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I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
And now, as Dawn rose from her couch beside Tithonus—harbinger of
light alike to mortals and immortals—the gods met in council and with
them, Jove the lord of thunder, who is their king. Thereon Minerva
began to tell them of the many sufferings of Ulysses, for she pitied
him away there in the house of the nymph Calypso.
  “Father Jove,” said she, “and all you other gods that live in
everlasting bliss, I hope there may never be such a thing as a kind
and well-disposed ruler any more, nor one who will govern equitably. I
hope they will be all henceforth cruel and unjust, for there is not
one of his subjects but has forgotten Ulysses, who ruled them as
though he were their father. There he is, lying in great pain in an
island where dwells the nymph Calypso, who will not let him go; and he
cannot get back to his own country, for he can find neither ships
nor sailors to take him over the sea. Furthermore, wicked people are
now trying to ****** his only son Telemachus, who is coming home
from Pylos and Lacedaemon, where he has been to see if he can get news
of his father.”
  “What, my dear, are you talking about?” replied her father, “did you
not send him there yourself, because you thought it would help Ulysses
to get home and punish the suitors? Besides, you are perfectly able to
protect Telemachus, and to see him safely home again, while the
suitors have to come hurry-skurrying back without having killed him.”
  When he had thus spoken, he said to his son Mercury, “Mercury, you
are our messenger, go therefore and tell Calypso we have decreed
that poor Ulysses is to return home. He is to be convoyed neither by
gods nor men, but after a perilous voyage of twenty days upon a raft
he is to reach fertile Scheria, the land of the Phaeacians, who are
near of kin to the gods, and will honour him as though he were one
of ourselves. They will send him in a ship to his own country, and
will give him more bronze and gold and raiment than he would have
brought back from Troy, if he had had had all his prize money and
had got home without disaster. This is how we have settled that he
shall return to his country and his friends.”
  Thus he spoke, and Mercury, guide and guardian, slayer of Argus, did
as he was told. Forthwith he bound on his glittering golden sandals
with which he could fly like the wind over land and sea. He took the
wand with which he seals men’s eyes in sleep or wakes them just as
he pleases, and flew holding it in his hand over Pieria; then he
swooped down through the firmament till he reached the level of the
sea, whose waves he skimmed like a cormorant that flies fishing
every hole and corner of the ocean, and drenching its thick plumage in
the spray. He flew and flew over many a weary wave, but when at last
he got to the island which was his journey’s end, he left the sea
and went on by land till he came to the cave where the nymph Calypso
lived.
  He found her at home. There was a large fire burning on the
hearth, and one could smell from far the fragrant reek of burning
cedar and sandal wood. As for herself, she was busy at her loom,
shooting her golden shuttle through the warp and singing
beautifully. Round her cave there was a thick wood of alder, poplar,
and sweet smelling cypress trees, wherein all kinds of great birds had
built their nests—owls, hawks, and chattering sea-crows that occupy
their business in the waters. A vine loaded with grapes was trained
and grew luxuriantly about the mouth of the cave; there were also four
running rills of water in channels cut pretty close together, and
turned hither and thither so as to irrigate the beds of violets and
luscious herbage over which they flowed. Even a god could not help
being charmed with such a lovely spot, so Mercury stood still and
looked at it; but when he had admired it sufficiently he went inside
the cave.
  Calypso knew him at once—for the gods all know each other, no
matter how far they live from one another—but Ulysses was not within;
he was on the sea-shore as usual, looking out upon the barren ocean
with tears in his eyes, groaning and breaking his heart for sorrow.
Calypso gave Mercury a seat and said: “Why have you come to see me,
Mercury—honoured, and ever welcome—for you do not visit me often?
Say what you want; I will do it for be you at once if I can, and if it
can be done at all; but come inside, and let me set refreshment before
you.
  As she spoke she drew a table loaded with ambrosia beside him and
mixed him some red nectar, so Mercury ate and drank till he had had
enough, and then said:
  “We are speaking god and goddess to one another, one another, and
you ask me why I have come here, and I will tell you truly as you
would have me do. Jove sent me; it was no doing of mine; who could
possibly want to come all this way over the sea where there are no
cities full of people to offer me sacrifices or choice hecatombs?
Nevertheless I had to come, for none of us other gods can cross
Jove, nor transgress his orders. He says that you have here the most
ill-starred of alf those who fought nine years before the city of King
Priam and sailed home in the tenth year after having sacked it. On
their way home they sinned against Minerva, who raised both wind and
waves against them, so that all his brave companions perished, and
he alone was carried hither by wind and tide. Jove says that you are
