Be one of Us!


Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Only A Matter Of Moments

Only A Matter Of Moments

sitting here alone
with the thoughts of how things used to be
going crazy of wanting things back the way
they used to be
I kept trying to call and text
asking you for help
or at least just hear the comfort of your voice
I'm sitting here with a bottle of vodka and a razor blade
only a matter of moments
before I lose it
and run the razor down my veins

Sara Panicali

Thursday, September 24, 2009

The Soldier

If I should die, think only this of me: 
That there's some corner of a foreign field 
That is for ever England. There shall be 
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed; 
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware, 
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam, 
A body of England's, breathing English air, 
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home. 

And think, this heart, all evil shed away, 
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less 
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given; 
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day; 
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness, 
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven. 

Rupert Brooke


The mist has left the greening plain, 
The dew-drops shine like fairy rain, 
The coquette rose awakes again 
Her lovely self adorning. 

The Wind is hiding in the trees, 
A sighing, soothing, laughing tease, 
Until the rose says "Kiss me, please," 
'Tis morning, 'tis morning. 

With staff in hand and careless-free, 
The wanderer fares right jauntily, 
For towns and houses are, thinks he, 
For scorning, for scorning. 
My soul is swift upon the wing, 
And in its deeps a song I bring; 
Come, Love, and we together sing, 
"'Tis morning, 'tis morning."

Sunday, August 2, 2009

The Swing

How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!

Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
River and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside--

Till I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roof so brown--
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down!

Robert Louis Stevenson

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Sweet Echo

Sweet Echo

Come to me, the night was quiet;
We speak in silence of a dream;
Comes with rounded cheeks and eyes bright and smooth
As the sun in the stream;
Come back in tears,
Memories, hope, love of finished years.

Dreams are sweet, very sweet, sweet-bitter,
If you wake, and they should be Paradise
When the soul of love brimfull respect;
When thirst longing eyes
Watch the door slowly
This opening, in the lease, do not allow more.

However, he came to me in my dreams, I could live
My life still very cold, even to death:
Come back to me in my dreams, I can
Pulse pulse, breathing with the breathing:
Speeches low, lean low
How long, my love, how long ago.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

In Summer Afternoon

Languid atmosphere, easy lazy
Created with the breath, the movement of grain
It was not conducted until the sea of gold
Break net whispers in the leg.

Books that I thought was ignored in the standby mode
Hidden think as men;
Or less open to the wind is essential,
Reviews Affrightedly own again.

Off through the haze that dances in the glow
Hot shower Sunday forest
Forest Project Profile
Shut down completely in the shade.

The dream of the day, and I lie quietly
The anchor in the storm, all mental;
There is no vision, looking at the sky,
"As people hear the rain."

Katydids, so that the violence last night
The flight reversed in the delicate balance
In accordance with the blade of wheat were quite confident
If Katie or not "raise the roof.

Twister, sometimes a bird
Keep in mind that all of a sudden the music with the sound,
And yet, chiding attracted echoes,
Drowning in silence, all the more.

Weakly, I heard the sad strain
In some pigeons. . . Why, I was still difficult
My heavy eyelids - not new --
"Crazy!" - I can not - "crazy!" - Zasypaya!