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Katlin Profile
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Love Poems


While I was searching for one of my old poems, whose title I couldn't remember, I came across a document I had saved from somewhere at some time, which contains numerous love poems. There are too many for me to read and appreciate at one settiing, so I decided to post one or two here from time-to-time. The poems are listed in alphabetical order, so starting with A (hope you enjoy!):

Destiny by Edwin Arnold

Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours
For one lone soul another lonely soul
Each choosing each through all the weary hours
And meeting strangely at one sudden goal.
Then blend they, like green leaves with golden flowers,
Into one beautiful and perfect whole;
And life's long night is ended, and the way
Lies open onward to eternal day.


Last edited by Katlin, Jun/13/2012, 10:39 am
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libramoon Profile
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Re: Love Poems


Something Like a Love Poem
 
That's what we do.
We fail to come through.
No voiceover narrator keeps score.
I know I told you to count on
my adoration.
In shame, I lose your face
slip away from every trace
that you once gave me.
Anonymous streets, single tables
dark cafes, jukebox blues
I done me wrong
Funk up that song, white boy
as if you taste the craters of
my soul.
Like you, I've learned everything
I know
from late night movies
lyrics on pre-dawn radio.
No one at home has time to do
more than pretend we're all just fine.
How was I to learn more than my lines?
That promises have consequence?
That I am more than dreams
that don't come true?
A quiet stone cottage
outlined by life-bearing
pine, firs, maple, birch
nature's hues and cycles
my heart relaxes.
Meet me here.
You, with your piercing mind,
languid manner of movement,
voice like sunlit stream over
random pebbles and glass
I promise to listen.
I promise to breathe the fruit
of your nearness.
I have bargained for this chance
with all I am.
Before I ever saw my true face
I heard you cry
I felt the ripple of your laughter.
Jun/13/2012, 9:54 pm Link to this post Send Email to libramoon   Send PM to libramoon Blog
 
Katlin Profile
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Re: Love Poems


I love your poem, Libra, absolutely love it. Thanks so much for sharing it here.
Jun/14/2012, 8:59 am Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 
Katlin Profile
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Re: Love Poems


from The Garden of Love by William Blake

I went to the Garden of Love,
And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut
And "Thou shalt not," writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars my joys and desires.

Jun/14/2012, 9:01 am Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 
Terreson Profile
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Re: Love Poems


What an excellent idea, Kat. I'll be your huckleberry if you continue to play.

Tere
Jun/15/2012, 6:02 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
Katlin Profile
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Re: Love Poems


Hey Tere,

I'll continue to play and hope you and others will, too, by posting your favorite love poems.
Jun/15/2012, 9:16 pm Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 
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Re: Love Poems


Solomon and the Witch

And thus declared that Arab lady:
 "Last night, where under the wild moon
 On grassy mattress I had laid me,
 Within my arms great Solomon,
 I suddenly cried out in a strange tongue
 Not his, not mine."
 Who understood
 Whatever has been said, sighed, sung,
 Howled, miau-d, barked, brayed, belled, yelled, cried, crowed,
 Thereon replied: "A cockerel
 Crew from a blossoming apple bough
 Three hundred years before the Fall,
 And never crew again till now,
 And would not now but that he thought,
 Chance being at one with Choice at last,
 All that the brigand apple brought
 And this foul world were dead at last.
 He that crowed out eternity
 Thought to have crowed it in again.
 For though love has a spider's eye
 To find out some appropriate pain --
 Aye, though all passion's in the glance --
 For every nerve, and tests a lover
 With cruelties of Choice and Chance;
 And when at last that murder's over
 Maybe the bride-bed brings despair,
 For each an imagined image brings
 And finds a real image there;
 Yet the world ends when these two things,
 Though several, are a single light,
 When oil and wick are burned in one;
 Therefore a blessed moon last night
 Gave Sheba to her Solomon.'
 "Yet the world stays.'
 "If that be so,
 Your cockerel found us in the wrong
 Although he thought it. worth a crow.
 Maybe an image is too strong
 Or maybe is not strong enough.'
 "The night has fallen; not a sound
 In the forbidden sacred grove
 Unless a petal hit the ground,
 Nor any human sight within it
 But the crushed grass where we have lain!
 And the moon is wilder every minute.
 O! Solomon! let us try again.'

poem by William Butler Yeats

I would sign a third pact with the devil to write a love poem like this. Seems I outlasted the first two.

