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If I weep

If I weep, if I come with excuses, my beloved puts cotton wool in his ears.
Every cruelty which he commits becomes him, every cruelty which he commits I endure.
If he accounts me nonexistent, I account his tyranny generosity.
The cure of the ache of my heart is the ache for him; how shall I not surrender my heart to his ache?
Only then are glory and respect mine, when his glorious love renders me contemptible.
Only then does the vine of my body become wine, when the wine-presser stamps on me and spurns me underfoot.
I yield my soul like grapes under the trampling, that my secret heart may make merry,
Though the grapes weep only blood, for I am vexed with this cruelty and tyranny.
He who pounds upon me puts cotton wool in his ears saying, “I do not press unwittingly.
If you disbelieve, you are excusable, but I am the Abu’l Hikam [the expert] in this affair.
When you burst under the labor of my feet, then you will render much thanks to me.”

poem by Rumi
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If This Needs Repeating

I feel blessed.
Yes.
And less stressed with mess.
I feel deep within me a happiness,
I can bring to the surface and express.
I'm not going to say,
I am free of an ache or pain.
I'm not going to elaborate...
On my losses or gains.
Or even my despairs and disappointments,
That may come!
I'm not sharing any of that!
None,
With anyone!
I feel blessed.
Yes.
And less stressed with mess.
I feel deep within me a happiness,
I can bring to the surface and express.
I'm not going to say,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Termarter Sorce

It wasn't kid stakes. I 'ad no crook lurk
To act deceivin', or to treat 'er mean.
I'm old enough to know them games don't work
Not with Doreen.
Besides, deceit ain't in me bag uv tricks.
I got a few; but there is some that sticks.

Sticks in me gizzard. Some blokes sees no wrong
In workin' points, an' thinks it bonzer sport
To trifle with a wife's belief, so long
As they ain't cort.
But, when yeh play the game on dead straight lines,
It 'urts to be accused uv base designs.

It starts this mornin'. I wake with a tooth
That's squirmin' like a basketful uv snakes.
Per'aps I groan a bit, to tell the truth;
An' then she wakes,
An' arsts me wot I'm makin' faces for.
I glare at 'er, an' nurse me achin' jor.

[...] Read more

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Moving Out

the lasting sound of a shrieking wind
i'm taking my time by the subway train
the ache in me from a night before
i'm taking a ride to suburban plains
i'm looking for a face to compare mine with
only to find them staring back at me
cruel is the morning that i face right now
people and they're moving out
oh my head
i'm coping with the ache
and i see
i try hard to look alive
stepping out in a distant zone
i'm taking my ride to suburban plains
i couldn't care less if i miss the train
i've never been here, but i know my way
oh my head
but i'm coping with the ache
and i see
i try hard to look alive

[...] Read more

song performed by Yvonne
Added by Lucian Velea
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The White Cliffs

I
I have loved England, dearly and deeply,
Since that first morning, shining and pure,
The white cliffs of Dover I saw rising steeply
Out of the sea that once made her secure.
I had no thought then of husband or lover,
I was a traveller, the guest of a week;
Yet when they pointed 'the white cliffs of Dover',
Startled I found there were tears on my cheek.
I have loved England, and still as a stranger,
Here is my home and I still am alone.
Now in her hour of trial and danger,
Only the English are really her own.

II
It happened the first evening I was there.
Some one was giving a ball in Belgrave Square.
At Belgrave Square, that most Victorian spot.—
Lives there a novel-reader who has not
At some time wept for those delightful girls,

[...] Read more

poem by Alice Duer Miller
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Quatrains Of Life

What has my youth been that I love it thus,
Sad youth, to all but one grown tedious,
Stale as the news which last week wearied us,
Or a tired actor's tale told to an empty house?

What did it bring me that I loved it, even
With joy before it and that dream of Heaven,
Boyhood's first rapture of requited bliss,
What did it give? What ever has it given?

'Let me recount the value of my days,
Call up each witness, mete out blame and praise,
Set life itself before me as it was,
And--for I love it--list to what it says.

Oh, I will judge it fairly. Each old pleasure
Shared with dead lips shall stand a separate treasure.
Each untold grief, which now seems lesser pain,
Shall here be weighed and argued of at leisure.

[...] Read more

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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seeing the dentist’s bill
patient with tooth-ache
develops heart-ache

senryu by John Celes
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Nice

nice sweet

go for stomach...

catch the ache...

ache is nice...

sweeet is nice...?

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Killer

Kiss is
Killer
The som's
One side
Head ache...

You having
Head ache...

Go to kiss
Lover are
Wife...
Too best...

poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Little Acorns

legs ache
from sitting
word processing
too long

legs ache
with achievement
solidly established
firmly planted

poem by Terence George Craddock
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