#32

I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

~Pablo Neruda

Seriously, this guy was amazing. I could post his poems all day. It's somewhat strange but I find myself comparing this piece with those of Sylvia Plath's. It has that haunting quality to it. It stays with the reader long after it has been read, whispering strange whispers into their minds.

#31

Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein

There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

I was thinking about changing one of my poems because I was so inspired by this one. I really appreciate the way she uses color to create imagery and hope to accomplish this in my own work.

#30

In a box

Their leathery skin
worn, abused,
with deep gashes
caked in mud

cold and alone
abandoned
left to rot in darkness
Their souls corroded

~ Author Unknown

Love, love, love this! This poem exhibits extraordinary attention to detail. I think we could all learn something from this piece. Comment and tell me what you think about it.