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Showing posts from July, 2010

The Female of the Species - by - Rudyard Kipling

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936) The Female of the Species WHEN the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride, He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside. But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail. For the female of the species is more deadly than the male. When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man, He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can. But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail. For the female of the species is more deadly than the male. When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws, They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws. 'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale. For the female of the species is more deadly than the male. Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say, For the Woman that God gave him isn't his

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

* The free bird leaps on the back of the win and floats downstream till the current ends and dips his wings in the orange sun rays and dares to claim the sky. But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage can seldom see through his bars of rage his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing. The caged bird sings with fearful trill of the things unknown but longed for still and is tune is heard on the distant hillfor the caged bird sings of freedom The free bird thinks of another breeze an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own. But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing The caged bird sings with a fearful trill of things unknown but longed for still and his tune is heard on the distant hill for the caged bird sings of freedom. * Maya Angelou

THE CINNAMON PEELER by Michael Ondaatje

THE CINNAMON PEELER by Michael Ondaatje If I were a cinnamon peeler I would ride your bed and leave the yellow bark dust on your pillow. Your breasts and shoulders would reek you could never walk through markets without the profession of my fingers floating over you. The blind would stumble certain of whom they approached though you might bathe under rain gutters, monsoon. Here on the upper thigh at this smooth pasture neighbor to your hair or the crease that cuts your back. This ankle. You will be known among strangers as the cinnamon peeler's wife. I could hardly glance at you before marriage never touch you -- your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers. I buried my hands in saffron, disguised them over smoking tar, helped the honey gatherers... When we swam once I touched you in water and our bodies remained free, you could hold me and be blind of smell. You climbed the bank and said this is how you touch other women the grasscutter's wife, the lime burner's daughter.

Close the Language Draw

Close the Language Draw _________________________________ There is some kiss we want with our whole lives, the touch of Spirit on the body. Seawater begs the pearl to break its shell. And the lily, how passionately it needs some wild Darling! At night, I open the window and ask the moon to come and press its face against mine. Breathe into me. Close the language-door, and open the love-window The moon won't use the door, only the window. ___________________________________________ from: Like This Version by Coleman Barks - Rumi

HOW CLEAR SHE SHINES

HOW CLEAR SHE SHINES by: Emily Brontë (1818-1848) HOW clear she shines! How quietly I lie beneath her guardian light; While heaven and earth are whispering me, "To morrow, wake, but dream to-night." Yes, Fancy, come, my Fairy love! These throbbing temples softly kiss; And bend my lonely couch above, And bring me rest, and bring me bliss. The world is going; dark world, adieu! Grim world, conceal thee till the day; The heart thou canst not all subdue Must still resist, if thou delay! Thy love I will not, will not share; Thy hatred only wakes a smile; Thy griefs may wound--thy wrongs may tear, But, oh, thy lies shall ne'er beguile! While gazing on the stars that glow Above me, in that stormless sea, I long to hope that all the woe Creation knows, is held in thee! And this shall be my dream to-night; I'll think the heaven of glorious spheres Is rolling on its course of light In endless bliss, through endless years; I'll think, there's not one world above, Far