Poems And Quotes

Every time I touch you I get this feeling,
Like there is nothing else in the world,
That matters but you,
Your touch is so soft,
Against my cleats,
It just makes me wanna,
Keep you at my feet,
And let nobody else,
Lay their feet on you,
But I know,
That that is virtually impossible,
So I will just,
Hold on to you,
Like a mom holds her child,
Cause I know that,
I can’t hold you forever,
Cause eventually,
You will be stolen from me,
But I will not cry,
For I know I can,
Win you back.

Everybody loves you too,
90,000 eyes follow you,
Up and down the field,
Like a prince walking,
Down the street,
They watch every move,
That you make,
Hoping that eventually,
You will find your home,
The crowd goes wild with cheers,
For they are glad,
To see that you,
Have reached your destination,
Cause your goal in life,
Is to see how many,
Times you can make it,
Into your home in 90 minutes,
Then you die,
Like everything else in the world.

As I walked out one evening,

   Walking down Bristol Street,

The crowds upon the pavement

   Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river

   I heard a lover sing

Under an arch of the railway:

   'Love has no ending.

'I'll love you, dear, I'll love you

   Till China and Africa meet,

And the river jumps over the mountain

   And the salmon sing in the street,

'I'll love you till the ocean

   Is folded and hung up to dry

And the seven stars go squawking

   Like geese about the sky.

'The years shall run like rabbits,

   For in my arms I hold

The Flower of the Ages,

   And the first love of the world.'

But all the clocks in the city

   Began to whirr and chime:

'O let not Time deceive you,

   You cannot conquer Time.

'In the burrows of the Nightmare

   Where Justice naked is,

Time watches from the shadow

   And coughs when you would kiss.

'In headaches and in worry

   Vaguely life leaks away,

And Time will have his fancy

   To-morrow or to-day.

'Into many a green valley

   Drifts the appalling snow;

Time breaks the threaded dances

   And the diver's brilliant bow.

'O plunge your hands in water,

   Plunge them in up to the wrist;

Stare, stare in the basin

   And wonder what you've missed.

'The glacier knocks in the cupboard,

   The desert sighs in the bed,

And the crack in the tea-cup opens

   A lane to the land of the dead.

'Where the beggars raffle the banknotes

   And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,

And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,

   And Jill goes down on her back.

'O look, look in the mirror,

   O look in your distress:

Life remains a blessing

   Although you cannot bless.

'O stand, stand at the window

   As the tears scald and start;

You shall love your crooked neighbour

   With your crooked heart.'

It was late, late in the evening,

   The lovers they were gone;

The clocks had ceased their chiming,

   And the deep river ran on.

by

W. H. Auden

it’s Mooncake Day
of the autumn moon festival
in China
where I happen to live

I shall look at the great full moon
knowing you on the other side
of this little earth
are looking too

we quaff a glass or two
write a ditty for the nonce
and look back
over the so many moons
we have known

Du Fu and co were good on this
with monkey’s screams
and blasting rains
or moans about career nightmares
lack of recognition

I sometime write that too
from the deep south
where rains batter us
relentlessly

and sometimes
hearts give way to despair
but don’t let that run
it kills you

for now – the bright moon
is the light of hope
and love
on the gleaming sea

by

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by mangoman

I do not think of you lying in the wet clay
Of a Monaghan graveyard; I see
You walking down a lane among the poplars
On your way to the station, or happily Going to second Mass on a summer Sunday–
You meet me and you say:
‘Don’t forget to see about the cattle–‘
Among your earthiest words the angels stray.
And I think of you walking along a headland
Of green oats in June,
So full of repose, so rich with life–
And I see us meeting at the end of a town on a fair day by accident,
after the bargains are all made and we can walk
Together through the shops and stalls and markets
Free in the oriental streets of thought.
O you are not lying in the wet clay,
For it is harvest evening now and we
Are piling up the ricks against the moonlight
And you smile up at us — eternally.

by

By: Patrick Kavanagh