Sounds and Feelings

November 2007

You hear it

In the simple words

The smiling words,

Those agonizing words:

Vanquished.

You feel it

In the subtle vibrations

Of falling mountains,

Crumbling dreams:

Disenchanted.

You sense it

In the heavy thud,

The dull aching

Of hopelessness:

Defeat.

You know it

Every stab, every jolt

By the shining jar

Of colorfully wrapped candy

Rivaled.

You grasp it

In the terrifying slam,

The shaking solid end

Of a closed door:

Finality.

You see it

Near the core of light

By the churning meadow

Darkness, ‘neath the green:

Loss.

Hello, blogger world. I've been absent for quite some time! Well, I'm around...

Poem by Wilde

Roses And Rue
By Oscar Wilde
(To L. L.)

Could we dig up this long-buried treasure,
Were it worth the pleasure,
We never could learn love's song,
We are parted too long.

Could the passionate past that is fled
Call back its dead,
Could we live it all over again,
Were it worth the pain!

I remember we used to meet
By an ivied seat,
And you warbled each pretty word
With the air of a bird;

And your voice had a quaver in it,
Just like a linnet,
And shook, as the blackbird's throat
With its last big note;

And your eyes, they were green and grey
Like an April day,
But lit into amethyst
When I stooped and kissed;

And your mouth, it would never smile
For a long, long while,
Then it rippled all over with laughter
Five minutes after.

You were always afraid of a shower,
Just like a flower:
I remember you started and ran
When the rain began.

I remember I never could catch you,
For no one could match you,
You had wonderful, luminous, fleet,
Little wings to your feet.

I remember your hair - did I tie it?
For it always ran riot -
Like a tangled sunbeam of gold:
These things are old.

I remember so well the room,
And the lilac bloom
That beat at the dripping pane
In the warm June rain;

And the colour of your gown,
It was amber-brown,
And two yellow satin bows
From your shoulders rose.

And the handkerchief of French lace
Which you held to your face -
Had a small tear left a stain?
Or was it the rain?

On your hand as it waved adieu
There were veins of blue;
In your voice as it said good-bye
Was a petulant cry,

'You have only wasted your life.'
(Ah, that was the knife!)
When I rushed through the garden gate
It was all too late.

Could we live it over again,
Were it worth the pain,
Could the passionate past that is fled
Call back its dead!

Well, if my heart must break,
Dear love, for your sake,
It will break in music, I know,
Poets' hearts break so.

But strange that I was not told
That the brain can hold
In a tiny ivory cell
God's heaven and hell.

~~~~~~~~
I love the last three stanzas..."it will break in music, I know/Poets' hearts break so." is sheer beauty. And the stanza following, tragic...and oh, how I can relate.

Sonnet - by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I think I should have loved you presently,
And given in earnest words I flung in jest;
And lifted honest eyes for you to see,
And caught your hand against my cheek and breast;
And all my pretty follies flung aside
That won you to me, and beneath your gaze,
Naked of reticence and shorn of pride,
Spread like a chart my little wicked ways.
I, that had been to you, had you remained,
But one more waking from a recurrent dream,
Cherish no less the certain stakes I gained,
And walk your memory's halls, austere, supreme,
A ghost in marble of a girl you knew
Who would have loved you in a day or two.

Well, here I am, a student at Fairhaven. Wow. And that's about all I can say at the moment.

PS: oh yeah, and I'm totally jazzed about it. ;-) :-D

Regarding, and the Quest for, Love-Lost
August 2006

Inspired from a suggestion/conversation with friends

We never found James Dean that night
Nor the next, or any
We searched dark alleys in our sight—
The hours spent were many

We delved the embers, glowing red
Till skin was blistered raw
But pain won’t render all ahead—
Our quest left us in awe

The posters did not show his face
Although we missed it so
The wind itself seemed to erase
That voice we used to know

The leaves fell down in springtime
The snowflakes fell in June
Without James Dean to warm our clime
The sun felt like the moon

We never traced James Dean again
We faced the wall by choice
Seeking out the other Men
Who took from us our voice

These memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new...
-In My Life - The Beatles

Things I used my giftcard for at Barnes and Noble:

• The Selected Poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay
• Selected Poetry of Byron
• A grande banana mocha frappuccino light (on two occasions)
• A 2006/2007 daily planner for college; very pretty with butterflies on it :-)

Here am I, yet another goodbye...
-Enya

Today I bid adieu to two dear friends...won't see them again until Christmas, most likely. The same will go for next week, with MANY other friends...how will I bear this? Ah well, life goes on.
I didn't get much sleep last night, today I feel so dazed and weary. But so far, it's been nice: after one friend left today, the other and I went to a coffee shop and read lots of poetry: two of T.S. Eliot's The Four Quartets and The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, aloud. I was AMAZED at how profound some of Four Quartets is, there was one passage in particular that spoke for nearly everything I feel right now. Shocking. (also shocking: my friend hadn't read The Lady of Shallot yet...)
Mmm that's all for now. Oh, and I wrote a very strange poem last night. I wonder if I should post it.