Tere
 
Jun/16/2012, 11:40 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
vkp Profile
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Re: Love Poems


Love Song

How can I keep my soul in me, so that
it doesn't touch your soul? How can I raise
it high enough, past you, to other things?
I would like to shelter it, among remote
lost objects, in some dark and silent place
that doesn't resonate when your depths resound.
Yet everything that touches us, me and you,
takes us together like a violin's bow,
which draws *one* voice out of two separate strings.
Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what musician holds us in his hand?
Oh sweetest song.


Rainer Maria Rilke
Jun/17/2012, 12:18 am Link to this post Send Email to vkp   Send PM to vkp Blog
 
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Beautiful. Only Rilke has the capacity for looking at love from the inside out.

Tere
Jun/17/2012, 1:20 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
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Re: Love Poems


A Case of You by Joni Mitchell

Just before our love got lost you said
"I am as constant as a northern star"
And I said "Constantly in the darkness
Where's that at?
If you want me I'll be in the bar"

On the back of a cartoon coaster
In the blue TV screen light
I drew a map of Canada
Oh Canada
With your face sketched on it twice
Oh you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet

Oh I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
oh I would still be on my feet

Oh I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the devil
And I'm drawn to those ones that ain't afraid

I remember that time you told me you said
"Love is touching souls"
Surely you touched mine
'Cause part of you pours out of me
In these lines from time to time
Oh, you're in my blood like holy wine
You taste so bitter and so sweet

Oh I could drink a case of you darling
And I would still be on my feet
I would still be on my feet

I met a woman
She had a mouth like yours
She knew your life
She knew your devils and your deeds
And she said
"Go to him, stay with him if you can
But be prepared to bleed"

Oh but you are in my blood
You're my holy wine
You're so bitter, bitter and so sweet

Oh, I could drink a case of you darling
Still I'd be on my feet
I would still be on my feet

Jun/17/2012, 6:20 pm Link to this post Send Email to vkp   Send PM to vkp Blog
 
Katlin Profile
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Re: Love Poems


The poems by Yeats, Rilke and Mitchell--all of them new to me and all of them much enjoyed!
Jun/19/2012, 5:26 pm Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 
vkp Profile
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Re: Love Poems


Kat: I am in love with this thread and only wish more people would put poems here. I like being introduced to new stuff. Glad you liked the Joni piece. It has always struck me when listening to that song, and so many of hers, that it is a poem set to music.

Here is a poem that made me hold my breath when I first read it, having serendipitously found this poet. I was a youngster of 19, 20, 21... somewhere in there... when I got this book by Olga Broumas. Some marginal notes in it make me wonder if it was actually for a class! Can't recall at all. Anyway, I ended up with two of her books but not sure what happened to her. She won the Yale Younger Poets Award in the late seventies, maybe? I came upon her after that. Details a bit vague.

Anyway, this poem is a beautiful painting and also about love and light and it soothes me when I need that. It is called:

Sometimes, as a Child

when the Greek sea
was exceptionally calm
the sun not so much a pinnacle
as a perspiration of light, your brow and the sky
meeeting on the horizon, sometimes

you'd dive
from the float, the pier, the stone
promontory, through water so startled
it held the shape of your plunge, and there

in the arrested heat of the afternoon
without thought, effortless
as a mantra turning
you'd turn
in the paused wake of your dive, enter
the suck of the parted waters, you'd emerge

clean caesarean, flinging
live rivulets from your hair, your own
breath arrested. Something immaculate, a chance

crucial junction: time, light, water
had occurred, you could feel your bones
glisten
translucent as spinal fins.

           In rain-
green Oregon now, approaching thirty, sometimes
the same
rare concert of light and spine
resonates in my bones, as glistening
starfish, lover, your fingers
beach up.


Last edited by vkp, Jul/11/2012, 9:36 pm
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A thread such as this without E.E. Cummings would just not be natural.


i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like,slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric fur,and what-is-it comes
over parting [sign in to see URL] eyes big love crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new


E.E. Cummings

Tere
Jul/19/2012, 12:39 pm Link to this post Send Email to Terreson   Send PM to Terreson
 
Katlin Profile
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Re: Love Poems


Da Capo

Take the used-up heart like a pebble
and throw it far out.

Soon there is nothing left.
Soon the last ripple exhausts itself
in the weeds.

Returning home, slice carrots, onions, celery.
Glaze them in oil before adding
the lentils, water, and herbs.

Then the roasted chestnuts, a little pepper, the salt.
Finish with goat cheese and parsley. Eat.

You may do this, I tell you, it is permitted.

