BSH1 MEMORiAL PROFiLE PiC PiCK of the WEEK No. 39- o DART my HEART

Author: oromagi

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i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
                                                      i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

-ee cummings

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Soneto XI

Tengo hambre de tu boca, de tu voz, de tu pelo 
y por las calles voy sin nutrirme, callado, 
no me sostiene el pan, el alba me desquicia, 
busco el sonido líquido de tus pies en el día. 

Estoy hambriento de tu risa resbalada, 
de tus manos color de furioso granero, 
tengo hambre de la pálida piedra de tus uñas, 
quiero comer tu piel como una intacta almendra. 

Quiero comer el rayo quemado en tu hermosura, 
la nariz soberana del arrogante rostro, 
quiero comer la sombra fugaz de tus pestañas 

y hambriento vengo y voy olfateando el crepúsculo 
buscándote, buscando tu corazón caliente 
como un puma en la soledad de Quitratúe.

-Pablo Neruda

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Sonnet CXVI

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
     If this be error and upon me proved,
     I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

-William Shakespeare

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“Funeral Blues”

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

-WH Auden

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Valentine

Not a red rose or a satin heart.
I give you an onion.
It is a moon wrapped in brown paper.
It promises light
like the careful undressing of love.
Here.
It will blind you with tears
like a lover.
It will make your reflection
a wobbling photo of grief.
I am trying to be truthful.
Not a cute card or a kissogram.
I give you an onion.
Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,
possessive and faithful
as we are,
for as long as we are.
Take it.
Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding ring,
if you like.
Lethal.
Its scent will cling to your fingers,
cling to your knife.

-Carol Ann Duffy
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Though I speak with the tongues
of men and of angels,
and have not love,
I am become as sounding brass,
or a tinkling cymbal.

And though I have the gift of prophecy,
and understand all mysteries,
and all knowledge;
and though I have all faith,
,so that I could remove mountains,
and have not love,
I am nothing.

And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor,
and though I give my body to be burned,
and have not love,
it profiteth me nothing.

Long suffereth long,
and is kind;
Love envieth not;
Love vaunteth not itself,
is not puffed up,

Doth not behave itself unseemly,
seeketh not her own,
is not easily provoked,
thinketh no evil;
Rejoiceth not in iniquity,
but rejoiceth in the truth;

Beareth all things,
believeth all things,
hopeth all things,
endureth all things.

Love never faileth:
but whether there be prophecies,
they shall fail;
whether there be tongues,
they shall cease;
whether there be knowledge,
it shall vanish away.

For we know in part,
and we prophesy in part.
But when that which is perfect is come,
then that which is in part shall be done away.
When I was a child, I spake as a child,
I understood as a child,
I thought as a child:
but when I became a man,
I put away childish things.

For now we see through a glass, darkly;
but then face to face:
now I know in part;
but then shall I know even as also I am known.
And now abideth faith, hope, love, these three;
but the greatest of these is love.

-Saint Paul the Apostle
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 LOVING up CHUCK

the one time he kissed me 
i threw up immediately
which goes to show
how much it meant to me
but that's hard on the
kisser's conception
of my reception
to the kiss
which was bliss blessed
in a doorway
of a church
he kissed me thirty seconds
then i lurched
in my cranium
we are swimming
on a loop up old uranium
canals in summer soup
up salt lake flats
in nineteen sixty-eight black Volvos
sputtering our reasons
smoking truth
in the sleet storm
warm bundled in our slickers
all hands in pockets
under graveyard conifers
needled and furrowed 
all spit and pine sap stickied then
and even then I knew
i'd never be this hard again

-Oro

oromagi
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 LOVING up CHUCK

the one time he kissed me 
i threw up immediately
which goes to show
how much that meant to me
but it's hard on the
kisser's conception
of my reception
to his kiss
which was bliss
blessed
in a doorway
of a church
he kissed me thirty seconds
then i lurched
in my cranium
we are swimming
on a loop up old uranium
canals in summer soup
up salt lake flats
in sixty-eight Volvos
sputtering our reasons
smoking truth
in the sleet storm
warm bundled in our slickers
all hands in pockets
under firs over graves
needled and furrowed 
spit and pine sap-stickied then
even then I knew nothing
would ever be this hard again

