Tag Archives: Poetry I Like

In My Sky At Twilight ~Pablo Neruda

sunset

In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.

The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!

You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon’s
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.

You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.

~Pablo Neruda

Untucked

cold
skin prickling
shivers crawl up
arms traversing
a body in need
of warmth heat
generated from
being tucked

 © Pamela A. Rossow

 

Hedges

dense leafy
greens clamor
towards clouds
growing up and
out pruned boxes
turned labyrinth
mazes hiding truth
obstructing vision

 © Pamela A.  Rossow

Weeds

 

 

 

 

 

she preferred black tip
manicures memories of
misty rains sun soaked
afternoons time stopped
by a spade hands burrowing
feeling earth’s heartbeat

 © Pamela A. Rossow

Well-Done

No thanks, I’ll pass on
fresh bloody messes.

Too spent from dodging raw
chuck, sick of crimson
tinges, no more hot spots
and uneven roasting.

I want life with consistent convection,
less burning, lower temperatures
and end results that are well done.

© Pamela Rossow

Ashes of Soldiers

 
 
ASHES of soldiers!
As I muse, retrospective, murmuring a chant in thought,
Lo! the war resumes—again to my sense your shapes,
And again the advance of armies.Noiseless as mists and vapors,
From their graves in the trenches ascending,
From the cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee,
From every point of the compass, out of the countless unnamed graves,
In wafted clouds, in myraids large, or squads of twos or threes, or single ones, they
come,
And silently gather round me.Now sound no note, O trumpeters!
Not at the head of my cavalry, parading on spirited horses,
With sabres drawn and glist’ning, and carbines by their thighs—(ah, my brave
horsemen!
My handsome, tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride,
With all the perils, were yours!)Nor you drummers—neither at reveille, at dawn,
Nor the long roll alarming the camp—nor even the muffled beat for a burial;
Nothing from you, this time, O drummers, bearing my warlike drums.But aside from these, and the marts of wealth, and the crowded promenade,
Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the rest, and voiceless,
The slain elate and alive again—the dust and debris alive,
I chant this chant of my silent soul, in the name of all dead soldiers.Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet;
Draw close, but speak not.

Phantoms of countless lost!
Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my companions!
Follow me ever! desert me not, while I live.

Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living! sweet are the musical voices sounding!
But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead, with their silent eyes.

Dearest comrades! all is over and long gone;
But love is not over—and what love, O comrades!
Perfume from battle-fields rising—up from foetor arising.

Perfume therefore my chant, O love! immortal Love!
Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers,
Shroud them, embalm them, cover them all over with tender pride!

Perfume all! make all wholesome!
Make these ashes to nourish and blossom,
O love! O chant! solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry.

Give me exhaustless—make me a fountain,
That I exhale love from me wherever I go, like a moist perennial dew,
For the ashes of all dead soldiers.

 ~Walt Whitman

Wet on Wet

 

past future present
jumbled sketches
like watercolors
blurred by rain
pelting the paper

life’s brushstrokes of
blue red yellow blended
muddied translucent
then dots of pure
pigment spotted

muted highlights that
create textured
perspective and scale
not without value
and positive space

 © Pamela Rossow

RED

 

drums pounds
thrums chest
palpitates passion
life’s downbeat
and syncopates
impulsive
       fibrillation        

© Pamela Rossow

 

Represent!

Words.  We know them and use them.  While some of us might have a better grasp on manipulating them, nearly all of us select language bites to express emotions or beliefs.  According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary, the definition of words is:

1a : something that is said b plural (1) : talk, discourse

2a (1) : a speech sound or series of speech sounds that symbolizes and communicates a meaning usually without being divisible into smaller units capable of independent use 

Language and words are symbols.  They point to things beyond themselves.  They represent something (whatever it is we are attempting to convey).  Again, the Merriam Webster dictionary states that to represent means:

1.to bring clearly before the mind : present <a book which represents the character of early America>

2: to serve as a sign or symbol of <the flag represents our country> 

We, as humans, have the power to pick the words we want to utilize (we are kind of like super heroes with special powers).  In the selection process, the words we choose either authenticate feelings and ideologies or mask them (in the latter, subverting those neutral words into falsehoods). 

Today, how are we going to use words to represent what is real, true, authentic, right?  How are we going to use our language powers for good and not evil?  Most of us are aware of the damage and aftershocks that poorly chosen words affect.  Again, I ask, how are we going to authenticate ourselves and build up others by using the gift of language to communicate empathy, kindness, and love towards others?  What are we going to do to slam the door in the face of those words that harm others?  That 3, 2, 1. . .detonate leaving behind a wake of destruction?  We can do it (if our brains are functioning properly and we exhibit a fundamental capacity for language).  The question is, will we represent?

 

 

NPD

 

 

 

 

 

Then-
(you, “The Universe,” thought) 

That-
my intellect-
cerebrated
you

my lips-
explored
you

my heart-
thrummed
you 

my arms-
catered
you

my hands-
stroked
you

my legs-
received
you

my breath-
inhaled
you

Now-
(you, “The Universe,” know better)

And-
(she will know too)

 © Pamela A. Rossow