¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ I should have loved you ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
By Edna St. Vincent Millay
Blocked out by: Sara Kendrick
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ I should have loved you ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ given in earnest ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ lifted honest eyes for you ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ caught your hand ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ all my pretty follies flung aside
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ and beneath your gaze,
Naked ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ been to you, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ remained,
¦¦¦ one more waking ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ dream,
Cherish ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ stakes I gained,
¦¦¦ walk your memory’s halls, ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ supreme,
A ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ girl you knew
Who ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ loved you ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
(Blackout of )
She walks in faith through fields of grain
and sings a song of salvation!
When doubts arise from earthly pain,
she walks in faith through fields of grain
in earnest prayer for heaven’s gain—
through Christ’s great invitation!
She walks in faith through fields of grain
and sings a song of salvation!
Your wrists smell of fig sap and October rain
your shoulder blades two furrows turned for seed
your spine the long fence-row the sparrows read
at dusk, each vertebra a sheaf of grain
The vineyard heaves into your windowpane
as roots cleave—slow, below, agreed
and where your collarbone dips, the ripe world feeds
its split apricot, moth-wing, what my palms have gleaned
I turn toward you at the sink, your hair still wet
and lay my ring along the small of your back
the pear boughs laden, the foxes at the run
the creek gone sloe at the farthest bend
what forty years of kneeling cleaves in earnest
one body known, the soul brought into harvest.
======
Only when thy spirits dance in bright dreams,
Shall thy great team flourish by living streams!
'Tis our heart's aim to labor with steadfast
Spirit; the goal, we are nearing it.
Firstly, we aim to do earnest teamwork.
Then give great ideas in modern, new birth.
Everyone there needs to share energy.
To keep thriving in mutual synergy.
Only when you're all dreamily alive.
Will your great team 'Walking Live' truly thrive.
Members know they must always remain clear.
And never forget to carry oak gear.
One day or another, they'll be running.
In the meantime, they need to be stunning.
Their bronze eyes, symbolically summarized.
Knowing now what they've always theorized.
That honest kindness,
As well as helpfulness,
Determine their readiness,
To survive on celestial blue-green marbles seamlessly!
We seek to join our hands in earnest toil,
Then breathe great thoughts into this fruitful soil.
That simple truth and grace,
With mutual succour in this place,
Doth provide readiness with goals,
To dwell where azure groves and emerald balls roll,
Walking live!
her autumn bounty
green thumb of a power witch
given in earnest
I tried in earnest to tame the wild cat
To get my house rid of the nasty rat
But what it did was scratch me all over and bite
Gave up as it was like making shadows turn from light
"My love is eternal." by poet.
In a chapel on a hill, a small bell tolled,
A soft melody of sighs and heartache.
I walked up the hill, resolute and bold.
Other sad mourners followed with heart break.
She was loved. She was not young nor very old.
Many prayed in earnest for her soul's sake.
With a heart block and illness, her end was foretold.
I felt pain in my heart, felt sadness everywhere
Tears filled my eyes and I was in a blindfold.
My sweet Lilian, I muttered a prayer.
They lowered the coffin and now we'll live apart.
Many brought splendid flowers with fragrant rare.
Went back home, emptiness, silence in my heart
Time heals all wounds, but we will never part.
Placed 1
You are the song my soul keeps singing,
the dreaming verse repeating in my heart,
the holy utterance persistent in my mind,
the light edging my every horizon,
the memory promising tomorrow,
the vision veiled before my eyes,
the sacred word echoing my every hope,
the blessing unsought but always found,
the wish I hold in earnest fulfillment,
the constant sorrow that gives me joy.
I’d rather be a ghost drifting by your side as a condemned soul
than to enter heaven without you. Because of your love,
I will never be a lonely spirit.
–“Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon”
Christopher M. Swan, “Song of Susan,” 2008
I wonder if he has ever truly been in love.
I wonder if he actually knows what the word conceives.
I wonder if there exists any warmth within him,
because honestly, none of it have I ever received.
I wonder if he means his flattery.
I wonder if their heir can ever be one.