to let this by man go at once, for it is decreed that he shall not
perish here, far from his own people, but shall return to his house
and country and see his friends again.”
  Calypso trembled with rage when she heard this, “You gods,” she
exclaimed, to be ashamed of yourselves. You are always jealous and
hate seeing a goddess take a fancy to a mortal man, and live with
him in open matrimony. So when rosy-fingered Dawn made love to
Orion, you precious gods were all of you furious till Diana went and
killed him in Ortygia. So again when Ceres fell in love with Iasion,
and yielded to him in a thrice ploughed fallow field, Jove came to
hear of it before so long and killed Iasion with his thunder-bolts.
And now you are angry with me too because I have a man here. I found
the poor creature sitting all alone astride of a keel, for Jove had
struck his ship with lightning and sunk it in mid ocean, so that all
his crew were drowned, while he himself was driven by wind and waves
on to my island. I got fond of him and cherished him, and had set my
heart on making him immortal, so that he should never grow old all his
days; still I cannot cross Jove, nor bring his counsels to nothing;
therefore, if he insists upon it, let the man go beyond the seas
again; but I cannot send him anywhere myself for I have neither
ships nor men who can take him. Nevertheless I will readily give him
such advice, in all good faith, as will be likely to bring him
safely to his own country.”
  “Then send him away,” said Mercury, “or Jove will be angry with
you and punish you”‘
  On this he took his leave, and Calypso went out to look for Ulysses,
for she had heard Jove’s message. She found him sitting upon the beach
with his eyes ever filled with tears, and dying of sheer
home-sickness; for he had got tired of Calypso, and though he was
forced to sleep with her in the cave by night, it was she, not he,
that would have it so. As for the day time, he spent it on the rocks
and on the sea-shore, weeping, crying aloud for his despair, and
always looking out upon the sea. Calypso then went close up to him
said:
  “My poor fellow, you shall not stay here grieving and fretting
your life out any longer. I am going to send you away of my own free
will; so go, cut some beams of wood, and make yourself a large raft
with an upper deck that it may carry you safely over the sea. I will
put bread, wine, and water on board to save you from starving. I
will also give you clothes, and will send you a fair wind to take
you home, if the gods in heaven so will it—for they know more about
these things, and can settle them better than I can.”
  Ulysses shuddered as he heard her. “Now goddess,” he answered,
“there is something behind all this; you cannot be really meaning to
help me home when you bid me do such a dreadful thing as put to sea on
a raft. Not even a well-found ship with a fair wind could venture on
such a distant voyage: nothing that you can say or do shall mage me go
on board a raft unless you first solemnly swear that you mean me no
mischief.”
  Calypso smiled at this and caressed him with her hand: “You know a
great deal,” said she, “but you are quite wrong here. May heaven above
and earth below be my witnesses, with the waters of the river Styx-
and this is the most solemn oath which a blessed god can take—that
I mean you no sort of harm, and am only advising you to do exactly
what I should do myself in your place. I am dealing with you quite
straightforwardly; my heart is not made of iron, and I am very sorry
for you.”
  When she had thus spoken she led the way rapidly before him, and
Ulysses followed in her steps; so the pair, goddess and man, went on
and on till they came to Calypso’s cave, where Ulysses took the seat
that Mercury had just left. Calypso set meat and drink before him of
the food that mortals eat; but her maids brought ambrosia and nectar
for herself, and they laid their hands on the good things that were
before them. When they had satisfied themselves with meat and drink,
Calypso spoke, saying:
  “Ulysses, noble son of Laertes, so you would start home to your
own land at once? Good luck go with you, but if you could only know
how much suffering is in store for you before you get back to your own
country, you would stay where you are, keep house along with me, and
let me make you immortal, no matter how anxious you may be to see this
wife of yours, of whom you are thinking all the time day after day;
yet I flatter myself that at am no whit less tall or well-looking than
she is, for it is not to be expected that a mortal woman should
compare in beauty with an immortal.”
  “Goddess,” replied Ulysses, “do not be angry with me about this. I
am quite aware that my wife Penelope is nothing like so tall or so
beautiful as yourself. She is only a woman, whereas you are an
immortal. Nevertheless, I want to get home, and can think of nothing
else. If some god wrecks me when I am on the sea, I will bear it and
make the best of it. I have had infinite trouble both by land and
sea already, so let this go with the rest.”
  Presently the sun set and it became dark, whereon the pair retired
into the inner part of the cave and went to bed.
  When the child of morning, rosy-fingered Dawn, appeared, Ulysses put
on his shirt and cloak, while the goddess wore a dress of a light
gossamer fabric, very fine and graceful, with a beautiful golden
girdle about her waist and a veil to cover her head. She at once set
herself to think how she could speed Ulysses on his way. So she gave
