I want you when the shades of eve are falling
And purple shadows drift across the land,
When sleepy birds to loving mates are calling -
I want the soothing softness of your hand.

I want you when the stars shine up above me,
And Heanven's flooded with the bright moonlight
I want you with your arms and lips to love me
Throughout the wonder watches of the night.

I want you when in dreams I still remember
The ling'ring of your kiss - for old times sake -
With all your gentle ways, so sweetly tender,
I want you in the morning when I wake.

I want you when the day is at its noontime,
Sun steeped and quiet, or drenched with sheets of rain
I want you when the roses bloom in June-time;
I want you when the violets come again.

I want you when my soul is thrilled with passion;
I want you when I'm weary and depressed;
I want you when in lazy, slumbrous fashion
My senses need the haven of your breast.

I want you when through field and wood I'm roaming;
I want you when I 'm standing on the shore;
I want you when the summer birds are homing -
And when they've flown - I want you more and more.

I want you, dear through every changing season;
I want you with a tear or with a smile;
I want you more than any rhyme or reason -
I want you want you want you all the while.

--- Arthur L. Gillom

Posted by: Michele at 12:26 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I got home from a busy, fun weekend (of hikes, apple picking, and taking my son to his first county fair) to find lots of wonderful emails in my inbox. That's a first for me! The sentiments ran the gamut and since I am pressed for time I will post a quick response here with individual emails to follow.

A few of you wrote asking for lots of interesting details on how my romance is going. Sorry folks, but I don't like to kiss-N-tell.

Several more wrote urging me to be careful and proceed cautiously. I am nothing if not very careful. So careful in fact that guys usually get tired of waiting for me to come around, they give up and eventually walk away. That suits me just fine because it's only over time that a person's true nature is revealed.

Some of you urged me to stop the torture and get it over with and jump his bones and share the details. One person in particular wanted pictures. No Lisa, I will not put a hidden webcam in his bathroom. I think your bathroom fetish is going too far now and you need to consider getting some professional help.

The jumping of the bones is fine for most people but not yet for me. Fortunately, my erogenous zone is somewhere in my brain, so the jumping of bones is for after the fact, or should I say after that act. Besides, you know what the Supremes say: You can't hurry love. No, you just have to wait...", but in the meantime, its a wonderful journey.

To those who are wishing me well, a heart felt Thank YOU! I am truly touched by your caring and thoughtfulness. I especially liked the email I received from Eric (Norway), which contained his wonderful wishes wrapped in the beautiful poem below. I am sharing it for our mutual enjoyment.

Again, a heart felt thank you to all.

Love One Another by Khalil Gibran

Love one another, but make not a yoke of love
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other's cup, but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread, but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous,
but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone
though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping;
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together yet not too near together;
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

Posted by: Michele at 11:28 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Between me and the world
you are a calendar, a compass.
A ray of light that slips through the gloom.
You are a biographical sketch, a bookmark,
a preface that comes at the end.

Between me and the world
you are a gauze curtain, a mist.
A lamp shining into my dreams.
You are a bamboo flute, a song without words,
a closed eyelid carved in stone.

by Bei Dao
as translated by Bonnie McDougall

Posted by: Michele at 04:50 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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I long for you
In stillness of night
Dreaming your arms
Are holding me tight.
I whisper softly
And call your name
It's your voice I hear
Again and again.
My heart is full
Yet empty too
Because I long
And want just you.

~ ME

I"ll be away this weekend, going to the mountains to see the colors of God. Comments are closed while I revel in memories of a most beautiful phone call.

Posted by: Michele at 02:30 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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“Do I love you because you're beautiful, or are you beautiful because I love you? Am I making believe I see in you, a [man] too perfect to be really true? Do I want you because you're wonderful, or are you wonderful because I want you? Are you the sweet invention of a lover's dream, or are you really as beautiful as you seem?”
~ Oscar Hammerstein II

Posted by: Michele at 03:15 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Poems by Rumi; Translated by Deepak Chopra; Reading by Chopra & Madonna

~ My Burning Heart ~
My heart is burning with love
All can see this flame
My heart is pulsing with passion
like waves on an ocean

My friends have become strangers
and IÂ’m surrounded by enemies
But IÂ’m free as the wind
no longer hurt by those who reproach me

IÂ’m at home wherever I am
And in the room of lovers
I can see with closed eyes
the beauty that dances

Behind the veils
intoxicated with love
I too dance the rhythm
of this moving world
I have lost my senses
in my world of lovers

