Pablo Neruda's Still Another Day Poem #1
Ms. Haiku
Washington DC Posts: 7,265
Today is that day, the day that carried
a desperate light that since has died.
Don't let the squatters know:
let's keep it all between us,
day, between your bell
and my secret.
Today is dead winter in the forgotten land
that comes to visit me, with a cross on the map
and a volcano in the snow, to return to me,
to return again the water
fallen on the roof of my childhood.
Today when the sun began with its shafts
to tell the story, so clear, so old,
the slanting rain fell like a sword,
the rain my heard heart welcomes.
You, my love, still asleep in August,
my queen, my woman, my vastness, my geography,
kiss of mud, the carbon-coated zither,
you, vestment of my persistent song,
today you are reborn again and with the sky's
black water confuse me and compel me:
I must renew my bones in your kingdom,
I must still uncloud my earthly duties.
a desperate light that since has died.
Don't let the squatters know:
let's keep it all between us,
day, between your bell
and my secret.
Today is dead winter in the forgotten land
that comes to visit me, with a cross on the map
and a volcano in the snow, to return to me,
to return again the water
fallen on the roof of my childhood.
Today when the sun began with its shafts
to tell the story, so clear, so old,
the slanting rain fell like a sword,
the rain my heard heart welcomes.
You, my love, still asleep in August,
my queen, my woman, my vastness, my geography,
kiss of mud, the carbon-coated zither,
you, vestment of my persistent song,
today you are reborn again and with the sky's
black water confuse me and compel me:
I must renew my bones in your kingdom,
I must still uncloud my earthly duties.
There is no such thing as leftover pizza. There is now pizza and later pizza. - anonymous
The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
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Pardon me, if when I want
to tell the story of my life
it's the land I talk about.
This is the land.
It grows in your blood
and you grow.
If it dies in your blood
you die out.
I thought these poems were appropriate given the tragedy in West Virginia.
The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
(sorry, I have difficults sometimes, I never know if after I wrote if I did it right)
"I am familiar with the works of Pablo Neruda"
Typo Man: "Thanks kidz, but remembir, stay in skool!"
The risk I took was calculated, but man, am I bad at math - The Mincing Mockingbird
The September night was trembling
I carried in my clothes
the sadness of the train that carried me
across the provinces one by one:
I was that distant being
sickened by the carbon fumes
of the locomotive.
I didn't exist yet.
I had something to discover.
My poetry isolated me
and joined me to everyone.
That night I would
have declared Spring.
A sad beggar,
I was made to untie the vestment
of the naked night.
I trembled reading my song before two thousand
uneven ears.
The night burned
with all the dark fire
that multiplied in the city,
in the urgent need of contact.
Did the loneliness die that night?
Or was I born then, of my solitude?