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Saturday, August 18, 2012
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What is love, Love can’t see you but you can’t see it
Love is a sneaky thing I guess sort of slick
Love can hurt and Love can heal
Love can be born and Love can kill
Love has won and Love has lost
Love can catch and Love can toss
Love can stand and Love can fall
Love is small and Love is tall
Love is right and Love is wrong
Love is weak but Love is strong
Love is up and Love is down
Love can smile and Love can frown
Love is good and Love can be bad
Love is quite and Love can brag
Love is a little and Love is a lot
Love continues and Love stops
Love can hope and Love can dream
Love can talk and Love can sing
Love can be a word or Love can be a ring
Love can be nothing or Love can be everything
So where is this thing we call Love
I don’t know the only real love we have comes from above
- Daniel Chapman
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Saturday, August 18, 2012
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LOVE - what is love?
A great and aching heart;
Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair.
LIFE - what is life?
Upon a moorland bare
To see love coming and see love depart
- Robert Louis Stevenson
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Saturday, August 18, 2012
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Pounds of pain punctured my progress
Tons of trouble terminated my tranquility
Swarms of stress subtracted my substance
My heart exploded like a thousand thunders
My mind melted and my spirit splintered
Hanging by a thread destined to burst
I tried to wash away the wounds with words
But the stains were deeply dyed in concrete colors
Verbal detergents were badly and sadly defeated
Verbosity crumbled, fell at my feet and retreated
Internal torment was the architect of my demise
Terrorizing my thoughts and hijacking my hope
Music tried to massage me out of my misery
But though the words were so wonderful
And the melody so moving and majestic
Misfortune only mushroomed and multiplied
I sought solution in the fraternity of friends
But their fantastic fellowship fell flat on its face
As the vanity of my vicissitudes vented and vomited
Causing emotional dehydration and mental suffocation
Pounds of pain to be pushed out
Stupendous swarms of stress to secrete
But nothing happened until a tear fell from my eye
It impacted me so powerfully that I began to cry
I felt so happy that I jumped for joy
I was like a kid with a brand new toy
From that day I celebrated the power of a tear
And with anyone who would listen, share:
Hand picked from the clouds of my heart
Providing me with an excellent new start
A tear
Carrying the DNA of pain
Washing away hurtful stainsA tear
Expressing unspeakable feelings
Creating new channels of healingA tear
Traveling through tunnels of tragedy
Transporting tremendous tons of therapyA tear
Rushing into a river of reformation
Creating a deluge of consolationA tear
Tearing down walls of internal imprisonment
Building beautiful bridges of bettermentA tear
Providing homeostasis
Averting my crisisA tear
Seasoned with the salt of reality
Rescued me from the claws of insanityA tear
Flowing directly from the tear in my soul
Anchoring my feet and making me wholeA tear
Much thanks to you my dear tear
You are the reason I’m still here
- Howard Simon
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Friday, August 10, 2012
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Sometimes when I’m alone
I Cry,
Cause I am on my own.
The tears I cry are bitter and warm.
They flow with life but take no form
I Cry because my heart is torn.
I find it difficult to carry on.
If I had an ear to confide in,
I would cry among my treasured friend,
but who do you know that stops that long,
to help another carry on.
The world moves fast and it would rather pass by.
Then to stop and see what makes one cry,
so painful and sad.
And sometimes…
I Cry
and no one cares about why.
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Friday, August 10, 2012
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What is it with Love
That makes me
then breaks me?
When in love
Do I truly love?
Is it really love
Or do I think that I love?
Maybe I just love being in love
Or love the idea of being in love?
I spent my whole life chasing love.
In the end the one thing I truly love
Could just be the meir pursuit of love.
Author’s Note: ‘meir’ in hebrew (m’r) means ‘that which burns brightly, that which illuminates’.
— Ronberge (anno primo)
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Friday, August 10, 2012
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Laugh, and the world laughs with you;
Weep, and you weep alone.
For the sad old earth must borrow it’s mirth,
But has trouble enough of its own.
Sing, and the hills will answer;
Sigh, it is lost on the air.
The echoes bound to a joyful sound,
But shrink from voicing care.
Rejoice, and men will seek you;
Grieve, and they turn and go.
They want full measure of all your pleasure,
But they do not need your woe.
Be glad, and your friends are many;
Be sad, and you lose them all.
There are none to decline your nectared wine,
But alone you must drink life’s gall.
Feast, and your halls are crowded;
Fast, and the world goes by.
Succeed and give, and it helps you live,
But no man can help you die.
There is room in the halls of pleasure
For a long and lordly train,
But one by one we must all file on
Through the narrow aisles of pain.
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Friday, August 10, 2012
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I loved you, and I probably still do,
And for a while the feeling may remain…
But let my love no longer trouble you,
I do not wish to cause you any pain.
I loved you; and the hopelessness I knew,
The jealousy, the shyness - though in vain -
Made up a love so tender and so true
As may God grant you to be loved again.
— Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin (Translated by Genia Gurarie, 11/10/95)
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Thursday, August 9, 2012
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“Hope” is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops — at all
And sweetest — in the Gale — is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm
I’ve heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest Sea
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb — of Me.
— Emily Dickinson
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Thursday, August 9, 2012
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Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.
— Maya Angelou
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Thursday, August 9, 2012
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Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
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Thursday, August 9, 2012
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Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow
— Langston Hughes
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Tuesday, August 7, 2012
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“From sorrow to sorrow, love crosses its islands and establishes roots that are watered by weeping.”
Pablo Neruda|
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
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Maybe nothingness is to be without your presence,
without you moving, slicing the noon
like a blue flower, without you walking
later through the fog and the cobbles,
without the light you carry in your hand,
golden, which maybe others will not see,
which maybe no one knew was growing
like the red beginnings of a rose.
In short, without your presence: without your coming
suddenly, incitingly, to know my life,
gust of a rosebush, wheat of wind:
since then I am because you are,
since then you are, I am, we are,
and through love I will be, you will be, we will be.
— Pablo Neruda
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Tuesday, August 7, 2012
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“In the eyes of mourning, the land of dreams begins.”
Pablo Neruda|
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
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Of everything I have seen,
It’s you I want to go on seeing:
Of everything I’ve touched,
It’s your flesh I want to go on touching.
I love your orange laughter.
I am moved by the sight of you sleeping.
What am I to do, love, loved one?
I don’t know how others love
or how people loved in the past.
I live, watching you, loving you.
Being in love is my nature.
— Pablo Neruda