-Oro



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The Sheep Child

Farm boys wild to couple
With anything      with soft-wooded trees   
With mounds of earth      mounds   
Of pinestraw      will keep themselves off   
Animals by legends of their own:   
In the hay-tunnel dark
And dung of barns, they will   
Say    I have heard tell

That in a museum in Atlanta   
Way back in a corner somewhere   
There’s this thing that’s only half   
Sheep      like a woolly baby
Pickled in alcohol      because   
Those things can’t live.      his eyes
Are open      but you can’t stand to look   
I heard from somebody who ...

But this is now almost all   
Gone. The boys have taken   
Their own true wives in the city,
The sheep are safe in the west hill
Pasture      but we who were born there
Still are not sure. Are we,
Because we remember, remembered
In the terrible dust of museums?

Merely with his eyes, the sheep-child may   

Be saying      saying

         I am here, in my father’s house.
         I who am half of your world, came deeply
         To my mother in the long grass
         Of the west pasture, where she stood like moonlight
         Listening for foxes. It was something like love
         From another world that seized her
         From behind, and she gave, not lifting her head   
         Out of dew, without ever looking, her best
         Self to that great need. Turned loose, she dipped her face   
         Farther into the chill of the earth, and in a sound   
         Of sobbing      of something stumbling
         Away, began, as she must do,
         To carry me. I woke, dying,

         In the summer sun of the hillside, with my eyes
         Far more than human. I saw for a blazing moment   
         The great grassy world from both sides,
         Man and beast in the round of their need,
         And the hill wind stirred in my wool,
         My hoof and my hand clasped each other,
         I ate my one meal
         Of milk, and died
         Staring. From dark grass I came straight
         
         To my father’s house, whose dust
         Whirls up in the halls for no reason
         When no one comes      piling deep in a hellish mild corner,   
         And, through my immortal waters,
         I meet the sun’s grains eye
         To eye, and they fail at my closet of glass.
         Dead, I am most surely living
         In the minds of farm boys: I am he who drives
         Them like wolves from the hound bitch and calf
         And from the chaste ewe in the wind.
         They go into woods      into bean fields      they go
         Deep into their known right hands. Dreaming of me,   
         They groan      they wait      they suffer
         Themselves, they marry, they raise their kind.

-James L Dickey

oromagi
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LOVING up CHUCK

the one time he kissed me 
i threw up immediately
which goes to show
how much that meant to me
but it's hard on the
kisser's conception
of my reception
to his kiss
which was bliss
blessed
in a doorway
of a church
he kissed me sixty seconds
then i lurched
in my cranium
we were swimming
on a loop up old uranium
canals in summer soup
up salt lake flats
in birthday suits
sputtering our reasons
smoking proofs
in the sleet storm
warm bundled in our slickers
all hands in pockets
under firs over graves
needled and furrowed 
spit and pine sap-stickied then
even then I knew nothing
would ever be this hard again

-Oro

oromagi
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Debates: 117
Posts: 8,689
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LOVING up CHUCK

the one time he kissed me 
i threw up immediately
which goes to show
how much that meant to me
but it's hard on the
kisser's conception
of my reception
to his kiss
which was bliss
blessed
in a doorway
of a church
he kissed me sixty seconds
then i lurched
in my cranium
we were swimming
on a loop up old uranium
canals in summer soup
up salt lake flats
in birthday suits
sputtering our reasons
smoking proofs
in the sleet storm
warm bundled in our slickers
all hands in pockets
under firs over graves
furrowed on knees needled
spit and pine sap-stickied then
even then I knew nothing
would ever be this hard again

-Oro