Jane Hirshfield
Sep/5/2012, 5:50 pm Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 
Katlin Profile
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Re: Love Poems


Two more love poems by Jane Hirshfield:

In Your Hands

I begin to grow extravagant,
Like kudzu,
That rank, green weed
Devouring house after house
In the south -
Toward midday, the roof tiles
Start to throw
A wavering light
Back toward the sun,
And roads begin to soften
Darken,
Taking your peregrine tongue,
Your legs, your eyes,
Home to shuttered windows,
To the cool rooms
That invent themselves
Slowly into life.


A Hand Is Shaped For What It Holds Or Makes

A hand is shaped for what it holds or makes.
Time takes what’s handed to it then—warm bread, a stone,
a child whose fingers touch the page to keep her place.

Beloved, grown old separately, your face
shows me the changes on my own.
I see the histories it holds, the argument it makes

against the thresh of trees, the racing clouds, the race
 of birds and sky birds always lose:
           the lines have ranged, but not the cheek’s strong bone.
My fingers touching there recall that place.

Once we were one. Then what time did, and hands, erased
us from the future we had owned.
For some, the future holds what hands release, not make.

We made a bridge. We walked it. Laced
night’s sounds with passion.
Owls’ pennywhistles, after, took our place.

Wasps leave their nest. Wind takes the papery case.
Our wooden house, less easily undone,
now houses others. A life is shaped by what it holds or makes.
I make these words for what they can’t replace.

Mar/19/2013, 12:31 pm Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 
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Kat, I've been meaning to ask you a favor. I am not as familiar with Hirshfield's poetry as you are. She speaks to you in some essential way. What about letting us in on why she speaks to you so, maybe in Discussion I. I should like to know.

Tere
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Edna St. Vincent Millay lived near where I live -- in the Hudson Valley of New York -- in an idyllic setting, writing every day in a special outbuilding on her property. My daughter and I visited her home last summer. It is a museum now, and slowly being restored. Her life seemed organized around writing during the day and drinking during the night. She died in the house there, having fallen down the stairs after a night of gin and wine. Her husband, devoted and patient, tended to her and she was pretty high maintenance. She even kept a lover in the house for a time and her husband was relegated to the guest room, and still he stayed. She was independent and liberated, brilliant and committed, but not very nice, I guess. But she did nothing that many a man has not done in his life-- lived as if her needs count the most, for she was the artist, the genius, the one holding all the cards. And boy could she write. I like this poem.

Love Is Not All

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.


Edna St. Vincent Millay
Mar/23/2013, 4:42 pm Link to this post Send Email to vkp   Send PM to vkp Blog
 
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Actually, her husband, Eugen Jan Boissevain, had almost as many lovers as Millay. Feminist that he was, he supported the ethos of Millay's free-love notions. Romantic that she was, she had a hard time reconciling herself to his lovers. Good reason to think it was no accident she died, maybe killed herself, soon after his death.

Tere
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Katlin Profile
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I came across this poem today and decided to revive an old thread:

To a Picky Eater at Love's Table

This isn't the love you sent back to the kitchen,
the one you now remember as seasoned exactly
to your taste, which you now admit you returned
because you weren't that hungry and because
you thought the kitchen would be open all night.

And now this is set before you. Ominous shapes
in—is it puttanesca? Hunan?—sauce
which stings the tip of your tongue. The smell that rises
repels, attracts—and is this pottery crude
or priceless art you're not qualified to judge?

You miss the pretty plate, that sweet, mild meal
that never burned your lips. I'm not saying make do.
I'm saying it's a long time between meals out here,
and gourmets are pressing their noses to the window
for a whiff of what is cooling on your plate.


Susan Blackwell Ramsey

A Mind Like This
University of Nebraska Press
Jun/27/2013, 8:00 am Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 
Katlin Profile
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Any fool can get into an ocean

Any fool can get into an ocean
But it takes a Goddess
To get out of one.
What’s true of oceans is true, of course,
Of labyrinths and poems. When you start swimming
Through riptide of rhythms and the metaphor’s seaweed
You need to be a good swimmer or a born Goddess
To get back out of them
Look at the sea otters bobbing wildly
Out in the middle of the poem
They look so eager and peaceful playing out there where the
water hardly moves
You might get out through all the waves and rocks
Into the middle of the poem to touch them
But when you’ve tried the blessed water long
Enough to want to start backward
That’s when the fun starts
Unless you’re a poet or an otter or something supernatural
You’ll drown, dear. You’ll drown
Any Greek can get you into a labyrinth
But it takes a hero to get out of one
What’s true of labyrinths is true of course
Of love and memory. When you start remembering.

Jack Spicer
Sep/25/2013, 11:01 am Link to this post Send Email to Katlin   Send PM to Katlin
 


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