you’d just be mine and dine on promises and wine with cutlery so fine you feel you ought to rub away your fingerprints before they notice who you are
You are the light that makes the day go ‘round and shove itself into the ocean each night, embarrassed to be outshone
Out here there’s nothing to rub away
Your fingerprints burn searing brands on my soul and you make me whole
I’ve got holes in me like the lid on a pepper-shaker, the flakes keep dropping out, but you close them up and I can’t help but think of my suture with you, the future is ours, sew
Onward to new horizons
You and I will rewrite the stars
What, like it’s hard?
The fabric of spacetime is just that, sew
Bunch here and there and make a scrunchy outta time
Bring it back and take back the now
Blend fashion and function into one and oh what fun we’ll have being old and new all at once and together
We weather the storm because there’s no Halle for this Berry and no bunny’s coming close to this Bug
It’s you and me over land and sea
Like those pocket monsters, I choose you
I believe in true
Love is here to stay, okay?
Take my hand and sail with me
Fly with me
Above land and sea
Sep 22, 2019
Sep 22, 2019 at 9:15 PM UTC
Hay que andar por el camino
posando apenas los pies;
hay que ir por este mundo
como quien no va por él.
La alforja ha de ser ligera,
firme el báculo ha de ser,
y más firme la esperanza
y más firme aún la fe.
A veces la noche es lóbrega;
mas para el que mira bien
siempre desgarra una estrella
la ceñuda lobreguez.
Por último, hay que morir
al deseo y al placer,
para que al llegar la muerte
a buscarnos, halle que
ya estamos muertos del todo,
no tenga nada que hacer
y se limite a llevarnos
de la mano por aquel
sendero maravilloso
que habremos de recorrer,
libertados para siempre
de tiempo y espacio. ¡Amén!
373
Ingenuas provincianas: cuando mi vida se halle
desahuciada por todos, iré por los caminos
por donde vais cantando los más sonoros trinos
y en fraternal confianza ceñiré vuestro talle.
A la hora del Angelus, cuando vais por la calle,
enredados al busto los chales blanquecinos,
decora vuestros rostros -¡oh rostros peregrinos!-
la luz de los mejores crepúsculos del valle.
De pecho en los balcones de vetusta madera,
platicáis en las tardes tibias de primavera
que Rosa tiene novio, que Virginia se casa;
y oyendo los poetas vuestros discursos sanos
para siempre se curan de males ciudadanos,
y en la aldea la vida buenamente se pasa.
360
This is my strong place
Where I seek his face
Over and over in this life's race
As I look up to him
All my heart sings out
Halle Halle shout hallelujah
To the one on high
Dec 14, 2024
Dec 14, 2024 at 4:19 PM UTC