~ Bittersweet ~
In my hallucination
I saw my beloved's flower garden
In my vertigo, in my dizziness
In my drunken haze
Whirling and dancing like a spinning wheel

I saw myself as the source of existence
I was there in the beginning
And I was the spirit of love
Now I am sober
There is only the hangover
And the memory of love
And only the sorrow

I yearn for happiness
I ask for help
I want mercy
And my love says:

Look at me and hear me
Because I am here
Just for that

I am your moon and your moonlight too
I am your flower garden and your water too
I have come all this way, eager for you
Without shoes or shawl

I want you to laugh
To kill all your worries
To love you
To nourish you

Oh sweet bitterness
I will soothe you and heal you
I will bring you roses
I, too, have been covered with thorns

~ Intoxicated by Love ~
Because of your love
I have lost my sobriety
I am intoxicated
by the madness of love

In this fog
I have become a stranger to myself
I'm so drunk
I've lost the way to my house

In the garden
I see only your face
From trees and blossoms
I inhale only your fragrance

Drunk with the ecstasy of love
I can no longer tell the difference
between drunkard and drink
Between lover and Beloved

Posted by: Michele at 12:12 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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The More Loving One ~ W. H. Auden

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell,
But on earth indifference is the least
We have to dread from man or beast.

How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.

Admirer as I think I am
Of stars that do not give a damn,
I cannot, now I see them, say
I missed one terribly all day.

Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

[Thanks for visiting but comments are still closed]

Posted by: Michele at 10:08 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Reading other poets often inspires me, for in their poetic self-revelation I often find threads or remnants of myself. And while in that place I often find their words imbue my creativity. Jean's poem inspired me to write the words below:

Alone can be
disconcerting,
deafening,
and uncomfortable.

That is,
until you find
yourself,
and create
a space for
loving,
nurturing
and healing.

Alone can be
a time for:
adventure,
exploration,
and reflection.

ItÂ’s an adventure
to see
how far
this me
can stretch
silently.

Its a time
for me
to explore
and expand
my soul
spiritually,
and creatively,

Its always
a time
for
learning,
changing
and growing.

Alone,
is simply
the best time
for me
to become
the best ME
I can possibly
BE.

Thanks Jean, for sharing so openly and willingly and for your wonderful inspiration!

Posted by: Michele at 12:55 PM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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In the morning I will be leaving to visit with family and to deal with the reading of my father's will.

I willl bring this poem to recite, as a reminder that though my relationship with my father was not easy, I am who I am today as a result of who he was. It was his love of politics, broadcasting, music and sports that have shaped who I am. It was his lessons and his work ethic who have influenced my sense of responsibility and the fact that I have always been gainfully employed. Thanks Dad, for molding me into who I am.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Those we hold most dear
Never truly leave usÂ…
They live on in the kindness they showed,
The comfort they shared and the love
they brought into our lives.
~ by Isabel Norton

Posted by: Michele at 12:43 AM | Comments (7) | Add Comment
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I woke up this morning from a deep sleep/dream, in which I was reciting the following Dylan Thomas poem. It has been with me all day, so I share it with you now hoping it will finally leave me.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Posted by: Michele at 05:39 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment
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1 I'll take it.

Posted by: Stephen Macklin at April 26, 2007 08:57 PM (Z3kjO)

2 Hmmm, my step father died three times. He told of angels escorting souls away from their bodies the first two times. (He had a pacemaker installed). He hasn't returned from his third and I doubt that he will. I think that the process of dying (as long as it is relatively painless) is something I'll "enjoy" experiencing. Why? Because I'll only _really_ get to do it once. I'm not looking forward to it. But then, I'm not a grave man, near death, who sees that blinding sight. Macabre, I know, but I wouldn't be me without this odd perspective, no?

Posted by: _Jon at April 26, 2007 09:38 PM (cPJtC)

3 Good morning!

Posted by: Tuning Spork at April 27, 2007 04:55 AM (SfePD)

4 Wonderful! Reading that made me reflect.

Posted by: Dazd at April 27, 2007 08:38 AM (JRVQu)

5 One of my favorite pieces..... Thank you for the refresher. It has been too long.....

Posted by: Tammi at April 27, 2007 02:09 PM (Bitcf)

6 I have a MAJOR soft spot in my heart for Dylan Thomas. I may not always "get" him, but I love anything he has ever written because it is evocative of the best years of my life. If you are ever in the mood (because your comments do not seem to accept hyperlinks), type in "Dylan Thomas" in the search box up on top of my blog, and it'll go into more detail why.

