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i think i forgot how to write.
the birds still chirp
and the flowers they bloom
but just maybe not in my mind.

my words are shattered.
sometimes i do not have the
time to arrange them right.
sometimes they only have meaning
when they are dripping with blood
but i am tired of being cut.

yesterday i saw a hamster
with his beady little eyes of death
and i wanted to write about bitterness,
cruelty, or the selfishness of men.

but i think i forgot how to write.
Broken, shattered
Dreams unraveled
Yet new life springs
From empty matter

Bury me
That I might live
A damaged vessel
Is all I give

Bruised and battered
Full of sin
O wretched man
Abiding within

Bitterness watered
By the tears I've cried
Forgive me Lord
For I have tried

Arms outstretched
Mercy tender
For victory now
I must surrender
She looks in the mirror
At the age on her face
"I wonder what he thinks
of me this way?"

She considers her weight
and the pores on her skin
She thinks out loud
"I don't deserve him."

She picks apart
the woman he loves
Separating her worth
from all that she does
              
He looks in her eyes
and caresses her face
He sees it glowing with love
and full of grace

 The lines on her face
  he views with pride
  Recounting the victories
  each time they've been tried

The weight that she carries
 is that of a mom
 Nothing's too heavy
 She just marches on

These bodies will perish
 and mirrors offer no truth
True love abides
 beyond the corridors of youth

  No, she doesn't deserve me
  Perhaps God can see
  Conceivably, one day
  I'll be as worthy as she
to the mother of my children. Happy Mother's Day!
I Am Not Yours
Sara Teasdale, 1884 - 1933


I am not yours, not lost in you,
Not lost, although I long to be
Lost as a candle lit at noon,
Lost as a snowflake in the sea.

You love me, and I find you still
A spirit beautiful and bright,
Yet I am I, who long to be
Lost as a light is lost in light.

Oh plunge me deep in love—put out
My senses, leave me deaf and blind,
Swept by the tempest of your love,
A taper in a rushing wind.
And see this poem set to music...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6cUbI8ibYZo


I was fortunate enough to see the New World School of Arts High School Choir perform  it last night...the music led me to the poetry and Ms. Teasdale will make an appearance in my next poem...

On August 8, 1884, Sara Trevor Teasdale was born in St. Louis, Missouri, into an old, established, and devout family. She was home-schooled until she was nine and traveled frequently to Chicago, where she became part of the circle surrounding Poetry magazine and Harriet Monroe. Teasdale published Sonnets to Duse, and Other Poems, her first volume of verse, in 1907. Her second collection, Helen of Troy, and Other Poems, followed in 1911, and her third, Rivers to the Sea, in 1915.

In 1914 Teasdale married Ernst Filsinger; she had previously rejected a number of other suitors, including Vachel Lindsay. She moved with her new husband to New York City in 1916. In 1918, she won the Columbia University Poetry Society Prize (which became the Pulitzer Prize for poetry) and the Poetry Society of America Prize for Love Songs, which had appeared in 1917. She published three more volumes of poetry during her lifetime: Flame and Shadow (1920), Dark of the Moon (1926), and Stars To-night (1930). Teasdale’s work had always been characterized by its simplicity and clarity, her use of classical forms, and her passionate and romantic subject matter. These later books trace her growing finesse and poetic subtlety. She divorced in 1929 and lived the rest of her life as a semi-invalid. Weakened after a difficult bout with pneumonia, Teasdale committed suicide on January 29, 1933, with an overdose of barbiturates. Her final collection, Strange Victory appeared posthumously that same year.
You know what?
I can't believe my luck, 'cause it's getting late
and I'm talking to her and everything is great
and we're laughing.

And it never even occurred to me,
but maybe this is how things should be.

So far away,
and it's been such a while,
but I can't but smile,
I could do this.

It's not what I wanted but it's not so bad
and for the first time in a while I am actually glad.
I'd pretended for so long,
that I'd forgotten it was real.
So when things started to go wrong,
I didn't know what to feel.
I slowly slipped away from you.
then blamed you when you left.
I lost myself in feeling blue
and forgot about your theft.
I was so sure I had forever,
that I'd forgotten about right now.
Now I know I wasn't clever,
because I let you forget how;
You were my muse,
and I loved you so.
Now I write like this as if it's news,
but I messed up long ago.
I finally understand
but took me far too long.
The time's no longer at hand,
and I was far too wrong.
Tickled senses
Close encounter
Risky pursuit
Playful hearts
Seductive looks
Arousing touch
Ignited passions
Frenzied moves
Strong upheavals
Raised anticipation
Souls entangled
Towards culmination
Deep awakenings
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