him a great bronze axe that suited his hands; it was sharpened on both
sides, and had a beautiful olive-wood handle fitted firmly on to it.
She also gave him a sharp adze, and then led the way to the far end of
the island where the largest trees grew—alder, poplar and pine,
that reached the sky—very dry and well seasoned, so as to sail
light for him in the water. Then, when she had shown him where the
best trees grew, Calypso went home, leaving him to cut them, which
he soon finished doing. He cut down twenty trees in all and adzed them
smooth, squaring them by rule in good workmanlike fashion. Meanwhile
Calypso came back with some augers, so he bored holes with them and
fitted the timbers together with bolts and rivets. He made the raft as
broad as a skilled shipwright makes the beam of a large vessel, and he
filed a deck on top of the ribs, and ran a gunwale all round it. He
also made a mast with a yard arm, and a rudder to steer with. He
fenced the raft all round with wicker hurdles as a protection
against the waves, and then he threw on a quantity of wood. By and
by Calypso brought him some linen to make the sails, and he made these
too, excellently, making them fast with braces and sheets. Last of
all, with the help of levers, he drew the raft down into the water.
  In four days he had completed the whole work, and on the fifth
Calypso sent him from the island after washing him and giving him some
clean clothes. She gave him a goat skin full of black wine, and
another larger one of water; she also gave him a wallet full of
provisions, and found him in much good meat. Moreover, she made the
wind fair and warm for him, and gladly did Ulysses spread his sail
before it, while he sat and guided the raft skilfully by means of
the rudder. He never closed his eyes, but kept them fixed on the
Pleiads, on late-setting Bootes, and on the Bear—which men also
call the wain, and which turns round and round where it is, facing
Orion, and alone never dipping into the stream of Oceanus—for Calypso
had told him to keep this to his left. Days seven and ten did he
sail over the sea, and on the eighteenth the dim outlines of the
mountains on the nearest part of the Phaeacian coast appeared,
rising like a shield on the horizon.
  But King Neptune, who was returning from the Ethiopians, caught
sight of Ulysses a long way off, from the mountains of the Solymi.
He could see him sailing upon the sea, and it made him very angry,
so he wagged his head and muttered to himself, saying, heavens, so the
gods have been changing their minds about Ulysses while I was away
in Ethiopia, and now he is close to the land of the Phaeacians,
where it is decreed that he shall escape from the calamities that have
befallen him. Still, he shall have plenty of hardship yet before he
has done with it.”
  Thereon he gathered his clouds together, grasped his trident,
stirred it round in the sea, and roused the rage of every wind that
blows till earth, sea, and sky were hidden in cloud, and night
sprang forth out of the heavens. Winds from East, South, North, and
West fell upon him all at the same time, and a tremendous sea got
up, so that Ulysses’ heart began to fail him. “Alas,” he said to
himself in his dismay, “what ever will become of me? I am afraid
Calypso was right when she said I should have trouble by sea before
I got back home. It is all coming true. How black is Jove making
heaven with his clouds, and what a sea the winds are raising from
every quarter at once. I am now safe to perish. Blest and thrice blest
were those Danaans who fell before Troy in the cause of the sons of
Atreus. Would that had been killed on the day when the Trojans were
pressing me so sorely about the dead body of Achilles, for then I
should have had due burial and the Achaeans would have honoured my
name; but now it seems that I shall come to a most pitiable end.”
  As he spoke a sea broke over him with such terrific fury that the
raft reeled again, and he was carried overboard a long way off. He let
go the helm, and the force of the hurricane was so great that it broke
the mast half way up, and both sail and yard went over into the sea.
For a long time Ulysses was under water, and it was all he could do to
rise to the surface again, for the clothes Calypso had given him
weighed him down; but at last he got his head above water and spat out
the bitter brine that was running down his face in streams. In spite
of all this, however, he did not lose sight of his raft, but swam as
fast as he could towards it, got hold of it, and climbed on board
again so as to escape drowning. The sea took the raft and tossed it
about as Autumn winds whirl thistledown round and round upon a road.
It was as though the South, North, East, and West winds were all
playing battledore and shuttlecock with it at once.
  When he was in this plight, Ino daughter of Cadmus, also called
Leucothea, saw him. She had formerly been a mere mortal, but had
been since raised to the rank of a marine goddess. Seeing in what
great distress Ulysses now was, she had compassion upon him, and,
rising like a sea-gull from the waves, took her seat upon the raft.
  “My poor good man,” said she, “why is Neptune so furiously angry
with you? He
eigengrau Feb 2014
I have been staring at this blank space for awhile now.
It pains me to see myself struggling to express myself.
I wanted to compare you to the sun, the moon, and the stars.
But I do not want to sound passé nor cliché.

