#myfavouritepoem

[joliendoms]

Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood... Poetry is language at its most distilled and most powerful. #30dagenzonderklagen #weekvandepoëzie #myfavouritepoem

[confuhzed]

I know a place where the world is still where time and space have no hold I know a place where my heart and soul are one and there are stories left untold I know a place where I rest in peace where my body lies numbed to pain where my eyes lie opened to the light above And I've broken gravity's chain I know a place Where I must leave as seconds pass my frail mortality cannot stand against its grave and my lungs shatter like glass I know a place so wonderful and deadly It pulls me into deep Oh my deep blue ocean world I'll return to you after the surface pulls you from me

Source: https://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/my-blue-world

[better-have-failed]

"Not Marble Nor the Gilded Monuments"

The praisers of women in their proud and         

beautiful poems,    

  Naming the grave mouth and the hair and the eyes,    

  Boasted those they loved should be forever remembered:    

  These were lies.    

The words sound but the face in the Istrian sun is forgotten.

The poet speaks but to her dead ears no more.      

The sleek throat is gone -- and the breast that was troubled to listen:      

Shadow from door.    

Therefore I will not praise your knees nor your fine walking      

Telling you men shall remember your name as long      

As lips move or breath is spent or the iron of English      

Rings from a tongue.    

I shall say you were young, and your arms straight, and your mouth scarlett:      

I shall say you will die and none will remember you:      

Your arms change, and none remember the swish of your garments,      

Nor the click of your shoe.    

Not with my hand's strength, not with difficult labor      

Springing the obstinate words to the bones of your breast      

And the stubborn line to your young stride and the breath to your breathing      

And the beat to your haste      

Shall I prevail on the hearts of unborn men to remember.    

(What is a dead girl but a shadowy ghost      

Or a dead man's voice but a distant and vain affirmation      

Like dream words most)    

Therefore I will not speak of the undying glory of women.      

I will say you were young and straight and your skin fair      

And you stood in the door and the sun was a shadow of leaves on your shoulders      

And a leaf on your hair --    

I will not speak of the famous beauty of dead women:      

I will say the shape of a leaf lay once on your hair.      

Till the world ends and the eyes are out and the mouths broken      

Look! It is there!

[chapteroneofmany]

You may write me down in history With your bitter, twisted lies, You may tread me in the very dirt But still, like dust, I'll rise. Does my sassiness upset you? Why are you beset with gloom? 'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells Pumping in my living room. Just like moons and like suns, With the certainty of tides, Just like hopes springing high, Still I'll rise. Did you want to see me broken? Bowed head and lowered eyes? Shoulders falling down like teardrops. Weakened by my soulful cries. Does my haughtiness offend you? Don't you take it awful hard 'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines Diggin' in my own back yard. You may shoot me with your words, You may cut me with your eyes, You may kill me with your hatefulness, But still, like air, I'll rise. Does my sexiness upset you? Does it come as a surprise That I dance like I've got diamonds At the meeting of my thighs? Out of the huts of history's shame I rise Up from a past that's rooted in pain I rise I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. Leaving behind nights of terror and fear I rise Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear I rise Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, I am the dream and the hope of the slave. I rise I rise I rise.

Maya Angelou, Still I rise

[4ngels-and-dem0ns]

Do not stand at my grave and weep  I am not there. I do not sleep.  I am a thousand winds that blow.  I am the diamond glints on snow.  I am the sunlight on ripened grain.  I am the gentle autumn rain.  When you awaken in the morning's hush  I am the swift uplifting rush  Of quiet birds in circled flight.  I am the soft stars that shine at night.  Do not stand at my grave and cry;  I am not there. I did not die. 

[morvere-n]

Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea: But we loved with a love that was more than love - I and my Annabel Lee; With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her high-born kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in heaven, Went envying her and me - Yes! that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud one night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we - Of many far wiser than we - And neither the angels in heaven above, Nor the demons down under the sea, Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling -my darling -my life and my bride, In the sepulchre there by the sea - In her tomb by the sounding sea.

           <3

[fortheloveofleopardprint-blog]

On Love

When love beckons to you, follow him, Though his ways are hard and steep. And when his wings enfold you yield to him, Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you believe in him, Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning. Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun, So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself. He threshes you to make you naked. He sifts you to free you from your husks. He grinds you to whiteness. He kneads you until you are pliant; And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure, Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor, Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears. Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself. Love possesses not nor would it be possessed; For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God." And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires: To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To know the pain of too much tenderness. To be wounded by your own understanding of love; And to bleed willingly and joyfully. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving; To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy; To return home at eventide with gratitude; And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

- Khalil Gibran