Poem for the Day

Posted: 24 September 2014

When I leave your postcode and your commuting station,
When I left undone all the things we planned to do
You may feel you have been left by association
But there is leaving and leaving you.

When I leave your town and the club that you belong to,
When I leave without much warning or much regret,
Remember, there's doing wrong and there's doing wrong to...
You, which I'll never do and I haven't yet,

And when I have gone, remember that in weighing
Everything up, from love to a cheaper rent,
You were all the reasons I thought of staying,
And none of the reasons why I went

And although I leave your sight and I leave your setting,
And our separation is soon to be a fact,
Though you stand beside what I'm leaving and forgetting,
I'm not leaving you, not if motive makes the act.

Leaving and Leaving You
Sophie Hannah

Poem for the Day

Posted: 23 September 2014

A great personal favourite that should appeal to the romantic in us all.

Time was away and somewhere else,
There were two glasses and two chairs
And two people with the one pulse
(Somebody stopped the moving stairs)
Time was away and somewhere else.

And they were neither up nor down;...
The stream's music did not stop
Flowing through heather, limpid brown,
Although they sat in a coffee shop
And they were neither up nor down.

The bell was silent in the air
Holding its inverted poise -
Between the clang and clang a flower,
A brazen calyx of no noise:
The bell was silent in the air.

The camels crossed the miles of sand
That stretched around the cups and plates;
The desert was their own, they planned
To portion out the stars and dates:
The camels crossed the miles of sand.

Time was away and somewhere else.
The waiter did not come, the clock
Forgot them and the radio waltz
Came out like water from a rock:
Time was away and somewhere else.

Her fingers flicked away the ash
That bloomed again in tropic trees:
Not caring if the markets crash
When they had forests such as these,
Her fingers flicked away the ash.

God or whatever means the Good
Be praised that time can stop like this,
That what the heart has understood
Can verify in the body's peace
God or whatever means the Good.

Time was away and she was here
And life no longer what it was,
The bell was silent in the air
And all the room one glow because
Time was away and she was here.

Meeting Point
Louis MacNeice

Poem for the Day

Posted: 22 September 2014

Draw a line that is her breast,
Show the way she holds her weight.
Charcoal has a dusty smell
As it's etched upon the page.
Take the time to see her jaw,
Feel the bite beneath her skin.
Teeth and muscle and bone create
The stillness of her chin....

It isn't how your hand moves
It's how you see,
It isn't the grade of the pencil
It's the line it leaves.
How your eyes trace,
Her body's solid grace,
That is the truth of a woman.

How the hip begets a thigh
Is the finest kind of spell.
Let your eye become your hand,
As you stroke her belly's swell.

It isn't how her heart beats,
It's the way it pulls her skin.
It isn't just the curve of a sigh
That does you in.
The scratchy sound her hair makes,
As you draw that place,
That is the truth of a woman.

The Truth of a Woman
Kristina Olsen

Poem for the Day

Posted: 21 September 2014

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn,
For they shall be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,
For they shall inherit the earth....

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
For they shall be filled.

Blessed are the merciful,
For they shall obtain mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart,
For they shall see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,
For they shall be called sons of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake,
For theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

The Beatitudes
from The Gospel of Matthew

Poem for the Day

Posted: 20 September 2014

O, never say that I was false of heart, 
Though absence seemed my flame to qualify. 
As easy might I from my self depart 
As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie. 
That is my home of love; if I have ranged, 
Like him that travels I return again, 
Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, 
So that myself bring water for my stain. 
Never believe though in my nature reigned 
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
That it could so preposterously be stained 
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good; 
For nothing this wide universe I call 
Save thou, my rose, in it thou art my all.

Sonnet 109
William Shakespeare

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