Archive for the ‘Real Poetry’ Category
What a day to be alive
Posted on: February 17, 2013
- In: Great Music | Inspirational | Real Poetry
- 1 Comment
Lyrics to “What a day to be alive” by Greg Laswell
What a day to be alive
What a day to realize I’m not dead
What a day to save a dime
What a day to die trying
What a way to say goodbye
What a wonderful life now all a lie
What a way that you survive
What a day to say good night
Bring on the evening hours I cry
Bring on the evidence of my life
What a day to give a damn
What a day for Gone With The Wind
What a day to start again
What a day to give up
Bring on the evening hours I cry
Bring on the evidence of my life
Where to go, where to go from here
I don’t know … don’t know
What a day to visit Seattle
What a day for San Francisco
What a day, holy Toledo
What a day to get in the air and go
What a day to give up smoking
What a day to absorb Jim Beam
And what day to welcome a baby
to begin breathing.
Go seek a love like this
Posted on: November 18, 2012
Go seek a love like this, if you truly live.
Or else remain the slave of time.
And whatever state you seek,
Your lips so dry, must always drink,
Drink up and up,
Till dry lipped still, you reach the source.
For all your skills here given wealth,
Your quest, your handicrafts and works,
Don’t they begin in thought,
Begin beside the river?
Jalaluddin al Balkhi Rumi
Miles away
Posted on: May 11, 2012
- In: Real Poetry
- 1 Comment
I want you and you are not here.
I pause in this garden,
breathing the colour thought is
before language into still air.
Even your name is a pale ghost and,
though I exhale it again
and again, it will not stay with me.
Tonight I make you up, imagine you,
your movements clearer
than the words I have you say you said before.
Wherever you are now, inside my head you fix me
with a look, standing here whilst cool late light
dissolves into the earth.
I have got your mouth wrong,
but still it smiles.
I hold you closer, miles away,
inventing love, until the calls of night jars
interrupt and turn what was to come, was certain,
into memory.
The stars are filming us for no one.
by Carol Ann Duffy
Ja visst gör det ont
Posted on: April 26, 2012
Ja visst gör det ont när knoppar brister.
Varför skulle annars våren tveka?
Varför skulle all vår heta längtan
bindas i det frusna bitterbleka?
Höljet var ju knoppen hela vintern.
Vad är det för nytt, som tär och spränger?
Ja visst gör det ont när knoppar brister,
ont för det som växer
och det som stänger.
Ja nog är det svårt när droppar faller.
Skälvande av ängslan tungt de hänger,
klamrar sig vid kvisten, sväller, glider -
tyngden drar dem neråt, hur de klänger.
Svårt att vara oviss, rädd och delad,
svårt att känna djupet dra och kalla,
ändå sitta kvar och bara darra -
svårt att vilja stanna
och vilja falla.
Då, när det är värst och inget hjälper,
Brister som i jubel trädets knoppar.
Då, när ingen rädsla längre håller,
faller i ett glitter kvistens droppar
glömmer att de skrämdes av det nya
glömmer att de ängslades för färden -
känner en sekund sin största trygghet,
vilar i den tillit
som skapar världen.
Karin Boye
Meeting and parting
Posted on: March 6, 2012
These separate us:
Long mountain ranges,
a rainbow,
an invisible sun
endlessly falling
winter rain
the proud light
of my dark face.
These unite us:
The heartbeat of waves,
an endless telephone wire
which falls across continents
and oceans,
and, too frightened
to question the future,
a tender heart.
By Sri Lankan poet R. Cheran
(translated by Lakshmi Holmstrom)
Forty years later
Posted on: February 27, 2012
- In: Deep Thoughts | Happy Days | Inspirational | Real Poetry
- 1 Comment
forty years later an imperfect moon
unfolds like a water lily of the sky
gradually another light
begins to lap the shores of night
now all light is one
inward moon and outward sun
by South African poet
Shabbir Banoobhai
(my favourite)
A moment ago, it was dark, now my room is room is full of light, of this day.
I have been up since 5 a.m to meet your evening. By now, you are fast asleep.
We take turns to tread this wheel; you keep my head up, I keep your heart strong.
And once in a while, when the stars align, we meet at the bridge of infinity and tell our stories, share a smile.
Time got nothing on us.
Forty years later, we’ll still be 23.
Love is a place – e.e cummings
Posted on: February 14, 2012
love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places
yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds
/ e.e cummings
The New Year – lyrics
Posted on: January 1, 2012
- In: Great Music | Real Poetry
- 1 Comment
What Men Call Life
Posted on: December 20, 2011
I stumbled upon Samantha Mariah Jane’s blog yesterday and coincidentally she had shared a poem that her grandfather had written, shortly before he passed away. With her permission I am posting it here. I think it portraits the spiritual journey of life and death and the light and love of it all.
What Men Call Life
Who knows but life
be that which men call death,
and death, what men call life.
I picture myself about to die.
I don’t want to leave, but my time
is up. My span completed.
I say goodbye, clinging a little
to those people I’ve loved
and enjoyed.
I fill my eyes for a last time
with the incredible colors
and beauty around me, and
I brace myself and begin
the struggle of letting go.
I feel the darkness sweep over me.
I am precipitated through a long, dark, tunnel
into a light that blinds me.
I cry out in protest
and hear a voice exclaim,
“It’s a boy, Mrs. J!
You’ve just given birth
to a healthy boy!”,
and I have entered
what we call Life.
By R.A.J.
1/30/1980
Hot sand on toes, cold sand in sleeping bags,
I’ve come to know that memories
Were the best things you ever had
The summer shone beat down on bony backs
So far from home where the ocean stood
Down dust and pine cone tracks
We slept like dogs down by the fire side
Awoke to the fog all around us
The bloom of summer time
We stood
Steady as the stars in the woods
So happy-hearted
And the warmth rang true inside these bones
As the old pine fell we sang
Just to bless the morning.
Hot sand on toes, cold sand in sleeping bags,
I’ve come to know the friends around you
Are all you’ll always have
Smoke in my lungs, or the echoed stone
Careless and young, free as the birds that fly
With weightless souls now.
We grow, grow, steady as the morning
We grow, grow, older still
We grow, grow, happy as a new dawn
We grow, grow, older still
We grow, grow, steady as the flowers
We grow, grow, older still
We grow, grow, happy as a new dawn
We grow, grow, older still
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