I have been looking for the right words to say,
but it seems that I am drowning in an ocean of words.
I am at a loss for words
but still I keep trying,
             I keep looking,
             I keep searching…

I have no choice but to say this straightforwardly—
           without twists and turns.
Words will never be enough to express how much affection I have for you.

I love you, with all that I am.
And I thank you for giving me a reason to carry on with my life…
to continue going,
                              to continue fighting,
                                                                and to continue loving.

*You mean all the world to me.
I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Devin Weaver Feb 2013
Sometimes I feel like those who
Aren’t overwhelmed
Aren’t tired and broken down
Aren’t hunched and encumbered
Those who can breathe without
Feeling a tightness that strangles
An immensity that fills the heart
With shadowy, sorrowful tangles

They must not be listening
Must have sheathed their eyes
Within the blackest, sight-denying blinders
Or else resigned to a myopic gaze
Yes, they must have made
Some unconscious decision to don
The enduring armor of ignorance
Deftly designed to repel the obvious
Forged in the fires of whimsied romance
Of furtive fairy tales in which
The protagonist, hero, heroine, the revered
The beautiful, the admired,
And all their supporting characters
Are agents of nothing

Sometimes I feel that in the stories of the free
In the mythology of respiting privilege
There is only one antagonist
Against which said armor does protect
He is truth
He is compassion
She is courage and love
She is feeling and thought
He is meaning and substance and matter itself

So, take heart, my armored many
For, it seems to me, your villain
Is nearly dead

I have the utmost faith
That each of you will do your parts
Will walk with your heads down
To your dramatic destinations
Will ignore the journey, the repercussions,
And every longing bystander
Yes, you will merrily spend, and sell,
And buy, and sell and sell
You will straightforwardly tread
Over the downtrodden with your feeling-less feet
Your blind eyes will roll about
Inside their numbing sockets
Your deafened ears will placidly bypass
The rhythms of opportunity and intuition
Your made-up mouths and raised noses
Will vivaciously avoid
The fruits of feeling, the pains of principle,
And the arduous trials of belief
In one’s fellow man

Upon the hour of final victory
I will write of epitaph and eulogy.
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
It will always be you JB
IDS Sep 2016
Days flash past my shadow
Unable to distinguish your face.

