Flanked

I have nothing for you
Don't we all expect someone there
in the silence?
get back to me,
call me later
see you then.
I don't wait in shadows
my path is clear
I wade
walk
run
fly
to the light
call me if you get there.

-Corby

My love, birds are just birds
they are not carrying a message of meaning
The days come and I lift my head
starting again and again.
All my heroes have left
in the endless drone of February
I want to drive by
keep going to see where I will end up,
but I make the turn
and leave the possibility out there.
Those dreams seem like someone else's now
as I feel the weight of it pressing
down into my bones.
I cannot fly
I cannot fly
birds are just birds, my love.

-Corbyhawk

You create a diversion...

and the rest of us will take the camera...

I have been so uninspired lately- a case of the blahs I suppose. Sorry my posts are not frequent.

George

is a little mixed up

walking widgeon

To reject.
To reject everything.
That is not it.
It will neither resurrect the past nor return me to it.
Sleep, Romeo, Juliet, on your headrest of stone feathers.
I won't raise your bound hands from the ashes.
Let the cat visit the deserted cathedrals,
its pupil flashing on the altars.
Let an owlnest on the dead ogive.
In the white noon among the rubble,
let the snakewarm itself on leaves of coltsfoot and in the silence
let him coil in lustrous circles around useless gold.
I won't return.
I want to know what's left
after rejecting youth and spring,
after rejecting those red lips
from which heat seemed to flow
on sultry nights.

-Czeslaw Milosz

The silver swan, who living had no note,
When death approached, unlocked her silent throat,
Leaning her breast against the reedy shore,
Thus sung her first and last, and sung no more:
Farewell all joys! O death, come close mine eyes;
More geese than swans now live, more fools than wise.

Orlando Gibbons

I realized when she stood at the door
dressed neatly and perfectly together
hair clipped back, scarf beautifully full around her neck
that I could come in
but never stay

I am not a tame thing I realized
as I noticed the mourning dove cooing
in the big tree above us
I am not all this order and appearance
I am the chaos of the sleeping tree
hair akimbo
uncaring of pants or scarf
shoes hopelessly scuffed from use
I am not what you are used to

You cheated she exclaimed, you cheated
as she ushered me out the door
I turned to say no, I had not
I never broke in on the altar
of gleaming wood floors
and vases full of pink flowers

I will admit in my look
but she cannot see it
that I love him and for a moment
wished I was home
but she closed the red door

silly woman he never lied to you
he has loved you all along
and you have no courage to just be
for me it would have been enough of a gift
to paint the world over

By the Corbyhawk herself.

corby

Lin Ling ( 1935- )

Endlessly sinking --
My wings into the waves of your eyes.
How much I hope,
How much I hope,
That we will sink beautifully down,
Into a kingdom forgotten by Apollo,

Where we will walk and leave no footprints,
Just as the rivers there do not rise in the highmountains
But originate in the ocean.
That breeze is no more a breeze.
The wood on the hill is no more
A wood on the hill.
We are no more ourselves.
We are dust.
We are everything.
Yet everything again, all in one brief glance
Will be denied all value.
Oh, how I hope. . . .



I dreamt of you and you decided to start breaking the rules.

The world's love runs thin.
Human love turns evil.
Rain strips, in the yellow twilight,
The flowers from the branches.
The dawn wind will dry my tear stains.
I try to write down the trouble of my heart.
I can only speak obliquely, exhausted.
It is hard, hard,We are each of us all alone.
Today is not yesterday.
My troubled mind sways
Like the rope of a swing.
A horn sounds in the cold depth of the night.
Afraid of people's questions,
I will swallow my tears
And pretend to be happy.
Deceit. Deceit. Deceit.

T'ang Wan ( 12th Century)

Long-tailed Duck

I Speak Not by Lord Byron

I speak not, I trace not,
I breathe not thy name;
There is grief in the sound,
there is guilt in the fame;
But the tear that now burns on my cheek may impart
The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace,
Were those hours - can their joy or their bitterness cease?
We repent, we abjure, we will break from our chain, -
We will part, we will fly to - unite it again!
Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt!
Forgive me, adored one! - forsake if thou wilt;
But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased,
And man shall not break it - whatever thou may'st.
And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee,
This soul in its bitterest blackness shall be;
And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet,
With thee at my side, than with worlds at our feet.
One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love,
Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove.
And the heartless may wonder at all I resign -
Thy lips shall reply, not to them, but to mine.