Indigo Evenings

I get the night time blues.

My heart aches.

Dreams dry and wither.

I reach out my hand to shadows

who dance away with the light,

chasing their own heart aches.

Nothing but indigo nights for me

until morning when the damnable sun

with it's irrepressible warmth

and optimism rises once again.

The cycle continues, uncaring

that I conspire against it.



~~JKB 2017

She dreams

I Rise

I've been through hell, 
not nearly enough heaven. 
In spite of it all, I rise. 
I love, even if I do it alone. 
What is life without a bit of joy 
and a lot of sorrow?

JKB 2017~~

Once More Into My Arid Days

(Arid means dry; without rain)

ONCE more into my arid days like dew,
Like wind from an oasis, or the sound
Of cold sweet water bubbling underground,
A treacherous messenger--the thought of you
Comes to destroy me; once more I renew
Firm faith in your abundance, whom I found
Long since to be but just one other mound
Of sand, whereon no green thing ever grew.
And once again, and wiser is no wise,
I chase your colored phantom on the air,
And sob and curse and fall and weep and rise
And stumble pitifully on to where,
Miserable and lost, with stinging eyes,
Once more [I reach for you]--and there is nothing there.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Ashes of Life

Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
Eat I must, and sleep I will, -- and would that
night were here!
But ah! -- to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!
Would that it were day again! -- with twilight
near!

Love has gone and left me and I don't know what to do;
This or that or what you will is all the same to me;

But all the things that I begin I leave
before I'm through, --
There's little use in anything as far as I can see.

Love has gone and left me, -- and the neighbors knock
and borrow,
And life goes on forever like the gnawing of a mouse, --

And to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow
and to-morrow
There's this little street and this little house.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Sorrow

SORROW like a ceaseless rain
Beats upon my heart.
People twist and scream in pain, --
Dawn will find them still again;
This has neither wax nor wane,
Neither stop nor start.
People dress and go to town;
I sit in my chair.
All my thoughts are slow and brown:
Standing up or sitting down
Little matters, or what gown
Or what shoes I wear.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Union Square

Union Square

WITH the man I love who loves me not,

I walked in the street-lamps' flare;

We watched the world go home that night

In a flood through Union Square.

I leaned to catch the words he said

That were light as a snowflake falling;

Ah well that he never leaned to hear

The words my heart was calling.

And on we walked and on we walked

Past the fiery lights of the picture shows --

Where the girls with thirsty eyes go by

On the errand each man knows.

And on we walked and on we walked,

At the door at last we said good-bye;

I knew by his smile he had not heard

My heart's unuttered cry.

With the man I love who loves me not

I walked in the street-lamps' flare --

But oh, the girls who can ask for love

In the lights of Union Square.

By Sara Teasdale, of course. :)

Rest

Rest.

WE are so tired, my heart and I.
Of all things here beneath the sky
One only thing would please us best--
Endless, unfathomable rest.

We are so tired; we ask no more
Than just to slip out by Life's door;
And leave behind the noisy rout
And everlasting turn about.

Once it seemed well to run on too
With her importunate, fevered crew,
And snatch amid the frantic strife
Some morsel from the board of life.

But we are tired.
At Life's crude hands
We ask no gift she understands;
But kneel to him she hates to crave
The absolution of the grave.

Mathilde Blind

Absence

Absence

YOUR words dropped into my heart like pebbles into a pool,
Rippling around my breast and leaving it melting cool.
Your kisses fell sharp on my flesh like dawn-dews from the limb,
Of a fruit-filled lemon tree when the day is young and dim.
But a silence vasty-deep, oh deeper than all these ties
Now, through the menacing miles, brooding between us lies.
And more than the songs I sing, I await your written word,
To stir my fluent blood as never your presence stirred.

Claude McKay

image srce: http://www.orlandosentinel.com/media/photo/2002-10/5064017.jpg

If you but knew

AH, if you knew how soon and late
My eyes long for a sight of you
Sometimes in passing by my gate
You'd linger until fall of dew,
If you but knew!
Ah, if you knew how sick and sore
My life flags for the want of you,
Straightway you'd enter at the door
And clasp my hand between your two,
If you but knew!
Ah, if you knew how lost and lone
I watch and weep and wait for you,
You'd press my heart close to your own
Till love had healed me through and through,
If you but knew!

mathilde blind

Into my Dreams

I TOOK your face into my dreams,

It floated round me like a light;

Your beauty's consecrating beams

Lay mirrored in my heart all night.

As in a lonely mountain mere,

Unvisited of any streams,

Supremely bright and still and clear,

The solitary moonlight gleams,

Your face was shining in my dreams.

Mathilde Blind

Gray Fog

Gray Fog
A fog drifts in, the heavy laden
Cold white ghost of the sea --
One by one the hills go out,
The road and the pepper-tree.
I watch the fog float in at the window
With the whole world gone blind,
Everything, even my longing, drowses,
Even the thoughts in my mind.
I put my head on my hands before me,
There is nothing left to be done or said,
There is nothing to hope for, I am tired,
And heavy as the dead.

Sara Teasdale

Summer Night, Riverside

Summer Night, Riverside

IN the wild soft summer darkness
How many and many a night we two together
Sat in the park and watched the Hudson
Wearing her lights like golden spangles
Glinting on black satin.
The rail along the curving pathway
Was low in a happy place to let us cross,
And down the hill a tree that dripped with bloom
Sheltered us
While your kisses and the flowers,
Falling, falling,
Tangled my hair. . . .
The frail white stars moved slowly over the sky.
And now, far off
In the fragrant darkness
The tree is tremulous again with bloom
For June comes back.
To-night what girl
When she goes home,
Dreamily before her mirror shakes from her hair
This year's blossoms, clinging in its coils ?

Flower of Love

Flower of Love

THE perfume of your body dulls my sense.

I want wine nor weed; your breath alone

Suffices. In this moment rare and tense

I worship at your breast. The flower is blown,

The saffron petals tempt my amorous mouth,

The yellow heart is radiant now with dew

Soft-scented, redolent of my loved South;

O flower of love! I give myself to you.

Uncovered on your couch of figured green,

Here let us linger indivisible.

The portals of your sanctuary unseen

Receive my offering, yielding unto me.

Oh, with our love the night is warm and deep!

The air is sweet, my flower, and sweet the flute

Whose music lulls our burning brain to sleep,

While we lie loving, passionate and mute.

Claude McKay

Our Souls have Touched

OUR souls have touched each other,
Two fountains from one jet;
Like children of one mother
Our leaping thoughts have met.
We were as far asunder
As green isles in the sea;
And now we ask in wonder
How that could ever be.
I dare not call thee lover
Nor any earthly name,
Though love's full cup flows over
As water quick with flame.
When two strong minds have mated
As only spirits may,
The world shines new created
In a diviner day.
Yea, though hard fate may sever
My fleeting self from thine,
Thy thought will live for ever
And ever grow in mine.

Mathilde Blind

Hidden Love

I hope you are not sick of Sara. I love her poetry. This is my last Photo-shopped poem background combo I think. Unless I feel inspired to create more. I will try to shake it up a bit for you after this one. I promise!

Fire and Ice

The Kiss

A True Friend

This poem has been spread around the internet without the author's name. The author's name is Khahlil Gibran. One of my pet peeves is not giving credit to the author of a work. Basically, if you paste something on ur blog, email, etc and do not give credit that implies that it is your own work. That, my friend, is wrong anyway you cut it. Please, put an author's name with his work. Google it if necessary. Again, my photoshopped background with Gibran's poem.

I Would Live in Your Love