Missing someone is overestimated
An individual can't be missed
But how you felt in his presence
Will subsist.

Love conquers as endless matter
Thus exposing your heart is key,
For a new world to perceive.

An unknown yet
familiar ardor rushes through my veins,
I thence forsee you're present but somehow
Gone away.

Humankind around neglected you
Trust is reasonably locked into your gut
Disowning is no option,
Neither patronizing you;
Been there myself.

Dark nights
Dark thoughts;
Disoriented your head,
But reincarneted who you are today.

Don't contemplate there is no better.
Stand high on your feet,
Drown yourself on memories
That once made you
Complete.

Perhaps I'll never be your future,
Perhaps my existence to you is nonsense.
Straightforwardly;
Merely knowing you're no longer lost,
Will be my cue for moving on.
Brooke Marie May 2012
Straightforwardly.

This pressure on my chest,
I cannot quite describe.

Just a pressure, nothing more
of something missing

     There before?

Without complexities.

Not the same pain like the rest,
Getting this strange vibe.

What have I lost, misplaced,
Something forgotten

     Cross-stricken face.
Tea Jun 2015
There was a woman; with a heart as big as the world. And she wished for love, oh, how she needed love. She wished for poems, and music, and art. For nature, and stargazing, and wilderness. For long nights and even longer drives. She wished for a wanderer like herself. Someone who understands. But most of all - someone who loves her the same way she loves him.

Then, there was a man. A man who put his life on hold, to wait for her. A man who straightforwardly told her that she is the thought that gets him through each day. But they were different. Polar opposites. He knew of her wishes and desires and of the things that made her heartstrings flutter; but he didn't understand them. Because he didn't feel them too. And he was sweet, and warm, and safe, and comfortable, and he tried so hard. She adored him - just not in the way he wanted her to.

And then, there was another man. This man was not like the previous man. No, this man made every broken bone inside her body come alive again. This man had an inexplicable thirst for life and everything it had to offer and he cherished every moment of it. He lived in a way that he never feared death. This man made her see colors and showed her the world she used to know in a different light. He held her hand in a matter that no man ever could and no man ever will again. He opened her eyes and brought her back to life. He made her believe again. And the way he said he loves her brought her to tears each time because, for the first time, there were no lies behind those words.

But she knew. Deep down in the pit of her stomach, she knew from the start. If she were ever to leave him, the colors would fade, her hands would grow cold and she would forget what laughter tasted like. And him? He would be fine. He had a thirst for life, not for her. He would move on, possibly without looking back. And that was the problem. Because he was the voice inside her mind, and she was just a thought that crossed his from time to time. And he understood her, by god, he knew her right down to her core, better than anyone else ever has. But he didn't need her in the way she needed him.

Now any logical person would come to the same conclusion: it's always better to be with the man who loves you more than life itself; than with the man who could easily go on as if you had never been a part of his life to begin with.

*But love doesn't run on logic, does it?
Well this was long. I apologize to anyone who decided to read through the entire thing but this was something that needed to be said.
Natascia Rohaley May 2014
I need you like I need my own heart.
I love you without even knowing why or how or when
I love you straightforwardly without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way than this
I know of a world where "I" does not exist
But neither does "you"
A world where only "we" exist.
So close that your arm around my waist feels like a part of me
Where your eyes begin to close as I fall asleep
So in sync.
You are like stardust in the summer
Or a massive burst of colors
And I want to inhale every tiny particle
And choke on the splendor of just you
Even if my lungs suffocate from drowning in the flecks that make up all of you
Even if the church caught fire and burned to the ground,
I would still have faith..
In you.
In us.
Call me a safe bet, but I'm really not.
I am terrified of all the things I feel, but cannot see.
Dominique Roche Aug 2012
17
"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way" -Pablo Neruda

Just as the final dispute had concluded, the forbidden phrase
was spoken. It was mutual, however, for it was known that
disfunction and chaos only led to destruction and confusion. It
was a misfortune, that the joy and laughter that at one point
could shake walls had deteriorated. Although, through the eyes
of fellows, the parting of ways was viewed as a kindness.




