Protected: Poetry: Seretonin 22

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Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: The King of Thule

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The King of Thule, painting by Pierre Jean Van der Ouderaa

There was a king in Thule,
Was faithful till the grave,
To whom his mistress, dying,
A golden goblet gave.

Nought was to him more precious;
He drained it at every bout;
His eyes with tears ran over,
As oft as he drank thereout.

When came his time of dying,
The towns in his land he told,
Nought else to his heir denying
Except the goblet of gold.

He sat at the royal banquet
With his knights of high degree,
In the lofty hall of his fathers
In the castle by the sea.

There stood the old carouser,
And drank the last life-glow;
And hurled the hallowed goblet
Into the tide below.

He saw it plunging and filling,
And sinking deep in the sea:
Then fell his eyelids for ever,
And never more drank he!

Conrad Potter Aiken: Red is the Colour of Blood

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Red is the color of blood, and I will seek it:
I have sought it in the grass.
It is the color of steep sun seen through eyelids.

It is hidden under the suave flesh of women—
Flows there, quietly flows.
It mounts from the heart to the temples, the singing mouth—
As cold sap climbs to the rose.
I am confused in webs and knots of scarlet
Spun from the darkness;
Or shuttled from the mouths of thirsty spiders.

Madness for red! I devour the leaves of autumn.
I tire of the green of the world.
I am myself a mouth for blood…

Here, in the golden haze of the late slant sun,
Let us walk, with the light in our eyes,
To a single bench from the outset predetermined.
Look: there are seagulls in these city skies,
Kindled against the blue.
But I do not think of the seagulls, I think of you.

Your eyes, with the late sun in them,
Are like blue pools dazzled with yellow petals.
This pale green suits them well.

Here is your finger, with an emerald on it:
The one I gave you. I say these things politely—
But what I think beneath them, who can tell?

For I think of you, crumpled against a whiteness;
Flayed and torn, with a dulled face.
I think of you, writing, a thing of scarlet,
And myself, rising red from that embrace.

November sun is sunlight poured through honey:
Old things, in such a light, grow subtle and fine.
Bare oaks are like still fire.
Talk to me: now we drink the evening’s wine.
Look, how our shadows creep along the grave!—
And this way, how the gravel begins to shine!

This is the time of day for recollections,
For sentimental regrets, oblique allusions,
Rose-leaves, shrivelled in a musty jar.
Scatter them to the wind! There are tempests coming.
It is dark, with a windy star.

If human mouths were really roses, my dear,—
(Why must we link things so?—)
I would tear yours petal by petal with slow murder.
I would pluck the stamens, the pistils,
The gold and the green,—
Spreading the subtle sweetness that was your breath
On a cold wave of death….

Now let us walk back, slowly, as we came.
We will light the room with candles; they may shine
Like rows of yellow eyes.
Your hair is like spun fire, by candle-flame.
You smile at me—say nothing. You are wise.

For I think of you, flung down brutal darkness;
Crushed and red, with pale face.
I think of you, with your hair disordered and dripping.
And myself, rising red from that embrace.

Pablo Neruda: A Night on the Island

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All night I have slept with you
next to the sea, on the island.
Wild and sweet you were between pleasure and sleep,
between fire and water.

Perhaps very late
our dreams joined
at the top or at the bottom,

Up above like branches moved by a common wind,
down below like red roots that touch.

Perhaps your dream
drifted from mine
and through the dark sea
was seeking me
as before,
when you did not yet exist,
when without sighting you
I sailed by your side,
and your eyes sought
what now–
bread, wine, love, and anger–
I heap upon you
because you are the cup
that was waiting for the gifts of my life.

I have slept with you
all night long while
the dark earth spins
with the living and the dead,
and on waking suddenly
in the midst of the shadow
my arm encircled your waist.

Neither night nor sleep
could separate us.

I have slept with you
and on waking, your mouth,
come from your dream,
gave me the taste of earth,
of sea water, of seaweed,
of the depths of your life,
and I received your kiss
moistened by the dawn
as if it came to me
from the sea that surrounds us.

Unravel

The Notion of Love

I want to know
what midday confessions
you won’t whisper through
phone lines, but might confide
to the curve of my neck. Just
like the time when you unraveled
Orion on my back and the universe
fit in our bed, when we came undone
and allowed ourselves to be loved.

*Midday confessions
For #mayfalls18 hosted by @breath_words_ and @a_sea_of_words_

*Beloved
(Though I used it as be loved, sorry✌️)
For #cherryisamaybaby hosted by @__got2haveit

*Unravel
For © Our Poetry Journey Contest
#OurPoetryJourneyMay18

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Abundance

The Notion of Love

Like a dance, we will barter
the role of predator and prey,
trading surrender in abundance
like gold under our tongues, as if
it has been a year of drought in
our mouths. Make room for tongues
and teeth, whispers and kisses, the
sighs and sounds we make are the
kind that poets write ciphers about,
the art of worship and war cries.

*For Our Poetry Journey Contest
#OurPoetryJourneyMay18

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Into You.

MY VALIANT SOUL

I ate you like the black spot of the moon
splitting the silence
and dissolving the quietness
in the peaches and apples,
I asked your thorn too
with an ebb blooming onto my eyelid
softness cracks, butter lips
Jupiter, Mars dancing
I ate you still, coating myself with wax
I see you behind the slick cotton sheets
where memories slap my tongue
I see you, Yes…I do.

I thrive and wrap and surrender
my soliloquy white silence
in the flash and soils
and I see still myself sinking deep
into your coconuty eyes.
A conjuncture of Aurora,
Repeat, repeat, repeat.


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Grammar Check

pouringtruth

I miss how you held me
Between syllables,
Vowels touching consonants.
The way your hands
Slipped commas across my lines.
Now I notice you forgetting
To dot the i’s and cross the t’s
Even on important words,
And I sit here and wonder
Why you forget to proof read.

a.l.c

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