Leave-Taking by Louise Bogan

I do not know where either of us can turn 

Just at first, waking from the sleep of each other. 

I do not know how we can bear 

The river struck by the gold plummet of the moon, 

Or many trees shaken together in the darkness.

We shall wish not to be alone 

And that love were not dispersed and set free

Though you defeat me, 

And I be heavy upon you. 

But like earth heaped over the heart 

Is love grown perfect. 

Like a shell over the beat of life 

Is love perfect to the last. 

So let it be the same 

Whether we turn to the dark or to the kiss of another; 

Let us know this for leavetaking, 

That I may not be heavy upon you, 

That you may blind me no more.

I so liked Spring by Charlotte Mew

I so liked Spring last year

Because you were here; -

The thrushes too -

Because it was these you so liked to hear -

I so liked you.

 

This year's a different thing,  -

I'll not think of you.

But I'll like the Spring because it is simply Spring

As the thrushes do.

Stars By Jeff Foster

You are tired, friend.
 Your body aches to rest.
 Give in.
 You have wanted to fall apart for so long.
 To let go of your defences.
 To be transparent and authentic.

Your cynicism has protected you.
 Your fear has served you well.
 Your dreams of enlightenment were beautiful dreams.
 But there is no need to hold your 'self' together any longer.

Surrender.
 Or simply stop pretending that you don't know 'how'.
 Fail.
 Fall.
 The vastness will hold you.
 Only illusions can disappear.

The deeper the heart breaks
 The more love it can hold.

 Don't tell me you are not worthy.
 Don't tell me you are not made of stars.

Failing and Flying By Jack Gilbert

Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew.
It's the same when love comes to an end, or the marriage fails and people say they knew it was a mistake, that everybody said it would never work.
That she was old enough to know better.

But anything worth doing is worth doing badly.
Like being there by that summer ocean
on the other side of the island while
love was fading out of her, the stars
burning so extravagantly those nights that anyone could tell you they would never last.

Every morning she was asleep in my bed like a visitation, the gentleness in her like antelope standing in the dawn mist.
Each afternoon I watched her coming back through the hot stony field after swimming,
the sea light behind her and the huge sky on the other side of that.
Listened to her while we ate lunch.

How can they say the marriage failed? Like the people who came back from Provence (when it was Provence) and said it was pretty but the food was greasy.
I believe Icarus was not failing as he fell,
but just coming to the end of his triumph.

'I would like to be a dot in a painting by Miro' by Moniza Alvi

I would like to be a dot in a painting by Miro.

Barely distinguishable from other dots,
it's true, but quite uniquely placed.
And from my dark centre

I'd survey the beauty of the linescape
and wonder - would it be worthwhile
to roll myself towards the lemon stripe,

Centrally poised, and push my curves
against it's edge, to get myself
a little extra attention?

But it's fine where I am.
I'll never make out what's going on
around me, and that's the joy of it.

The fact that I'm not a perfect circle
makes me more interesting in this world.
People will stare forever -

Even the most unemotional get excited.
So here I am, on the edge of animation,
a dream, a dance, a fantastic construction,

A child's adventure.
And nothing in this tawny sky
can get too close, or move too far away.

Touch me there - Emily Barren

Touch me.

Touch me in the space between

each rib cage, where I believe

my soul resides,

I’d like to know that you can feel her.

Touch me on the nape of my neck,

where I carry the weight of the world,

and let me know if you might

be willing to share some of this heaviness.

Touch me in the invisible places

that I hold my hurt

my secrets

my stories

and remind me to pay attention

to them—the last thing they need is neglect.

Touch me in the moonlight

where I often hide,

but long to know that someone still sees me.

Touch me in the sunlight,

where hiding is not an option

and all my imperfections are illuminated,

and show me you don’t mind

them one bit.

Touch me in the place that moves me,

which will in turn move you,

so we can move together

in a way that only two people

who have touched each other can.

Touch me with your words

or with your heart

or with your fingertips,

touch me there

or here

or even right over here,

I’m really not too picky.

I’d just like for you to touch me,

and gently remind me

that I am real.

The Saddest Poem - Pablo Neruda

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. 

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars, 
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance." 

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings. 

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. 
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. 

On nights like this, I held her in my arms. 
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky. 

She loved me, sometimes I loved her. 
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes? 

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. 
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her. 

To hear the immense night, more immense without her. 
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass. 

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her. 
The night is full of stars and she is not with me. 

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away. 
My soul is lost without her. 

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me. 

The same night that whitens the same trees. 
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her. 
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear. 

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once 
belonged to my kisses. 
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes. 

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her. 
Love is so short and oblivion so long. 

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms, 
my soul is lost without her. 

Although this may be the last pain she causes me, 
and this may be the last poem I write for her.