Feeling Of Immortality ~ Poem By Monique Lucy Weberink
Please stop, I need silence inside
Be quiet, there is so much noise
No longer is it possible to live
Words are floating away from me
Dragged along with the ocean tide
My body and soul are kept in piece
While walking along this seashore
Feelings are drawn away from me
Picked up by the unpredictable tide
Gone forever dragged into the deep
New waves keep arriving onshore
The water looks so tender and soft
But at the same time so very cruel
I am much aware of my vulnerability
So small am I in the presence of you
Why did you always need control
You have drowned my personality
And the water continued to call me
Always these same waveless voices
Why didn't you just let me drift away
A meander of tears escaping my eyes
This desperate heart of mine is leaking
Flooding my remorse and bitter feelings
A pool  which colors are nothing but dark
Slowly vaporized by the heat of hatred
The sand sticks to my feet as if a warning
But its no use I am encouraged to walk on
This luring abyss is dangerously present
A constant flux of changes but I hesitate
Before me the sun disappears at horizons end
I realize I am just focused on my own pain
Words no longer reach my sinking heart
But the emotional wound is cut too deep
I am desperately seeking my own relief
Do I honestly think this is not the end?
Monique Lucy Weberink
January, 2012

Demon and Angel with Tamara's Soul (1891) by Vrubel
Emily Dickinson ~ The Splitting Of The Brain
I felt a Cleaving in my Mind...
as if my Brain has split..
I tried to match it - Seam by Seam -
But could not make it fit.
Emily Dickinson
Robert Musil ~ The Meaning Of Poetry
"Ultimately a poem, and the mystery of it, cuts the meaning of the world clear, where it is bound fast by thousands of ordinary words ..."
Robert Musil
Austrian author (1880-1942) of the famous novel The Man without Qualities
Gabriela Mistral ~ Dusk
I feel my heart melting
in the mildness like candles
my veins are slow oil
and not wine,
and I feel my life fleeing
hushed and gentle like the gazelle.
Gabriela Mistral
(April 7, 1889 – January 10, 1957 / Vicuna / Chile)
Mallarme ~ The Creation Of Silence
"It is the job of poetry to clean up our word-clogged reality by creating silences around things."
~Stephen Mallarme
Jorge Luis Borges ~ The Sum
The silent friendliness of the moon
(misquoting Virgil) accompanies you
since that one night or evening lost
in time now, on which your restless
eyes first deciphered her forever
in a garden or patio turned to dust.
Forever? I know someone, someday
will be able to tell you truthfully:
‘You’ll never see the bright moon again,
You’ve now achieved the unalterable
sum of moments granted you by fate.
Useless to open every window
in the world. Too late. You’ll not find her.’
We live discovering and forgetting
that sweet familiarity of the night.
Take a long look. It might be the last.
Jorge Luis Borges

Painting is "Moon light over the Seine"
Henry Pether (1828-1865)
Lighthouse In The Night ~ Poem By Alfonsina Storni
The sky a black sphere,
the sea a black disk.

The lighthouse opens
its solar fan on the coast.

Spinning endlessly at night,
whom is it searching for

when the mortal heart
looks for me in the chest?

Look at the black rock
where it is nailed down.

A crow digs endlessly
but no longer bleeds.

Alfonsina Storni
Last Fire ~ Poem By Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Love,through your spirit and mine what summer eve
Now glows with glory of all things possess'd,
Since this day's sun of rapture filled the west
And the light sweetened as the fire took leave?
Awhile now softlier let your bosom heave,
As in Love's harbour, even that loving breast,
All care takes refuge while we sink to rest,
And mutual dreams the bygone bliss retrieve.
Many the days that Winter keeps in store,
Sunless throughout, or whose brief sun-glimpses
Scarce shed the heaped snow through the naked trees,
This day at least was Summer's paramour,
Sun-coloured to the imperishable core
With sweet well-being of love and full heart's ease.

painting Daydream by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Fish Song ~ Poem By Alan Kleiman

Nobody knows da trouble I’ve seen
Nobody knows my sorrow
Nobody knows da trouble I’ve seen
Lordy lordy lord.

Nobody now knows nothing
No stuff
No junk
No words of my life
No secrets
No nothing that moves or shakes me.

What is my life but a sad tale
Of fish flying
And maybe a whale
Nobody knows the trouble
Nobody’s now my girl
Rhubarb and roses
Fly away home.

© Alan Kleiman 2011
Somerset Maugham ~ On Poetry
The crown of literature is poetry. It is its end and aim. It is the sublimest activity of the human mind. It is the achievement of beauty and delicacy. The writer of prose can only step aside when the poet passes.
~W. Somerset Maugham