"xxxiii" poems
XXXIII
Yes, call me by my pet-name! let me hear
The name I used to run at, when a child,
From innocent play, and leave the cowslips piled,
To glance up in some face that proved me dear
With the look of its eyes. I miss the clear
Fond voices which, being drawn and reconciled
Into the music of Heaven’s undefiled,
Call me no longer. Silence on the bier,
While I call God—call God!—So let thy mouth
Be heir to those who are now exanimate.
Gather the north flowers to complete the south,
And catch the early love up in the late.
Yes, call me by that name,—and I, in truth,
With the same heart, will answer and not wait.
6k
XXXIII. TO THE DIOSCURI (19 lines)
(ll. 1-17) Bright-eyed Muses, tell of the Tyndaridae, the Sons of
Zeus, glorious children of neat-ankled Leda, Castor the tamer of
horses, and blameless Polydeuces. When Leda had lain with the
dark-clouded Son of Cronos, she bare them beneath the peak of the
great hill Taygetus, -- children who are delivers of men on earth
and of swift-going ships when stormy gales rage over the ruthless
sea. Then the shipmen call upon the sons of great Zeus with vows
of white lambs, going to the forepart of the prow; but the strong
wind and the waves of the sea lay the ship under water, until
suddenly these two are seen darting through the air on tawny
wings. Forthwith they allay the blasts of the cruel winds and
still the waves upon the surface of the white sea: fair signs are
they and deliverance from toil. And when the shipmen see them
they are glad and have rest from their pain and labour.
(ll. 18-19) Hail, Tyndaridae, riders upon swift horses! Now I
will remember you and another song also.
1.6k
Facing me, you sleep. “I woke too soon—
you shouldn’t wake me up so early ...” Yes,
I know, but I’d been dreaming and I guess
I had to hear your voice. It’s now mid-June,
midsummer almost. On the seat adjacent
a commuter reads a paper, chin on hand
and, showing maybe more than she had planned,
a miniskirted woman tugs, impatient,
at her hem, returns then to her book,
not noticing it’s slipped back up again.
A tepid breeze blows through the pane above you,
ruffling your hair, but you don’t stir. The train
is getting crowded. Everywhere I look:
these strangers who remind me how I love you.
Dec 28, 2011
Dec 28, 2011 at 2:03 AM UTC
his lips are fire
her tongue is ice
he tastes of musk and whiskey
she smells of unlit cigarettes
his eyes smirk with forbidden desires
her legs bestriding his hips
he delightfully traces her curves
she pleads for his velvet kisses
his whispers promise ecstasy
her words dutifully agree
their bodies shiver with
electrifying beauty
Mar 19, 2014
Mar 19, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
XXXIII
swinging at her mooring
the Albatross sits out the squall
rain driving down the loch
its crew ready to launch
the tender to greet dry land
At last ! (said *****
XXXIV
Reading Ransome
(before sleep takes over)
celebrates this northern clime
Diver or no Diver preoccupied ****
leaves the shore party to find
adventure above the secret cove
where Captain Flint and the scrubbers
make the Sea Bear fit for Old Mac
. . . but I am seduced
(until she comes to bed)
with Ms Jamie’s Sabbath Day
on Collinsay finding nothing
more necessary to write than
Sea, Birds, Wind
XXXX
Yesterday it rained all day
so the museum beckoned
and we became enthralled
by the artefacts of daily life,
images of times within
the memory - just. The things
of living mostly at home and
further from the world we know
and somehow cope with stand
testament to a way of life
now passed now gone.
Between bench and stove,
dresser and wheel,
the chest and personal
things, their short distances
collect in memory.
