"xxxv" poems
On the idle hill of summer,
Sleepy with the flow of streams,
Far I hear the steady drummer
Drumming like a noise in dreams.
Far and near and low and louder
On the roads of earth go by,
Dear to friends and food for powder,
Soldiers marching, all to die.
East and west on fields forgotten
Bleach the bones of comrades slain,
Lovely lads and dead and rotten;
None that go return again.
Far the calling bugles hollo,
High the screaming fife replies,
Gay the files of scarlet follow:
Woman bore me, I will rise.
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XXXV
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
And be all to me? Shall I never miss
Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss
That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors, another home than this?
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
Filled by dead eyes too tender to know change?
That ’s hardest. If to conquer love, has tried,
To conquer grief, tries more, as all things prove;
For grief indeed is love and grief beside.
Alas, I have grieved sol am hard to love.
Yet love me—wilt thou? Open thine heart wide,
And fold within the wet wings of thy dove.
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Que ya tu juventud está marchita
y no puedes amar -frase solemne,
mas inútil, ¡oh rubia Margarita!
El amor es un Lázaro perenne:
cuando apenas ha muerto, resucita.
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Emily Dickinson (1830–86). Complete Poems. 1924.
Part Three: Love
XXXV
PROUD of my broken heart since thou didst break it,
Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,
Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it,
Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
dear basil,
stop.
look up.
your flowers
are growing.
don't miss it.
love,
basil
Dec 28, 2020
Dec 28, 2020 at 8:00 PM UTC
By all means, write love notes to her
Leave it on places she won't expect
On her back pocket, her locker, on her hand
Her phone, her lips, her tongue
Leave love notes on her doorstep, with your head tilted for a kiss
And if she ever writes notes to you, keep them
I beg you to keep them
Keep them in your heart, mind, and soul
Keep them hidden on your nape, your thighs, the edges of your ears
Memorize the way she writes when she's okay
Especially when she's having a bad day
The letters tell another picture, decipher it
An extra period on her texts messages means she's kidding
An exclamation point means you're dead to her
A question mark will be the death of your soul
(That is how I got myself killed)
She has grown to like the mysteries she has built over the years
I tried to understand, I tried to spell them out
Nothing came close to how she wants to be understood
Please keep the notes, keep her notes
You will never know how little you have of them
Until she leaves you with only 6 pieces of paper
With words of empty promises
The ones she used to tell her past lovers to stay for a while
But leave soon enough
The scent of her wrist slowly leaving
And her handwriting fading
Blots of ink from your tears
*(Words that I wish that I could etch upon my skin
But unfortunately, I already know
that I would just run out of space)*
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 6:38 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
Don't waste my time with long sentences
Simplify it for me
Easier to go on living
Knowing life is simpler
With nothing to gain
And nothing to lose
Jul 12, 2010
Jul 12, 2010 at 3:18 PM UTC
I like to write when drunk and high,
that's when emotions run.
Sometimes I even find it nice,
to set ink when I get spun.
Alcohol is lubrication,
when my thoughts are just too bound.
The ******* see's acceleration,
words just flow when I get wound.
I'm not an addict or a shmuck,
I'm a pretty simple man.
Just one who's more than down on luck;
my whole life has strayed from plans.
Yes I'm often found inebriated,
I hope you'll excuse the current condition.
It just seems to me while obviated,
I adopt a cleaner disposition.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 11:04 PM UTC
So long so gone with love poured dry,
Both hands grasping still the hopes that died.
The forlorn fate of lovers they couldn't defy,
Alike the stars that didn't collide.
Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 1:33 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
Niña hermosa que me humillas
con tus ojos grandes, bellos:
son para ellos, son para ellos
estas suaves redondillas.
Son dos soles, son dos llamas,
son la luz del claro día;
con su fuego, niña mía,
los corazones inflamas.
Y autores contemporáneos
dicen hay ojos que prenden
ciertos chispazos que encienden
pistolas que rompen cráneos.
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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
A breath, air ****** into a familiar wound. An old ache returning. A life spent, regained in the seconds of a single touch. A desperate wanting filling the chest. Desolation. Love.
Jul 3, 2016
Jul 3, 2016 at 9:32 PM UTC
Wish to hell...
I didn't memorize.
In softest of light.
Mar 27, 2014
Mar 27, 2014 at 8:29 PM UTC
I'm going to a "sit-in" today. I'm going to "sit in" my easy chair and mind my own business!
copyright: richard riddle: May 02, 2015
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 11:09 AM UTC
¡No me admiró tu olvido! Aunque de un día,
me admiró tu cariño mucho más;
porque lo que hay en mí que vale algo,
eso... ni lo pudiste sospechar.
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I.
You know,
it shouldn't make me cry with joy
simply to see someone
like me
on the television.
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 6:27 PM UTC