Poems
Poetry.... (Bare Open Hand)
poetry does not pay the rent...
does not buy cars or houses,
does not sell stocks.
does not wear suits and ties,
does not barter, is not profitable,
cannot be bought or sold.
but poetry opens forbidden doors,
builds bridges in the darkness...
embraces the soul left alone.
pours balm on open wounds,
brings a mirror and the cost.
poetry asks questions that the soul whispers,
knows well the language of trees and rivers.
dances naked in the moonlight.
prays prayers we're afraid of...
poetry disarms the violent.
kisses, touches, makes love.
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell

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The Eyes Have It
It was in the cathedral of open dreams
The firmament, we call the sky...
Nearby birds were on the wing
My eyes, met yours, with but a sigh;
It was in the relentless mountains
Those imminent peaks, we strive to climb
Ascending, it seemed, into infinity...
Where your eyes, did indeed, meet mine;
It was in the clouds of perfection
Where the wind dare not go, nor try
Near to Heaven and far away from Earth
That we-spoke of love-eye to eye;
poem by Theodora Onken

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Sunday Morning - I
Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
And the green freedom of a cockatoo
Upon a rug mingle to dissipate
The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.
She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
Encroachment of that old catastrophe,
As a calm darkens among water-lights.
The pungent oranges and bright, green wings
Seem things in some procession of the dead,
Winding across wide water, without sound.
The day is like wide water, without sound,
Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet
Over the seas, to silent Palestine,
Dominion of the blood and sepulchre.
poem by Wallace Stevens
These verses are part of a series | Full series

Added by Dan Costinaş
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