XXXV
sky blue
clouds grey and white
hills green and brown and purple
rocks grey and black
sea green and turquoise
tide brown
sand khaki
all the colours come together
on this afternoon beach
where the tide rising
dogs the footstep
Oct 5, 2016
Oct 5, 2016 at 6:30 AM UTC
I have always known that I loved you more
We hated comparisons, contrasts
But ever since, you knew as well
What I hated about this truth is
You never did anything about it
You left with blood in your hands
From trying to take away all the good things in me
You left with blood in your hands
From all the fires you caught outside this
You left with blood in your hands
From all the scribbling of love notes you got from me
But were never for me
You left with blood in your hands
From killing every butterfly that has lived inside
You left with blood in your hands
From all the poems you tried to write about me
But never finished
***You left with blood in your hands
But never from fighting alongside me***
You were used to this, with us
Your hands shook with fear from the dying love
But you gave in
Never took the risk
Never conquered
Never tried
You left with blood in your hands
You left
How come you were in this battle with me
But you left with less scars
We were in this together
We were
I am still healing
***While you have your scars
I still have my wounds***
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
¿Por qué ese orgullo, Elvira? Que se domen
en ti loca ambición, ruines enojos,
y quítate esa venda de los ojos,
y que esos ojos a lo real se asomen.
Mira, cuando tus ansias vuelo tomen
y te finjan grandezas tus antojos,
bellas, rostro divino, labios rojos,
que unas comen pan duro, otras no comen.
Bajan a los abismos nieves puras
cuando rueda el alud; y se hace fango
después de estar en cumbres altaneras.
¡Ay, yo he visto llorar sus desventuras
a encopetadas hembras de alto rango
sobre el sucio jergón de las rameras!
735
dear basil,
maybe it does cost
$0.00 to be a
"good person"
but for some reason
it is a whole lot easier to be
"nice"
when you can afford to be
"alive"
so
shut up
love,
basil
Dec 25, 2020
Dec 25, 2020 at 10:00 PM UTC
Es cuestión de palabras y, no obstante,
ni tú ni yo jamás,
después de lo pasado, convendremos
en quién la culpa está. ¡Lástima que el Amor un diccionario
no tenga donde hallar
cuándo el orgullo es simplemente orgullo
y cuándo es dignidad!
621
XXXIII.
There was the Door to which I found no Key:
There was the Veil through which I could not see:
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee
There was - and then no more of Thee and Me.
Apr 30, 2016
Apr 30, 2016 at 11:12 PM UTC
The only place to find a paradise is in a casino!
copyright: richard riddle: April 27,2015
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 8:34 AM UTC
I can finally see
No more rain clouds hovering above
Sunshine in my world
Making it seem so bright
Light illuminating my darkness
I can finally see
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 7:38 PM UTC
Amor, ahora nos vamos a la casa
donde la enredadera sube por las escalas:
antes que llegues tú llegó a tu dormitorio
el verano desnudo con pies de madreselva.
Nuestros besos errantes recorrieron el mundo:
Armenia, espesa gota de miel desenterrada,
Ceylán, paloma verde, y el Yang Tsé separando
con antigua paciencia los días de las noches.
Y ahora, bienamada, por el mar crepitante
volvemos como dos aves ciegas al muro,
al nido de la lejana primavera,
porque el amor no puede volar sin detenerse:
al muro o a las piedras del mar van nuestras vidas,
a nuestro territorio regresaron los besos.
598
"Sonnets From a Conversation With a Friend XXXIII "
Enemy mine i love you you give me
Juice rapid brain chemistry white water
Flow addictive drugs inner born released
Grasping grasping receptors wait ready
Touch ? no touch ? no touch ? YES!!! OH
YES!!! GRAB!! SATISFACTION!! OH SATISFIED!
OH the comfort the peace complete release
A million complete release a billion!
Oh the peace enemy mine i love you
Will not live without you i will cause you
To exist to bring me juice i will hate you
Creatively unto death my mind ****
Whore and when you pass another i'll bear
For the juice enemy mine i love you
Nov 27, 2017
Nov 27, 2017 at 1:03 PM UTC
XXVIII.
because your wrist is cramped up and everything's so temporary but you just want permanent change you want change so bad
XXIX.
because you want to ruin yourself but how can you do that and also help everyone else
***
because it's always so tempting to say you can stop caring and it's always so tempting to say you can take care of them while ruining yourself
XXXI.
because you really don't know how anyone gets better or if they do
XXXII.
because you know to be okay you'll have to be there for yourself, too and nothing has ever seemed so impossible as this
XXXIII.
