Ive Seen His Face Before, Poems of Non-Traditional Love
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It was summer I was there so was he. I write because I would like to be used for years after my death. Not only my body will be compost but the thoughts I left during my life. During my life I was a woman with hazel eyes. Out the window is a crooked silo. Parts of your body I think of as stripes which I have learned to love along. With you I know how to relax. Which is lovely.
I love you from my childhood, starting back there when one day was just like the rest, random growth and breezes, constant love, a sand- wich in the middle of day, a tiny step in the vastly conventional path of the Sun. I squint. I wink. I take the ride. This Marriage. May these vows and this marriage be blessed. May it be sweet milk, this marriage, like wine and halvah. May this marriage offer fruit and shade like the date palm.
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May this marriage be full of laughter, our every day a day in paradise. May this marriage be a sign of compassion, a seal of happiness here and hereafter. May this marriage have a fair face and a good name, an omen as welcomes the moon in a clear blue sky. I am out of words to describe how spirit mingles in this marriage.
Poems and verses for funerals
She is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine. And her voice is a string of coloured beads, Or steps leading into the sea. She loves me all that she can, And her ways to my ways resign; But she was not made for any man, And she never will be all mine. Admonitions To A Special Person.
Watch out for power, for its avalanche can bury you, snow, snow, snow, smothering your mountain. Watch out for friends, because when you betray them, as you will, they will bury their heads in the toilet and flush themselves away. Watch out for intellect, because it knows so much it knows nothing and leaves you hanging upside down, mouthing knowledge as your heart falls out of your mouth.
Be it man. Be it woman. It must be a wave you want to glide in on, give your body to it, give your laugh to it, give, when the gravelly sand takes you, your tears to the land. A collaboration. Let go. Oh special person, possible leaves, this typewriter likes you on the way to them, but wants to break crystal glasses in celebration, for you, when the dark crust is thrown off and you float all around like a happened balloon.
About Marriage. I stood a half-hour under the enchantment, no-one passed near, the birds saw me and. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love for your dream for the adventure of being alive. I want to know if you can sit with pain mine or your own without moving to hide it or fade it or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy mine or your own if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful to be realistic to remember the limitations of being human.
I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy. I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.
I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.
I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments. Married Love. You and I Have so much love, That it Burns like a fire, In which we bake a lump of clay Molded into a figure of you And a figure of me. Then we take both of them, And break them into pieces, And mix the pieces with water, And mold again a figure of you, And a figure of me. I am in your clay. You are in my clay. In life we share a single quilt. In death we will share one bed. A Blessing for Wedding. Please read our comment policy before you comment.
I want to travel with you far and wide. And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals.
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And I will make thee beds of roses, And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. A gown made of the finest wool Which from our pretty lambs we pull, Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold; A belt of straw and ivy-buds, With coral clasps and amber studs, And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May-morning, If these delights thy mind may move; Then live with me, and be my love. This Love is beyond the study of theology, that old trickery and hypocrisy.
I you want to improve your mind that way,.
58 Absolutely Beautiful Love Poems You Should Read Right Now 😘 💝
And from the shelter of my mind Through the window of my eyes I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets To England where my heart lies. My mind's distracted and diffused My thoughts are many miles away They lie with you when you're asleep And kiss you when you start your day. And a song I was writing is left undone I don't know why I spend my time Writing songs I can't believe With words that tear and strain to rhyme. And so you see I have come to doubt All that I once held as true I stand alone without beliefs The only truth I know is you.
And as I watch the drops of rain Weave their weary paths and die I know that I am like the rain There but for the grace of you go I".
One of these days is Yesterday with all its mistakes and cares, its faults and blunders, its aches and pains. Yesterday has passed forever beyond our control. All the money in the world cannot bring back Yesterday. We cannot undo a single act we performed; we cannot erase a single word we said. Yesterday is gone forever.
The other day we should not worry about is Tomorrow with all its possible adversities, its burdens, its large promise and its poor performance; Tomorrow is also beyond our immediate control. Tomorrow's sun will rise, either in splendor or behind a mask of clouds, but it will rise. Until it does, we have no stake in Tomorrow, for it is yet to be born.
This leaves only one day, Today. Any person can fight the battle of just one day. It is when you and I add the burdens of those two awful eternities Yesterday and Tomorrow that we break down. It is not the experience of Today that drives a person mad, it is the remorse or bitterness of something which happened Yesterday and the dread of what Tomorrow may bring. Not oft the robin comes to build Its nest upon the leafless bough By autumn robbed, by winter chilled, But you, dear heart, you love me now.
Though there are shadows on my brow And furrows on my cheek, in truth, The marks where Time's remorseless plough Broke up the blooming sward of Youth, Though fled is every girlish grace Might win or hold a lover's vow, Despite my sad and faded face, And darkened heart, you love me now!
I count no more my wasted tears; They left no echo of their fall; I mourn no more my lonesome years; This blessed hour atones for all. I fear not all that Time or Fate May bring to burden heart or brow, Strong in the love that came so late, Our souls shall keep it always now!
The way they look, or the way they act, or if they're smart, or some combination or something. So in the beginning it's I guess what you call features of the person that make you feel certain ways about the person. But then if you get to where you, you know, love a person, everything sort of reverses. It's not that you love the person because of certain things about the person anymore; it's that you love the things about the person because you love the person. It kind of radiates out, instead of in. At least that's the way That's the way it seems to me. General opinion is starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that.
It seems to me that love is everywhere.
Often, it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there—fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the twin towers, as far as I know, none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge—they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I've got a sneaky feeling you'll find that love actually is all around. That's what it is: an edge; a razor. It draws up through the center of your life, cutting everything in two.
Before and after. The rest of the world falls away on either side.