I Hope You Dance

Unfinished Love is ...

Unfinished Love is

without night bosom morning
you the unspoken my words,
at the sky stars in me posture
I whispers the for future ..
a best blue this fiort also
the sounds of waves,
shiny phosphorescence in the sea
dawn ,your waits for...

I do not know;
coldest time in winters how many have passed,
I have not seen you ..
However, how much I waited
behind me you to say "do not go "..
I was , much in flames
for ignite vessels..
now death boat,
inshore waiting for me ...

Deferred my dreams,hanging
to the stars clinging
to red of ,now than dark blue returning
This of firmament;
of Copper-colored with the first light of the sun,
correct moonlight..
Unfinished a Love is
to build bridge , the sun straight..

OFS

ON LIVING...

I

Living is no laughing matter:
you must live with great seriousness
like a squirrel, for example-
I mean without looking for something beyond and above living,
I mean living must be your whole occupation.
Living is no laughing matter:
you must take it seriously,
so much so and to such a degree
that, for example, your hands tied behind your back,
your back to the wall,
or else in a laboratory
in your white coat and safety glasses,
you can die for people-
even for people whose faces you've never seen,
even though you know living
is the most real, the most beautiful thing.
I mean, you must take living so seriously
that even at seventy, for example, you'll plant olive trees-
and not for your children, either,
but because although you fear death you don't believe it,
because living, I mean, weighs heavier.


II

Let's say you're seriously ill, need surgery -
which is to say we might not get
from the white table.
Even though it's impossible not to feel sad
about going a little too soon,
we'll still laugh at the jokes being told,
we'll look out the window to see it's raining,
or still wait anxiously
for the latest newscast ...
Let's say we're at the front-
for something worth fighting for, say.
There, in the first offensive, on that very day,
we might fall on our face, dead.
We'll know this with a curious anger,
but we'll still worry ourselves to death
about the outcome of the war, which could last years.
Let's say we're in prison
and close to fifty,
and we have eighteen more years, say,
before the iron doors will open.
We'll still live with the outside,
with its people and animals, struggle and wind-
I mean with the outside beyond the walls.
I mean, however and wherever we are,
we must live as if we will never die.


III

This earth will grow cold,
a star among stars
and one of the smallest,
a gilded mote on blue velvet-
I mean this, our great earth.
This earth will grow cold one day,
not like a block of ice
or a dead cloud even
but like an empty walnut it will roll along
in pitch-black space ...
You must grieve for this right now
-you have to feel this sorrow now-
for the world must be loved this much
if you're going to say ``I lived'' ...



by Nâzım HİKMET

Red River Valley

From this valley they say you are going
We will miss your bright eyes and sweet smile
For they say you are taking the sunshine
That has brightened our path for a while

Come and sit by my side, if you love me
Do not hasten to bid me adieu
But remember the Red River Valley
And the cowboy who loved you so true

Won't you think of the valley you're leaving
Oh! How lonely, how sad it will be?
Oh! Think of the fond heart you're breaking
And the grief you are causing to me

As you go to your home by the ocean
May you never forget those sweet hours
That we spent in the Red River Valley
And the love we exchanged mid the flowers
- unknown source

Ask the Trees

The creek running rapidly here through the glen
is chuckling with laughter today
The trees are shouting and clapping their hands
rustling rays of warm welcome my way
I'll go over there and sit for a while
and think about you, an innocent child
I read the comments, I rang your bell
I heard about doom and hot iron in hell
Dear sister, your cleavage, a work of art
I've seen it displayed on your page
impressing the simple, the clever, the smart
And the puritans foaming with rage
If I be mistaken , I'll take it to heart
and the trees, I'm sure they'll agree:
It can sometimes be hard to tell things apart
And don't judge if you can't really see

Kiss and Ride

Our bond reminds me of the kiss and ride,
We escort one another to our journey,
Whether shared adventures or the trips done apart,
We embrace one another and offer a kiss,
Then ride away elsewhere to long for and miss.

(something im working on...saw the kiss and ride at union station today which inspied a more soulful kiss and ride thought)

Flesh Weakens Endurance

Help me to find the strength to endure silence,
To remain without your spoken words,
A promise that is thought of,
But difficult to keep,
I need to dance with words and verse,
To stay rooted in your soil and bloom,
Without reassurance my flesh weakens my soul,
Then I shall depart from you once again.

When Will This Darkness Die

Holy spirit is called the comforter,
This is where my shame lays,
Because I search and seek for peace,
To silence those shadows and ones lurking,
That keep me apart from loving you,
I bow to my impatience and anger,
To take control of our time,
Because this darkness and control keeps aging,
Without any death of it in sight.

A Rather Foolish Sentiment

Ode To Broken Things

Things get broken
at home
like they were pushed
by an invisible, deliberate smasher.
It's not my hands or yours
It wasn't the girls
with their hard fingernails
or the motion of the planet.
It wasn't anything or anybody
It wasn't the wind
It wasn't the orange-colored noontime
Or night over the earth
It wasn't even the nose or the elbow
Or the hips getting bigger
or the ankle or the air.
The plate broke, the lamp fell
All the flower pots tumbled over
one by one. That pot
which overflowed with scarlet
in the middle of October,
it got tired from all the violets
and another empty one
rolled round and round and round
all through winter
until it was only the powder
of a flowerpot, a broken memory, shining dust. ...