because really you know they'll be okay without you because you're not entirely necessary
XXXIV.
because you don't want to be necessary not really because you don't trust yourself but also you do because then you'd have a reason to stay but you really don't know if you want that either
XXXV.
because you can see the future coming but you can't see yourself and you've always struggled with faith
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 8:56 PM UTC
XXXVI.
because you really don't want to hurt them you just still cant believe that anyone cares enough to be hurt when you hurt yourself
XXXVII.
because every new year you say you'll get better and you don't you still don't know if you should be independent of arbitrary dates that you trust so much even if they've never helped you
XXXIII.
because it hurts so much either way
XXXIV.
you'll just have to decide which you prefer
XXXV.
because you really gotta put more faith in rough drafts
XXXVI.
because you always want everything to be perfect but you know by now it won't be
XXXVII.
because these thoughts don't even really scare you anymore or maybe you're used to being afraid, but you know you'll stay, even if this place is unchanging
XXXVIII.
because that's only half the battle sometimes,
this times its not even that
XXXIX.
because you've never been this close to both life and death at the same time
XL.
because you're not afraid anymore to make rash decision you think you should fear what might happen because of that
XLI.
because, for now, the solution- the next step, is changing everything
XLII.
because until now changing has only meant covering up better
XLIII.
because maybe you can get better on your own, and maybe you can't
XLIV.
but the point is if you reach out you will never know if you could have done this independently, but if you cant do it on your own and you still try,
XLV.
because I know,
it's okay to reach out for help but,
is it okay to hold on?
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 9:03 PM UTC
i remember when everything was just a blur to me,
when everything became clear & i finally saw every
little detail that once was smeared away.
i remember all the happiness that beamed inside me,
but i miss when everything was a mystery.
i miss the way the distance was a secret, everyone else knew it,
but i was left wondering.
i miss the way i didn't see things like others, i miss the contrast.
Dec 11, 2014
Dec 11, 2014 at 3:17 PM UTC
GreatNothing
MY
LOVER! my step
/broken\
|_
|_ Falling-feeling
near you
furnace Soul ...
i [just me] dirt,dear
and died a wish wishing
to touch but purity
denied my ***** Hands/Heart
i [me] am no thing AND
bow to The GreatNothing
that eats me i should
~can [did]die
a fumbling mumbling
ember-Wish
THAT "I love you!"
:: 08-06-2014 ::
Rev: 02-01-2017 ::
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 10:14 PM UTC
Soñé a Dios como una fragua
de fuego, que ablanda el hierro,
como un forjador de espadas,
como un bruñidor de aceros,
que iba firmando en las hojas
de luz: Libertad. - Imperio.
316
Oh, the days are long,
and the nights are cold.
Maybe I'm just growing old,
but it seems to me,
that we have lost control.
We will carry on,
and play our hand.
Some will even make a stand.
And if they fall
it's all part of the plan.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 12:01 AM UTC
Amiga, mi larario está vacío:
desde qu'el fuego del hogar no arde,
nuestros dioses huyeron ante el frío;
hoy preside en sus tronos el hastío
las nupcias del silencio y de la tarde.
El tiempo destructor no en vano pasa;
los aleros del patio están en ruinas;
ya no forman allí su leve casa,
con paredes convexas de argamasa
y tapiz del plumón, las golondrinas.
¡Qué silencio el del piano! Su gemido
ya no vibra en los ámbitos desiertos;
los nocturnos y scherzos han huido...
¡Pobre jaula sin aves! ¡Pobre nido!
¡Misterioso ataúd de trinos muertos!
¡Ah, si vieras tu huerto! Ya no hay rosas,
ni lirios, ni libélulas de seda,
ni cocuyos de luz, ni mariposas...
Tiemblan las ramas del rosal, medrosas;
el viento sopla, la hojarasca rueda.
Amiga, tu mansión está desierta;
el musgo verdinegro que decora
los dinteles ruinosos de la puerta,
parece una inscripción que dice: ¡Muerta!
El cierzo pasa, suspirando: ¡Llora!
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