poetry

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A FEELING THAT CAN NOT BE DESCRIBED, ONLY FELT ~ POEM BY MONIQUE LUCY WEBERINK

Seldom I live in this imaginary world Surrounded by ghostly energy, I can feel it Nothing else is present in my dream today All that is there is this huge dark space I feel haunted now all the time What scares me most is being alone here All alone. Without any good soul to accompany me Just the screams of demons and evil spirits Joyous feeling, why did you leave me? You deserted me and left me here all alone Wandering around in a delirium that is not mine...

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PAUL VERLAINE – WHAT IS A POEM?

“A poem is really a kind of machine for producing the poetic state by means of words.” ― Paul Verlaine Paul Verlaine II Anders Zorn – 1895

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THE SONG OF THE SIREN

“Stay away from the underground lake I implore, The Siren will see you are heard of no more.” ― E.A. Bucchianeri, Phantom Phantasia: Poetry for the Phantom of the Opera Phan The Siren Edward Armitage – 1888

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MY DAILY WALK HOME ~ POEM BY MONIQUE LUCY WEBERINK

My daily walk home… There is a river on my right fast flowing deep and dark water these leaves being dragged along twirling, what a curious sight High up a blackness of one cloud when I am starting to talk to you and even though you are not here mist forms a cover like a shroud A few strange birds glide in the sky the variation of trees just in front suddently a squirrel running across and the grass covered by a grey dye Now there it is again,...

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ALFRED TENNYSON ~ MEMORIES

“Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depths of some devine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more.” ― Alfred Tennyson Memories John White Alexander – circa 1903

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SYLVIA PLATH ~ HOW IMPORTANT AM I ?

“Kiss me, and you will see how important I am.” Sylvia Plath

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W.H. AUDEN ~ ON BOOKS

“Some books are undeservedly forgotten; none are undeservedly remembered.” W.H. Auden, ‘Reading’, 1963.

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E.E. CUMMINGS ~ YOU ARE…

“Yours is the light by which my spirit’s born: – you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.” ― E.E. Cummings Christian Rohlfs, Dancing around the Ball of the Sun, 1916

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RAINER MARIA RILKE ~ EVENING

Evening Slowly the evening puts on the garments held for it by a rim of ancient trees; you watch: and the lands divide from you, one going heavenward, one that falls; and leave you, to neither quite belonging, not quite so dark as the house sunk in silence, not quite so surely pledging the eternal as that which grows star each night and climbs- and leave you (inexpressibly to untangle) your life afraid and huge and ripening, so that it, now bound in and now embracing, grows alternately stone...

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ANNA AKHMATOVA ~ IN THE EVENING

IN THE EVENING  BY ANNA AKHMATOVA The garden rang with music Of inexpressible despair. A dish of oysters spread on ice Smelled like the ocean, fresh and sharp. He told me: “I’m a faithful friend!”- And lightly touched my dress. How different from embraces The touch of those two hands. That’s how one strokes a cat or bird Or looks at slender lady riders… Just laughter in his quiet eyes, Beneath his light gold lashes. And the despondent voices of the violins Sing out beyond the hanging smoke: “Give...

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