poetic interpretations

there are many rules here,
and there are none.
failure to unadhere...
to none,
and all of them,
may result in thought that does not
belong to you.

the rules themselves exist,
but only in the poet.
what you apply will....
most likely....
fail to break the code.

and while you hem your cloak,
take heed and look...
outside your own window.
what you do,
with what you see,
will define my thoughts.

if you have to ask,
you may never
understand the answer.....
but you will never know,
unless you ask.

I Love You

I love your lips when they're wet with wine
And red with a wild desire;
I love your eyes when the lovelight lies
Lit with a passionate fire.
I love your arms when the warm white flesh
Touches mine in a fond embrace;
I love your hair when the strands enmesh
Your kisses against my face.

Not for me the cold calm kiss
Of a virgin's bloodless love;
Not for me the saint's white bliss,
Nor the heart of a spotless dove.
But give me the love that so freely gives
And laughs at the whole world's blame,
With your body so young and warm in my arms,
It sets my poor heart aflame.

So kiss me sweet with your warm wet mouth,
Still fragrant with ruby wine,
And say with a fervor born of the South
That your body and soul are mine.
Clasp me close in your warm young arms,
While the pale stars shine above,
And we'll live our whole young lives away
In the joys of a living love.

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

good day

Stop Throwing My Country To The Wind

If the flames of anger rise any higher in this land Your name on your tombstone will be covered with dirt.

You have become a babbling loudmouth. Your insolent ranting, something to joke about.

The lies you have found, you have woven together. The rope you have crafted, you will find around your neck.

Pride has swollen your head, your faith has grown blind. The elephant that falls will not rise.

Stop this extravagance, this reckless throwing of my country to the wind. The grim-faced rising cloud, will grovel at the swamp's feet.

Stop this screaming, mayhem, and blood shed. Stop doing what makes God's creatures mourn with tears.

My curses will not be upon you, as in their fulfillment. My enemies' afflictions also cause me pain.

You may wish to have me burned , or decide to stone me. But in your hand match or stone will lose their power to harm me.



Simin Behbahani (Iran's National Poet)
June 2009
Translated by Kaveh Safa and Farzaneh Milani

irony or just plain shit?

i love the trees.
they talk to me.
they calm me.
they keep me breathing...
and yet i am a woodworker.

war disgusts me.
i support the troops.
i am a pacifist.
i had an A10 pilot tell me once,
"i kill people for a living."
so i built him a shadowbox when he retired.

he displayed all his honors.
he was proud of it.
i put my best into it.
it was beautiful,
and it was made of wood,
and i paid him to kill.

about tomorrow....

tomorrow i know....
i will smoke less than i did today.
i will eat healthier than i did today.
i will strugle with the two of me.
i will appreciate said struggle for what it is.
i will love you as much as i ever have.
i will not expect anything from you.
i will appreciate the day.
i will be.

all i ever wanted

for all the love,
that has been and gone,
right before my eyes,
the ups and downs,
and inbetweens,
have come as no surprise.

there was a night,
for my tender heart,
to fill with gentle bliss,
a chance to live,
as a loving man,
an opprotunity i would miss.

it is what it is,
and was what it was,
a time i will not let go,
for it is in her days,
and in her nights,
my love will try to show.

i passed that moment,
of my hopes and dreams,
thinking she may never see,
that all i ever wanted,
quite simply put...
was for she and i to BE.