Posted by: Erica at April 29, 2007 09:33 AM (n1ABe)

7 I like that poem. Keeps me motivated.

Posted by: Viking Medic at May 01, 2007 12:47 AM (DXMhX)

8 I like it so much!

Posted by: Vik at May 01, 2007 08:24 PM (iS0Or)

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An amusing poem by the Canadian Poet Laureate Raymound Souster:

The Response

The treeÂ’s branches
knocked against our window:
It wanted to be friends
and come in.

My answer was to open my window
reach out and hack off
its two longest arms.

Posted by: Michele at 03:38 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
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Night after night her purple traffic
Strews the landing with opal bales;
Merchantmen poise upon horizons,
Dip, and vanish with fairy sails."

~ Emily Dickinson, 1830-1886 ~

Photo credit: JSK Lee

Posted by: Michele at 11:55 PM | Comments (10) | Add Comment
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Bridegroom, dear to my heart,
Goodly is your beauty, honeysweet. . . .
You have captivated me,
Let me stand tremblingly before you.
Bridegroom, I would be taken by you to the bedchamber.

That is how the oldest love poem in the world begins as inscribed in the above tablets. It is an expression of love from a woman, and given to her betrothed before their wedding, to signal her acceptance of him. The above tablet was discovered over a hundred years ago, buried in the ancient sands of Iraq by British scholars.

The tablet is believed to have been created sometime around 2030 BC by a Sumerian scribe, whose handiwork has served to preserve the bride's passionate declaration for over 40 centuries. This ritualistic practice, scholars say, was part of a Mesopotamian festival of fertility and power called "Sacred Marriage". Every year around the spring equinox, the Sumerian king would "marry", taking as his wife Inanna [the Sumerian goddess of love and war], to renew the land's fertility and affirm his own potency.

For several days preceding this event, the king's people would engage in the Sumerian equivalent of Mardi Gras. At the festival's peak, the king would pursue Inanna's high priestess, who would play the part of Inanna. The priestess, woed by his offerings, would pen a poem to the King as a gift that signaled her acceptance of the king into her bed. The poem featured here, was addressed to the Sumerian king Shu-Sin, and is the oldest love poem known to date. In the extended entry you will find the complete poem, translated by Michael Himick of the Museums of Istanbul, where the tablets are on display.
more...

Posted by: Michele at 12:49 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Your watch stopped five minutes after you did.
A year later I've brought it out its drawer
where your things languish in disrepair,
(eye shadow, cell phone and receipts,
a scarf to hide a head without hair),
placing it on my healthy wrist,
I'm forced to adjust its link, and think,
unlike you, I have time before I leave.
Then I wait, hoping that with each stride I've taken,
with each beating of my pulse and hand that's shaken,
it will receive energy and be brought to life again.

This morning I awoke and saw there was no change,
shaking it in anger once again, I will it on.
Nervous, I sat in a repair shop,
giving anxious glances towards the back.
The attendant, finally returns it and
with an air of disappointment and despair,
confirms your watch is definitely beyond repair.
"Somehow its coils and springs were tossed about,
pushing them all inside-out."
The news of this violence affects me,
tearing at my own mechanism greatly.

I hurry home, dead watch in hand,
saddened by its passing
and sit in wonder, how you,
struggled for 3 years
against time & frame of mind
to wrench some seconds
with great might
hoping in the end
you wouldn't lose your fight.

~ me 2/7/07
On the anniversary of my friend's death to breast cancer

Posted by: Michele at 11:52 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
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My battle weary body
collapses... tired.
Sleep escaping...
sad thoughts
circling,
torturing,
punishing,
like a train
aiming for
my brain.
more...

Posted by: Michele at 04:43 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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Grief is Like a River by By Cinthia G. Kelley

My grief is like a river,
I have to let it flow,
but I myself determine
the banks that it will go.

Some days the current takes me
in waves of guilt and pain,
but there are always quiet pools
where I can rest again.

I crash on rocks of anger;
my faith seems faint indeed,
but there are some blessed swimmers
who know exactly what I need

some loving hands to hold me
when the waters are too swift,
and someone kind to listen
when I just seem to go adrift.

Grief's river is a process
of relinquishing the past.
By swimming in Hope's channels,
I'll reach the shore at last.

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RSM,

May you find healing and comfort in the memories you have and in the words of your favorite poet. (((Hug)))

Dark Trinity

Said I to Pain: "You would not dare
Do ill to me."
Said Pain: "Poor fool! Why should I care
Whom you may be?
To clown and king alike I bring
My meed of bane;
Why should you shirk my chastening?"
Said Pain.

