I'm in the mood for poetry. Share your favourite(s). I prefer structured poems with a rhythm and rhyme scheme, but I'd like to read just about anything right now.
Untied, undone, I can't sleep. I sleep too much, dreams being what they are: an enticement, a temporary curl - warm like a cat stretched out in the sun - into fantasy.
The fantasy of you, of me, of us - there never was an us, of course, but I like to dream once in a while - it's easier with eyes closed.
It's easier to imagine your eyes closed, the gentle sweep of lashes against your cheeks, when I'm asleep.
Awake, things seem so untied, undone - too hurried, too fast, too important - that my thoughts of you end up tangling in the pit of my stomach like a weight - something heavy and not altogether unpleasant - that I can't rid myself of.
Even when I sleep, I see you. Sometimes I wish you'd just get out - of my head, of my heart - and leave me alone, for just a minute - just an hour, maybe two, to be free - so I can just think.
Think... and realize - as untied, as undone as I am - you don't even know I exist.
I wish I could see them, but my eyes are closed and your arm is tossed halfhazardly across my chest. You're dreaming, something sweet and maybe maybe just a little bit hard... like when I bite just right, just there, and you sigh my name.
It's not so bad here in the dark, in the warm tangle of sheets and breath and dreams, and flesh.
The stars? They'll be there tomorrow night. I'll be right here.
You stole my poetry. You took it with the soft press of your lips to mine In that breathless moment when we met beneath the tree. I didn’t care that it was plastic. And, laughing as you stole my words from the hush, I lost my poetry with you there that day.
untied, undone. (mine)
Date: 2007-09-28 04:08 am (UTC)I can't sleep.
I sleep too much, dreams being what they are:
an enticement, a temporary curl -
warm like a cat stretched out in the sun
- into fantasy.
The fantasy of you,
of me, of us -
there never was an us, of course,
but I like to dream once in a while
- it's easier with eyes closed.
It's easier to imagine your eyes closed,
the gentle sweep of lashes against your cheeks,
when I'm asleep.
Awake, things seem so
untied, undone -
too hurried, too fast, too important
- that my thoughts of you end up tangling
in the pit of my stomach
like a weight -
something heavy and not altogether unpleasant
- that I can't rid myself of.
Even when I sleep, I see you.
Sometimes I wish you'd just get out -
of my head, of my heart
- and leave me alone, for just a minute -
just an hour, maybe two, to be free
- so I can just think.
Think...
and realize -
as untied, as undone as I am
- you don't even know I exist.
Stars. (mine)
Date: 2007-09-28 04:09 am (UTC)I wish I could see them,
but my eyes are closed
and your arm is tossed halfhazardly
across my chest.
You're dreaming, something sweet and
maybe
maybe just a little bit hard...
like when I bite just
right,
just there,
and you sigh my name.
It's not so bad here in the dark,
in the warm tangle of sheets and breath
and dreams, and flesh.
The stars?
They'll be there tomorrow night.
I'll be
right
here.
Poetry. (mine)
Date: 2007-09-28 04:09 am (UTC)You took it with the soft press of your lips to mine
In that breathless moment when we met beneath the tree.
I didn’t care that it was plastic.
And, laughing as you stole my words from the hush,
I lost my poetry with you there that day.
I don’t mind that it’s gone.
airplane nerd am i.
Date: 2007-09-28 04:15 am (UTC)And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds – and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of – wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlight silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I've topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew –
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-28 04:18 am (UTC)O WHAT can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.
II.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms! 5
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel’s granary is full,
And the harvest’s done.
III.
I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew, 10
And on thy cheeks a fading rose
Fast withereth too.
IV.
I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful—a faery’s child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light, 15
And her eyes were wild.
V.
I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She look’d at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan. 20
VI.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery’s song.
VII.
She found me roots of relish sweet, 25
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said—
“I love thee true.”
VIII.
She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept, and sigh’d fill sore, 30
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
IX.
And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dream’d—Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dream’d 35
On the cold hill’s side.
X.
I saw pale kings and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
They cried—“La Belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!” 40
XI.
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill’s side.
XII.
And this is why I sojourn here, 45
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is wither’d from the lake,
And no birds sing.
no subject
Date: 2007-09-28 04:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-28 04:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-28 04:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-28 08:32 pm (UTC)much love.