Babs

Look at how he looks at her
Will someone ever I look at me that way-
Full of all the feelings and the soft
Unspoken words that lovers say?
I thought that I knew ev'ry single
Look and sweet expression on his face,
Yet this is one that I don't recognize,
Although I've sat and studied him for hours.
But now I see how love completely occupies
A pair of' eyes...
See the way' they gaze at her,
Like slaves they follow every where she goes.
Do my eyes forget themselves
And do I ever look at him
And smile in such a way
That what I'm feeling shows?
Sometimes I have the feeling
Everybody knows...
And even though it's crazy,
Still I can't help wondering
If I'll ever live to see the day
When by some miracle of miracles,
He'll turn around
And look at me that way!

Local News Fail

Nailed it.

And, because I could listen to this over and over:

More poems. And why not?

I mean, I wish I spoke Spanish, so I could read Neruda without the translation, but even translated I love me some Pablo. They are just so rife with longing.(Whatever, leave me alone, sometimes I like this kinda thing!haha):

Love Sonnet XI
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent, starving I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disquiets me,
I search the liquid sound of your steps all day.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
For your hands the color of the wild grain,
I hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your loveliness,
The nose, sovereign of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

And I walk hungry, smelling the twilight
Looking for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barren wilderness.



Love
Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the
perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.

Melancholy

I've loved this poem a long time:

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.


W.B. Yeats