Tuesday, June 23, 2009

It's own antonym...

I've always thought the word cleave slightly odd...

"To adhere firmly and closely or loyally and unwaveringly" is one definition.
But the same word, same spelling also means
"To divide by or as if by a cutting blow"

Isn't that somethin'?

I've been into Pablo lately.
Here is another of his poems in which I find pieces of me...

I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

If You Forget Me
Pablo Neruda

Thursday, June 11, 2009


No te amo como si fueras rosa de sal, topacio
o flecha de claveles que propagan el fuego:
te amo como se aman ciertas cosas oscuras,
secretamente, entre la sombra y el alma.

Te amo como la planta que no florece y lleva
dentro de sí, escondida, la luz de aquellas flores,
y gracias a tu amor vive oscuro en mi cuerpo
el apretado aroma que ascendió de la tierra.

Te amo sin saber cómo, ni cuándo, ni de dónde,
te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:
así te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera,

sino así de este modo en que no soy ni eres,
tan cerca que tu mano sobre mi pecho es mía,
tan cerca que se cierran tus ojos con mi sueño.

Pablo Neruda, Soneto XVII

(I don't speak fluent spanish, unfortunately, but I imagine some of the feeling is lost in translation. Still, the translated version is incredibly beautiful and worthy of a google.)

Wednesday, June 10, 2009


With a small pang of trepidation,
(oh, the ache of misgivings)
I placed it in your open palm,
and saw it cupped gently there.
Lifting the hand closer to your face
your eyes widened,
as if by widening they could capture more vividly
the delight in that fragile moment.

Your lips curved up softly...
a smile slowly bloomed
like the petals of the morning glory,
until the light from it matched
the light in already shining eyes.

You glanced up at me...
so very briefly
with an absent recollection that you were not alone
with the loveliness you held.
I caught a flicker of joyful gratitude in the look,
but my face could not hold your attention
and back to the pulse all concentration was drawn.

Delicately, you curled long fingers up
then over
in an innocent attempt to protect
that which was placed in your care.

Your breath quickened,
heartbeat steadily increased
pounding out a pleasure-rhythm
felt all the way in my core...
so close I was to you.
Forgotten, I stood,
but enchanted by your fascination
I forgot myself.

Tender fingers gradually tightened;
you didn't want to drop it
for fear your heartbeat would level
and the vitalizing buzz racing
through your veins would still.
Just a little firmer you gripped
not wanting the radiance to be
greedily gulped by a nearby wanderer.

Justified in your mind,
you curled tighter
that self-made haven
until nails scored tiny slivered moons into skin.
To be certain the risk of losing the new possession
had been eliminated,
you pressed the hardened fist to your chest.

Again, your attention was mine...
the pieces left, anyway,
for your mind was divided
and a bigger portion was inside that palm,
resting serenely, you believed,
with the pulse of a desire.

We exchanged words...
none of which mattered;
I knew what you wished
and I was not it.

Then, desperately fiening for the high,
aching with sighs to reunite,
you unclenched defenses
and found nothing.

I whispered.
"Don't lock it away
only to be enjoyed in small moments
then wounded by the crushing weight of your fear."

And raising my hand
with no reservations
I released the gift
back into yours.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009


If I were a painter, I would paint my reverie
If that's the only way for you to be with me.
We'd be there together, just like we used to be
Underneath the swirling skies for all to see.

Now I'm dreaming of a place
where I could see your face
And I think my brush would take me there...

But only if I were a painter
And could paint a memory.
I'd climb inside the swirling skies to be with you...
I'd climb inside the skies to be with you.

Painter Song
by Norah Jones

Sunday, June 7, 2009

"Confess, your kiss still knocks me off my legs.
The first time I saw you was like a punch right through my chest.
and I will forever, 'cause you'll forever be
my one true broken heart
pieces inside of me
and you'll forever my baby be."

He's always got the words...

"...goodbye my love, into your blue, blue eyes,
your blue, blue world
you're my baby blue."

My Baby Blue
by Dave Matthews Band