I wonder so because it’s someone new every day,
and how much really am I allowed to wonder at the mercy of his gun?
I wonder when I think about those already shot dead.
I wonder if I would be a candidate.
I wonder so because the universe never told him about my ‘one and only’ theory,
And in earnest, who even am I to put up a debate?
I wonder if he’s ever wondered
how it would be to be more than just a name.
Oh, to be held in regard, and not simply just forgotten by flame.
I wonder in the truest sense if he’s ever borne the bloom,
because as it turns out,
it is I I wonder about,
and the hypothesis that I never tried is only easy to assume.
If only so much I didn’t wonder,
I could have broken free
from the tide that drags me under.
Nonetheless, I ask, for I know not if a man has ever genuinely been in love with me.
That thrill, tree-hid, pants more
Near your catching
Within this shade, longer for night
Hear what's matching!
Now in earnest, plays which
Neighbourhood game.
As some escaped convict. No child!
Nor chum to name!
she planned her escape in a methodical way
determined to leave by the following Sunday
I am going to set the castle on fire, she said
after they leave, I don’t want anyone dead
when they left for church, she began her pyres
by the time they would return, there would be seven fires
she put on a ball gown and danced as she lit them up
her dress was frothy and fine, fit her like a loving cup
the fires began in earnest, there were orange flames
when the king returned, he would know it was one of her games
she had taken the lead, she was powerful once again.
He will never find me; she laughed. Let the leaving begin.
Once upon a time there was a forsaken mailbox
that sat with its hood open
waiting for the infamous letter number two
The hours, days, weeks and months went by
where the mailman would deliver junk mail
but no letter number two
The mailbox shed tears as its sides grew rust
the neighbors mailboxes would jingle in laughter
as there was no letter number two
Then one day the mailman came with a smile
he opened up the forsaken mailbox
and gently placed in letter number two
The cities letter parade was ecstatic
everyone knew of the delivery
the house owner would read letter number two
With that the mailbox was no longer forsaken
by yet it would sit there in earnest
waiting for letter number three
I
forget—
like how leaves forget their tree
once autumn called them free.
Moments slip and leave
an unsettling void
for dreams to flourish.
Uninvited, wearing
the mask of memory.
A fiction sung in earnest,
stitched in gray hours—
where dreams blend into truth.
A hushed whisper:
“Beauty is truth,”—but
I wouldn’t know
if the echoes I call "mine"
ever rang—
I am built
of broken facts,
soft edits,
and pills that patch up
what my mind kindly discards—
So I wonder, if beauty is truth—
am I still beautiful
when the scars I wear were never real.
These are my early poems, or juvenilia.
Analogy
by Michael R. Burch, circa age 19
Our embrace is like a forest
lying blanketed in snow;
you, the lily, are enchanted
by each shiver trembling through;
I, the snowfall, cling in earnest
as I press so close to you.
You dream that you now are sheltered;
I dream that I may break through.
Published by Borderless Journal (Singapore)
Keywords/Tags: Early poems, juvenilia, college, analogy, embrace, forest, snow, lily, dream
Tympani, beat tremendous!
Like thunder roll above!
Dark matter a-tenebrous;
Knowest thou of love?
Ah, young master. In good time!
Riddles, rivers, rhyme!
Griddle, fiddle, sugar, slime.
Covert cold cut chime.
All right, sir, but in earnest;
Full, brass bull, trull, wool?
Summertime, hot clime, addressed!
Roundabout red rule!
Well, it's you two! Black and Blue!
So, what else is new?
Eggs a-light, serpents a-few?
Kittens blind that mew?
Knights of the nebula pond!
Elders strong and wise...
Mighty warlocks, wave thy wand!
Prize? Between the eyes.
Adepts of tomorrow!
Always? Skies and greys.
Surcease, students, all sorrow.
Living for todays!
Miles are marked for travelers?
Yes, and reason thus:
Reality whirs, then blurs.
Black and Blunderbuss.
Rain, pour poems on prophets.
Nerves heal as they warp.
O floodwaters, try Tophet's.
Sailors, tamp the tarp...
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