**excerpt from Sonnet XVII
please give credit where credit is due. for more of my poetry visit http://lapoete.tumblr.com
thePaigebook Nov 2012
Love Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Brittany Ann Jan 2021
I appear in my truest form.

Never tainted by the hands

of what others want to

craft me to be.

Never forged into a byproduct

from the assembly line of life.

I face this world head on

and straightforwardly.

Planting all of myself into

the foundation of the Earth

I stand upon.

And I never falter

with the cowering of

impressionable minds.

I hold steady.

I remain pure.

I appear in my truest form

for all those to see.

Refusing to repair parts

of myself

that are not damaged.

Allowing my soul to be

the graceful hands of an artist

who paints the canvas

of my world

through my eyes.
Mike Essig Apr 2015
Sonnet XVII**

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Can't get enough of Pablo...
real is the form.

here now is a colony of words,
or an empire of assault from the
many truths that smite us.

our hearts gallop altogether
past the prairie of imaginations:
this movement, this locutionary,
this waltz adagios its way
to a pace that knows no sojourn.
let us raise our clenched fists
always angelward.
we are young in this agronomy.
our hands remind us of their increasing responsibilities.
our inner light realizes the throng of our shadows - away from the dark
we go pursuant to all effulgence.
let us unpin our juvenile wings
  from the clasp of what startles
us back to our flawed origins.
a flumine of flawlessness awaits
the steep end of our possibilities.

let us not neglect this.
let us, hand in hand, straightforwardly, break from our nascent states and unfurl in a craze of the so many things that capture our potentials.
outside my home, the streets are vacuous, famished from the twirling laughter of children.
once, the grass is giddy from the lightsome meanderings of our superfluous feet! where did all the days crawl to? these limbless serpents that pillage the fruits of our sageness.

i look outside and the mellow moon
enters with its lithe figure
through the hollow spaces of doors
to lairs where the youth are sleeping, unmindful of what dreams log onto the papers of their souls.
heed the call and do not let
it go, running off into another hapless length of waiting.

real is the form.
there is no lie in our rawness.
the voice inside us is tender
with message, purging our poisons
into detox and preparing with
new energies, our
flesh for our consigned ventures.

the voluminous pages are still
white and new, words besmirched still yearn to be written - there is no getting realer than the realization of our clarion call:

real is the form
and in the blank veranda of green
we sift through wordlessness,
gaping our mouths now,
contributing a verse,
     or a song!
For the youth of Bulacan.
Jon York Nov 2012
If you don't know
which road to take
then any one of them
will get you there
so choose carefully
or you will get lost
and you will never
know what it is going
to cost.

What will be will be
and sometimes we just
have to wait and see because
happiness is something to love
and sonething to do
and something to hope for
and we don't get
unlimited chances
to have things be the way
we want them
to be.

People say love hurts
but that is not really true
because loneliness hurts
and rejection hurts but love
itself does not
really hurt.

Everybody works so hard
to get their fill
and in the end all everybody
ever really wanted was a thrill
but the boulevard just goes on
and on and on and never
seems to end so
don't pretend because
it will be found out
in the end.

It was by chance
that I saw your smiling face
and you saw mine
and you made the call
and after talking
I was consumed by
flames of love for you
this beautiful Angel
that came to me
for love.

I know that we can
grow together and enrich
our worlds in these later years
with the love that we can share
if we choose to take
that dare.

I will love you
without knowing how or when
or from where and I will love you
straightforwardly
without complexities or pride
because I know
no other way.

Every moment
that we are together will be
the most important moment
of our lives and eventually
you will come to understand
that love heals everything
and love is really
all that there is.