Said I to Grief: "No tears have I,
Go on your way."
Said Grief: "Why should I pass you by,
While others pay?
All men must know the way of woe,
From saint to thief,
And tears were meant to overflow,"
Said Grief.

Said I to Death: "From ail and fret
Grant me relief."
Said Death: "I know you are beset
By Pain and Grief.
But my good will you must await
Since human breath
To suffering is consecrate,"
Said Death.

Said I to God: "Pale Sister Grief,
Bleak Brother Pain,
Bedevil me beyond belief,
And Death's unfain . . ."
Said God: "Curse not that blessed Three,
Poor human clod!
Have faith! Believe the One with Me,"
Said God.

~ Robert W. Service

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A little poetry for the soul. For no other reason than just because I needed a little poetry break on a very "challenging" day of back to backs with only 20 min. scheduled in for lunch. This poem came to mind when I overheard one co-worker say to another "What about God?" during a conversation as they walked passed.

What about God?

From desert cliff and mountaintop we trace the wide design,
Strike-slip fault and overthrust and syn and anticline...
We gaze upon creation where erosion makes it known,
And count the countless aeons in the banding of the stone.
Odd, long-vanished creatures and their tracks & shells are found;
Where truth has left its sketches on the slate below the ground. [1]
The patient stone can speak, if we but listen when it talks.
Humans wrote the Bible; God wrote the rocks.

There are those who name the stars, who watch the sky by night,
Seeking out the darkest place, to better see the light.
Long ago, when torture broke the remnant of his will,
Galileo recanted, but the Earth is moving still [2]
High above the mountaintops, where only distance bars,
The truth has left its footprints in the dust between the stars.
We may watch and study or may shudder and deny,
Humans wrote the Bible; God wrote the sky.

By stem and root and branch we trace, by feather, fang and fur,
How the living things that are descend from things that were.
The moss, the kelp, the zebrafish, the very mice and flies,
These tiny, humble, wordless things -- how shall they tell us lies?
We are kin to beasts; no other answer can we bring.
The truth has left its fingerprints on every living thing.
Remember, should you have to choose between them in the strife,
Humans wrote the Bible; God wrote life.

And we who listen to the stars, or walk the dusty grade [3]
Or break the very atoms down to see how they are made,
Or study cells, or living things, seek truth with open hand.
The profoundest act of worship is to try to understand.
Deep in flower and in flesh, in star and soil and seed,
The truth has left its living word for anyone to read.
So turn and look where best you think the story is unfurled.
Humans wrote the Bible; God wrote the world.

-- Catherine Faber

Posted by: Michele at 01:17 PM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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SONNET LXVI

I DON”T LOVE YOU... Because I Love you
and from loving you to not loving I arrive
at waiting while not waiting,
all the while, my heart going from ice to fire.

I love only you because it is you I love.
I hate you endlessly and hating plead
to the measure of your temporary love
never to see you or love you blindly.

Perhaps your cruel streak
will consume my heart and inner light
stealing with it my eternal peace.

In this story it is I who die
dying in my love and need of you
loving with passion blood and fire only you.
~ Pablo Neruda, 1959 - Translation my own

SONETO LXVI
NO TE QUIERO sino porque te quiero
y de quererte a no quererte llego
y de esperarte cuando no te espero
pasa mi corazón del frío al fuego.

Te quiero sólo porque a ti te quiero,
te odio sin fin, y odiándote te ruego,
y la medida de mi amor viajero
es no verte y amarte como un ciego.

Tal vez consumirá la luz de enero,
su rayo cruel, mi corazón entero,
robándome la llave del sosiego.

En esta historia sólo yo me muero
y moriré de amor porque te quiero,
porque te quiero, amor, a sangre y fuego.
~ Pablo Neruda, 1959

Posted by: Michele at 12:10 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
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Up from the evil day
Of wattle and of woad,
Along man's weary way
Dark Pain has been the goad.
Back from the age of stone,
Within his brutish brain,
What pleasure he has known
Is ease from Pain.

Behold in Pain the force
That haled Man from the Pit,
And set him such a course
No mind can measure it.
To angel from the ape
No human pang was vain
In that divine escape
To joy through Pain.

See Pain with stoic eyes
And patient fortitude,
A blessing in disguise,
An instrument of good.
Aye, though with hearts forlorn
We to despair be fain,
Believe that Joy is born
From Womb of Pain.


Comments turned off due to spamming.

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