Combustible Love

She pins you to hotel doors—
not a goddess anymore,
but she still looks like religion in high heels.
She kisses you godless. Whispers,We dress like princesses to go out and kill kings.

~ Ashe Vernon, From: ‘Old World Gods’, Wrong Side of a Fistfight.

 

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Speechless ~ Elizabeth Siddall

Many a mile over land and sea
Unsummoned my love returned to me;
I remember not the words he said
But only the trees moaning overhead.

And he came ready to take and bear
The cross I had carried for many a year,
But words came slowly one by one
From frozen lips shut still and dumb.

How sounded my words so still and slow
To the great strong heart that loved me so,
Who came to save me from pain and wrong
And to comfort me with his love so strong?

I felt the wind strike chill and cold
And vapours rise from the red-brown mould;
I felt the spell that held my breath
Bending me down to a living death.

Study for Ophelia, 1852, John Everett Millais

Study for Ophelia, 1852, John Everett Millais

Amor Mundi ~ Christina Rossetti

‘Oh, where are you going with your love-locks flowing
On the west wind blowing along this valley track?’
‘The downhill path is easy, come with me an’ it please ye,
We shall escape the uphill by never turning back.’

So they two went together in glowing August weather,
The honey-breathing heather lay to their left and right;
And dear she was to doat on, her swift feet seemed to float on
The air like soft twin pigeons too sportive to alight.

‘Oh, what is that in heaven where grey cloud-flakes are seven,
Where blackest clouds hang riven just at the rainy skirt?’
‘Oh, that’s a meteor sent us, a message dumb, portentous,—
An undeciphered solemn signal of help or hurt.’

‘Oh, what is that glides quickly where velvet flowers grow thickly,
Their scent comes rich and sickly?’—’A scaled and hooded worm.’
‘Oh, what’s that in the hollow, so pale I quake to follow?’
‘Oh, that’s a thin dead body which waits th’ eternal term.’

‘Turn again, O my sweetest,—turn again, false and fleetest:
This way whereof thou weetest I fear is hell’s own track.’
‘Nay, too steep for hill-mounting,—nay, too late for cost-counting:
This downhill path is easy, but there’s no turning back.’

Fragment ~ Christopher Marlowe

I WALK’D along a stream, for pureness rare,
Brighter than sun-shine; for it did acquaint
The dullest sight with all the glorious prey
That in the pebble-paved channel lay.

No molten crystal, but a richer mine,
Even Nature’s rarest alchymy ran there,–
Diamonds resolv’d, and substance more divine,
Through whose bright-gliding current might appear
A thousand naked nymphs, whose ivory shine,
Enamelling the banks, made them more dear
Than ever was that glorious palace’ gate
Where the day-shining Sun in triumph sate.

Upon this brim the eglantine and rose,
The tamarisk, olive, and the almond tree,
As kind companions, in one union grows,
Folding their twining arms, as oft we see
Turtle-taught lovers either other close,
Lending to dulness feeling sympathy;
And as a costly valance o’er a bed,
So did their garland-tops the brook o’erspread.

Their leaves, that differ’d both in shape and show,
Though all were green, yet difference such in green,
Like to the checker’d bent of Iris’ bow,
Prided the running main, as it had been–

I Want To Feel

I want to feel flowers blooming inside me
winding through the cracks
in my ribcage
to find the sunlight You shine on me.
I want to feel.

I want to feel waves crashing against my feet
pounding against the shore
like the intensity
of Your lips meeting mine in unbridled passion.
I want to feel.

I want to feel raindrops pouring from the Heavens
gently landing on my skin
like Your fingertips
in soft intentful caresses that increase in intensity.
I want to feel.

I want to feel love.
I want to feel life.
I want to feel You.

~ © Valentyna Holloway

blue poppies

Do Not Reproduce Poetry In Whole Or In Part Without Permission

© @ValentyneDreams — Valentyna Holloway 2015

I Know I Am But Summer To Your Heart ~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

I know I am but summer to your heart,
And not the full four seasons of the year;
And you must welcome from another part
Such noble moods as are not mine, my dear.
No gracious weight of golden fruits to sell
Have I, nor any wise and wintry thing;
And I have loved you all too long and well
To carry still the high sweet breast of Spring.
Wherefore I say: O love, as summer goes,
I must be gone, steal forth with silent drums,
That you may hail anew the bird and rose
When I come back to you, as summer comes.
Else will you seek, at some not distant time,
Even your summer in another clime.

~ Edna St. Vincent Millay

roses in black and white

The Mirabeau Bridge ~ Guillaume Apollinaire

Below the Mirabeau bridge there flows the Seine
As for our love
Must I recall how then
After each sorrow joy would come again

Let night come toll hours away
Days go by me here I stay

Let us stay hand in hand face to face
While down below
The bridge of our embrace
Roll the waves weary of our endless gaze

Let night come toll hours away
Days go by me here I stay

Love goes away the way the waters flow
Love goes away
How life is long and slow
How hope of life can deal so strong a blow

Let night come toll hours away
Days go by me here I stay

The days the weeks are passing from our ken
Neither time passed
Nor love can come again
Below the Mirabeau bridge there flows the Seine

Let night come toll hours away
Days go by me here I stay

Translation : by A.Z. Foreman

The Original ~

Le Pont Mirabeau

Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine
Et nos amours
Faut-il qu’il m’en souvienne
La joie venait toujours après la peine

Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure

Les mains dans les mains restons face à face
Tandis que sous
Le pont de nos bras passe
Des éternels regards l’onde si lasse

Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure

L’amour s’en va comme cette eau courante
L’amour s’en va
Comme la vie est lente
Et comme l’Espérance est violente

Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure

Passent les jours et passent les semaines
Ni temps passé
Ni les amours reviennent
Sous le pont Mirabeau coule la Seine

Vienne la nuit sonne l’heure
Les jours s’en vont je demeure

~ Guillaume Apollinaire

pontmirabeau