Our journey to each other
took many lifetimes
and we will complete that journey
and our coming together
was was not a question of if
but was only a question
of when so let
us begin.                                       Jon  York           2012
Alexie Quinto Aug 2017
I was the one who loved you with passion more than you imagine, more than you could ever fathom. A love we shared that I never did see the reality perhaps I was blinded with the ideal of you and my fantasies. And when you hold me tightly and I intertwined my hands with thee, the feeling was between constantly longing for  the possibilities and asking to be free from the skepticism.

You told me those three words, those three words that should have felt like home to me yet I see the uncertainty between your eyes and realized those words weren't meant for me. I know you tried but failed to see the possibility of having an 'us'. You decided to let me go because you don't want us to keep on running to each other and holding on to something that wasn't even real.

But if you ask me if I have regrets in loving you, I would honestly tell you I didn't regret it all because somehow, you needed nothing to draw my eyes because you precisely are you and I chose to love you without wanting it in return. I love you straightforwardly, and I have always been.
Deeba Dec 2014
I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.


I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.


I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep


- Love Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda
Lester Maxwell Feb 2015
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
Pablo Neruda
Brie Ellisa May 2014
Shall I compare thee to
somewhere I have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch because they are too
   like the night,
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
   Meet in
  red signals across your absent eyes
   that move like the sea near
  the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being
  without knowing how, or when, or from where.
(i who have died am alive again
the price we have to pay;
If I could tell you I would let you know.

I have loved flowers that fade,
   Within whose magic
will easily unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
   I have loved airs that die
   Before their charm is writ
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
  .
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:
   straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where
  In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith,
  I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
                 With my lost saints - I
breathing from any -- lifted from the no
of all nothing -- human merely being
nothing but I told you so.

I love you more than I can say,
If I could tell you I would let you know.

Leaning into the afternoons I fling my sad nets
to that tender light
   Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.
   One shade the more, one ray the less
I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
   die like a breath
And wither as a bloom;
   Fear not a
mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is
unimaginable You

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes
         so long lives this and this gives life
Exploring the idea of a poetry mash-up. Poems used are If I Could Tell You by W.H. Auden, "I have loved flowers that fade" by Robert Bridges, Sonnet XLII by Elizabeth Browning, "She walks in beauty, like the night" by Lord Byron, "i thank You God for this most amazing" and "somewhere i have never traveled,gladly beyond" by e.e. cummings, Leaning Into the Afternoons and Sonnet XVII by Pablo Neruda, and Sonnet 18 by William Shakespeare. Phew.
Sarah Pavlak Aug 2020
I. The Beginning
In September she gave you a name
That came with weights and burdens
To break into.
Straightforwardly, you marched them.
As if it were the only thing to do.

II. The Middle
Four miles beyond the confines,
You left in the morning to gather the water.
I was told somewhere along the way you
Fell in love with the aftermath of a line,
And began a new life in its crooked symmetry.

III. The End
I don’t know if she hoped for a life of grace,
or love, mercy, or passion.
Regardless, it is all ok somehow.
There is something to knowing that, when it is over, we may go forward
And start afresh in the broken ranks.
thePaigebook Nov 2012
Heart, please live sweetly.
Grow and trust. Listen stately.
Straightforwardly love.
Sean Critchfield Jun 2021
“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; So I love you because I know no other way than this: where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.”
-Pablo Neruda

