Meeting Benches World art in all forms
Anyone can come out of the darkness, to the light. Come out, don’t fight. Come out to the poetry landscapes. https://www.amazon.com/Great-American-Poems-Thrift-Editions/dp/0486401588 It’s your world to share. To show, you care for someone is to lend a helping hand. Share, whatever can help someone in need, you will be happier and a better person indeed. Whether you’re searching for words to express a passionate love or a lovely friendship, you can read this selection of poems. http://hellopoetry.com/ What’s better way to express one’s feelings than sharing a poem?
TO DOROTHY – Marvin Bell
You are not beautiful, exactly. You are beautiful, inexactly. You let a weed grow by the mulberry and a mulberry grow by the house. So close, in the personal quiet of a windy night, it brushes the wall and sweeps away the day till we sleep. A child said it, and it seemed true: “Things that are lost are all equal.” But it isn’t true. If I lost you, the air wouldn’t move, nor the tree grow. Someone would pull the weed, my flower. The quiet wouldn’t be yours. If I lost you, I’d have to ask the grass to let me sleep.
FALLING – Patrick Phillips
The truth is that I fall in love so easily because it’s easy. It happens a dozen times some days. I’ve lived whole lives, had children, grown old, and died in the arms of other women in no more time than it takes the 2-train to get from City Hall to Brooklyn, which brings me back to you: the only one I fall in love with at least once every day, not because there are no other lovely women in the world, but because each time, dying in their arms, I call your name.
LOVE’S BODY – Jonathan Wells
Love gives all its reasons, as if they were terms for peace. Love is this but not that, that but not this. Love as it always was. But there is no peace in the mountain cleft where the fruit bats scatter from the light. There is no peace in the hollow when the heat snuffs night’s blue candle. The outline of brown leaves on the beach is the wind’s body. A crow is squawking at the sun, as if the screech itself is dawn. Let me hear every perfect note. How I loved that jasper morning.
