1849
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 highborn kinsman 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 by 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.

September

Tonight there must be people who are getting what they want.
I let my oars fall into the water.
Good for them. Good for them, getting what they want.

The night is so still that I forget to breathe.
The dark air is getting colder. Birds are leaving.

Tonight there are people getting just what they need.

The air is so still that it seems to stop my heart.
I remember you in a photograph
taken this time of some year. You were leaning against
a half-shed tree, standing in the leaves the tree had lost.

When I finally exhale it takes forever to be over.

Tonight, there are people who are so happy,
that they have forgotten to worry about tomorrow.

Somewhere, people have entirely forgotten about tomorrow.
My hand trails in the water.
I should not have dropped those oars. Such a soft wind.
Jennifer Michael Hecht

November

The last days
The air is just a little too uncomfortably cold
Even still
Most trees have shed
A few strong oaks hold tight

Many hard fallen leaves
Are curled into cupped and grasping hands
Their brittle rigor mortis grasping at
Cement's tiny ridges as they skitter along
In vain

The cold last gasps of November
Driving them and grinding their eroding fingertips
Against the pavement
They yield their shredded points with dust flakes and sinew

Across the street warmth glows behind a windowpane
She smiles with an eagerness that reveals her interest
Nervous, she talks first too much then too little
He thinks her beauty shines
Like the fireplace 5 minutes past ignition
And crimson mums in a bed of yellow leaves

They move closer as they talk
Until their excited breathing almost makes them touch
The need is perceptible
And ionizes the fragile space barely between them
A miniscule distance that yearns to collapse
They want
To taste each other
And warm themselves from within

lovely verses here.

THE TELEPHONE - Robert Frost

'When I was just as far as I could walk
From here to-day,
There was an hour
All still
When leaning with my head against a flower
I heard you talk.
Don't say I didn't, for I heard you say--
You spoke from that flower on the window sill-
Do you remember what it was you said?'

'First tell me what it was you thought you heard.'

'Having found the flower and driven a bee away,
I leaned my head
And holding by the stalk,
I listened and I thought I caught the word--
What was it? Did you call me by my name?
Or did you say--
Someone said "Come" -- I heard it as I bowed.'

'I may have thought as much, but not aloud.'

"Well, so I came.'

(((s1ow))) you always create such a mood

Always lovely to read you...thank you for sharing here!

((kc)) ((Britty))

Welcome! Thank you for sharing! I do love the mood in here!

when you come back home
from a holiday away
a temporarily empty place
comes alive with your
presence

the teddy bear
who has watched your bedroom
patiently
from the comfy niche in
the pillows
smiles contentedly
welcome home

ok this is a song by snow patrol but i think it fits here...

Set the fire to the third bar

I find the map and draw a straight line
Over rivers, farms, and state lines
The distance from 'A' to where you'd be
It's only finger-lengths that I see
I touch the place where I'd find your face
My finger in creases of distant dark places

I hang my coat up in the first bar
There is no peace that I've found so far
The laughter penetrates my silence
As drunken men find flaws in science

Their words mostly noises
Ghosts with just voices
Your words in my memory
Are like music to me

I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
I, I pray that something picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms

After I have travelled so far
We'd set the fire to the third bar
We'd share each other like an island
Until exhausted, close our eyelids
And dreaming, pick up from
The last place we left off
Your soft skin is weeping
A joy you can't keep in

I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
And I, I pray that something picks me up
and sets me down in your warm arms

I'm miles from where you are,
I lay down on the cold ground
and I, I pray that something picks me up
and sets me down in your warm arms

wow I missed this totally awesome all of you

Rainbows and Daffodil’s
Dancing Zebras and Wind Chimes
Sunsets and Cool Breezes
Simplicity runs through my mind
Laughter of Children
Cries of an Angel
Humble pies and all it’s fixing
Simplicity runs through my mind…..
Sigh as I sit and ponder a bit
Entering your Home
Calm represents
Peace and Tranquility in its rare form
((( Sherrie )))) Love of Light
Laughter of a child
Heart of an Angel
Sing with me my Child
Peace and Tranquility in its rare form
Blessed is your sweet home…..

Translation of The Garden by Jacques Prevert...

The Garden

Thousands and thousands of years
Would not be enough
To tell of
That small second of eternity
When you held me
When I held you
One morning
In winter's light
In Montsouris Park
In Paris
On earth
This earth
That is a star

oh my...
so much to take in

Look, It Cannot be Seen

Look, it cannot be seen - it is beyond form.
Listen, it cannot be heard - it is beyond sound.
Grasp, it cannot be held - it is intangible.
These three are indefinable, they are one.

From above it is not bright;
From below it is not dark:
Unbroken thread beyond description.
It returns to nothingness.
Form of the formless,
Image of the imageless,
It is called indefinable and beyond imagination.

Stand before it - there is no beginning.
Follow it and there is no end.
Stay with the Tao, Move with the present.



Poem by Lao Tzu

Remembered Music

'Tis said, the pipe and lute that charm our ears
Derive their melody from rolling spheres;
But Faith, o'erpassing speculation's bound,
Can see what sweetens every jangled sound.

We, who are parts of Adam, heard with him
The song of angels and of seraphim.
Out memory, though dull and sad, retains
Some echo still of those unearthly strains.

Oh, music is the meat of all who love,
Music uplifts the soul to realms above.
The ashes glow, the latent fires increase:
We listen and are fed with joy and peace.

Poem by Mawlawi Rumi

somewhere i have never travelled

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 near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
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: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands


e. e. cummings