Though this is beautiful, it is wrong.
I don’t want your chest to be my chest.
I don’t want your hand to be my hand.
I don’t want your breath to be my breath.
I don’t want your eyes to be my eyes.
I don’t want your sleep to be my sleep.
I want to exist apart from you but with you.
If you’re chest were mine, I could never offer it to rest your head upon when they day has been long or listen to your heart beat as we lay together in the soft morning light.
If you’re hand were my hand, I could not hold it on long drives from place to place or adorn it with rings.
If you’re breath were my breath, I would have no breath to be taken away when I wake and see you sleeping, cast in the blue of night, like art. I could not hear you singing softly in other rooms of our home.
If you’re eyes were my eyes, I would have no place to get lost as we chip away the time talking under blankets to the smell of coffee. I could not see them soften as you kiss me on the tips of your toes.
If your sleep were my sleep, I could not dream of you and all of our futures yet to come. I could not hold you to me on cold nights when our shivers match.
I do not want that love.
I want to love you full of knowing. Practiced. Perfected. Artful. You deserve nothing less.
I want to love you full with pride for the complex extraordinary creature that you are and are becoming.
But I do not wish to be one. If you were not you and I were not me, this love could only be half as good.
And no poetry could make that beautiful.
You are beautiful.
You are perfection, separate from me. And we are perfect together.
shwetha Sep 2020
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
John Mar 2019
It was a long day.
It did not start well.
When the clock struck midnight, we were sitting in the cold, dark parking lot.
I remember looking st you when the lights from the field went out.
As the bulbs faded and the dark crept in I could see you better than before. I didn’t need to see your face to know what to say. I cried. We’ve both cried in your car. But never over something that hadn’t happened yet. I cried because I was scared. Part of me knew for a long time.
Part of me knew what would happen.
Both parts were scared.
I love you.
I said that. With tears running down my face, I rambled on. I didn’t know why or how I felt that way. Why I was bad for feeling that way. That I was bad for telling you. That it was wrong for me to love the one person who has cared enough about me to sit down and let me sob uncontrollably into your arm.
I know how uncomfortable I made you.
I still don’t know why you didn’t leave me then.
Instead you told me bluntly and straightforwardly, that you didn’t understand. I didn’t understand. I still don’t.  You
After all I’ve done to you
Held me.
You held me when all I wanted to do was to run away. You told me not to run away.
For the first time I decided to stay. I went to bed. So did you.
I woke up hating what I did more than before. You won’t let me apologize.
Why can’t I be sorry for loving you
I don’t want to love you.
My best friend. I’m sorry.
I ran to you again.
I ended up in your arms again.
The only place I want to be.
The place I know I shouldn’t be.
We left. You took us away.
We drove for hours.
Now I’m facing my problems head on.
I can’t run away now.
I want to be in your arms again now.
I love you
I hate that I do.
I’m sorry
This is me venting
Arlene Corwin Feb 2021
Today I Was Accused…

Today I was accused
Of using too much rhyme;

Of bruising Keats and Shelley…

Is it that my rhymes are smelly - 

Pressed by some unconscious vanity?

Straightforwardly the way I think,
My rhyme in sync-
With evolution and enlargement of unformed idea,
My rhyme an incubus
In *******
With lover genius?
Nover’s genie?

Taking no offense
I had no other license,
Than to search my mind,
Which is like using wind
To cook a meal.

All that I want’s the real deal.
With rhyme my not-so-secret weapon,
One I lean on,
So be it!
There’’ll be no rhyme cremation
Of this norm and form creation.

Today I Was Accused…11.15.2019/revised 2.24.2021 The Processes: Creative, Thinking, Meditative; Arlene Nover Corwin

Function of rhyming words:  I don’t remember where I read this, but I surely read it somewhere and took the thought to heart.

“Rhyme partly seems to be enjoyed simply as a repeating pattern that is pleasant to hear. It also serves as a powerful mnemonic device, facilitating memorization. The regular use of tail rhyme helps to mark off the ends of lines, thus clarifying the metrical structure for the listener. As with other poetic techniques, poets use it to suit their own purposes; for example William Shakespeare often used a rhyming couplet to mark off the end of a scene in a play.”
A Poet Apr 2020
Take my hand,
Share this moment
        I'll admit
I am afraid.

         Take the plunge
Into the deep
          Let us love without complexities,
straightforwardly.

        Take my hand,
feel my beat,
        feel the sweat
I am scared
        You're scared
but let our hearts beat in-unison
         as we steal stars from the night sky.
  --for our love to shine bright in our discomposure--

— The End —