Wala lang, it's poem day.

Remember (Christina Rosetti)

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

And before I actually get to work...

THE MORE LOVING ONE (W. H. Auden )

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast. How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me. Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day. Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total dark sublime, Though this might take me a little time.

And the award for poem of the year goes to... (Drum roll...)

This one I got from Angie Zafra way back in college.

-----------------------

I shave my legs,
I sit down to pee.
And I can justify
any shopping spree.
Don't go to a barber,
but a beauty salon.
I can get a massage
without a hard-on.

I can balance the checkbook,
I can pump my own gas.
Can talk to my friends,
about the size of my ass.

My beauty's a masterpiece,
and yes, it takes long.
At least I can admit,
to others when I'm wrong.

I don't drive in circles,
at any cost.
And I don't have a problem,
admitting I'm lost.

I never forget,
an important date.
You just gotta deal with it,
I'm usually late.

I do watch movies,
with lots of gore.
Don't need instant replay,
to remember the score.

I won't lose my hair,
I don't get jock itch.
And just cause I'm assertive,
Don't call me a bitch.

Don't say to your friends,
Oh yeah, I can get her.
In your dreams, my dear,
I can do better!

Flowers are okay,
But jewelry's best.
Look at me you idiot...
Not at my chest!

I don't have a problem,
With Expressing my feelings.
I know when you're lying,
You look at the ceiling.

DON'T call me a GIRL,
a BABE or a CHICK.

I am a WOMAN.

Get it?... YOU DICK!

Now, you must forward this to at least 4 FEMALES or you will have a HORRIBLE streak of bad love life. Not that I believe the above, I just think you should forward this to at least 4 women so they can laugh too!

Another nice poem

I have no idea who wrote this. Troy forwarded this to me like three years ago.

-----------------------

You pointed to a crack
Where my heart failed to see,
Busy as I am, convinced, that my hands
Are molding the clay with which to fill the
Long-standing tear in my being.

I know not how to mend this,
To stop this vast ocean
wracked by swirling anger beneath
from drying through your eyes, while the sunset
lurks around your unreachable iris.

I see the crack, now, with my hands reaching
Across the distance and silence.
I see with the eyes of a fly, swatted
by the magnitude of the spectacle, looking as I am
With the scattered pieces of my being.

Now I have minted the crack in my heart,
Oblivious of what it means, but it's future meaning
for now, it seems, the crack is all I am,
the pieces exploding with the drying
Of your ocean.

I lift my head, squinting beyond the darkness
For a scent and an angel, a voice and a face.
time is the anguish in my heart.
The world is on the brink of implosion,
Shrunk to the memory of a painful conversation.

This is my doing, yet I couldn’t mend it alone;
I know not the tune of the plea
That would avail me your pity.
i see now, I understand how.
This I hold in my grimy hands to offer.

I have lost my temple and my feet
bleeds from walking the distance
paved with shiny invectives. All around
I look for someone calling me. Me whom
I can’t bear to recognize til it’s you I see

True true.

I got this from Joven a few months ago.

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster;
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like a disaster.

- Elizabeth Bishop