Posts Tagged ‘romance’

“…he had built up within himself a kind of sanctuary in which she throned among his secret thoughts and longings. Little by little it became the scene of his real life, of his only rational activities; thither he brought the books he read, the ideas and feelings which nourished him, his judgments and his visions. Outside it, in the scene of his actual life, he moved with a growing sense of unreality and insufficiency, blundering against familiar prejudices and traditional points of view as an absent-minded man goes on bumping into the furniture of his own room.” – Edith Wharton, The Age of Innocence

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“He was not sure he wanted to see the Countess Olenska again; but ever since he had looked at her from the path above the bay he had wanted, irrationally and indescribably, to see the place she was living in, to follow the movements of her imagined figure as he had watched the real one in the summer-house. The longing was with him day and night, an incessant undefinable craving, like a sudden whim of a sick man for food or drink once tasted and long since forgotten.” – Edith Wharton, The Age of Innocence 

 

“He simply felt that if he could carry away the vision of the spot of earth she walked on, and the way the sky and sea enclosed it, the rest of the world might seem less empty.” – Edith Wharton, The Age of Innocence

 

 

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When the air begins to change in New York

from blistering cold to lukewarm

the way ice water pumped up, from beneath the dirt

hits your humidity drenched face

in Bangladesh on a summer morning

while beads of sweat cling from your back

and cats lie with legs outstretched on the veranda,

smoke and the smell of roti catching you, welcoming,

I stop waiting for the bus —

And stroll down cement sidewalks,

past frame houses with colorful shutters and small yards

under the shade of green ash,

the corner deli filled with students craving grease to stuff their faces

and sex, drooling

not paying attention to street lights

or stop signs

or school boys passing their rubber balls,

smiling to myself

filling the air with compliments

remembering conversations that never happened,

wishing they had.

– Shammy 3/20/13 4:33pm

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Shot Glasses

I bought them in bulk to cheers and drink

With my mates from the states. My first adventure on my own

Through the streets of London,

Picadily Circus

where all the lights and things were

From a shop made for foreigners like me.

 

The banks of the Thames sprinkled with European couples

On one of their many holidays.

Overcast, with breakthroughs of light

Rain unannounced and gone before you run for cover,

That’s London for you.

 

Past the Tate Modern, munching on my broccoli and cheese pasty

Under the rows of trees there is a bench

And a lovely couple sat there,

Posing with one arm outstretched.

Further down,

The belly of the Tower Bridge opens up to let the ship through.

Ships of goods, ships of money that won’t go to anyone who needs it.

 

The tube to Liverpool street in Old London

Where I meet you for a drink or two

At a hotel bar full of suits

Sparks flew and our nights turned into days

And back to Crawley we went

To your two bedroom apartment, with my flowers waiting for me

On the kitchen table.

– Shammy 7/29/12 5:26pm

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And I spent two days laying in your sheets, unable to breathe, unable to speak, unable to smile but you caressed me and fed me and lay with me till I was better again. My mouth foul with bacteria but still you kissed my lips, held me to your heart and in the end I don’t think it was the medication or the ice cream, or the food you made for me, but it was your love, your touch, your attention that rid my heart and lungs of disease and brought me back to prosper by your side. – Shammy 10/22/12 5:05am

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Misfit

It is usually the pain of being alive that drives pen and paper together, in my case
But there you are sat in front of your piano
Placing your fingers so effortlessly atop those black and white keys
Your back straight
Your lips in a frown
Your brow all scrunched up
While your fingers dance.
They seem to have a mind of their own,
Like you
Like your eye for perfection
Like your eye for me.
 
What a misfit pair we are,
Your music, your biggest frustration, your greatest love
And my poetry, that only shines when I am not.
Frustrated artists,
We’ll have no money.
Art is designated for the rich,
Those children whose parents prepared themselves so that their children may dream.
I don’t have the luxury,
I will have to work my forty hours
At a job any monkey can do.
I will have to suppress the creativity
So I don’t die from boredom,
Like you are now
At your 9 to 5.
 
You should be with a lawyer
And I should find myself a rich doctor,
Who is brown like me
And we should sneak away together
In our dreams
Sleeping next to our respectable counterparts,
 
But you have too much faith in us
To let me run wild with the ideas of my mother.
 
So here I am
Sitting in your bed, back against the headboard
Wearing your red button down
Munching on the sweet lotus fruit filled Chinese bun you brought home,
With my flushed cheeks and my light heart
I write this love song for you.
–         Shammy  9/14/12 8:10pm

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Went through our albums last night,

You were beautiful and I looked happy.

I miss you even now.

I get chills.

I miss the advice you gave, that I never took

And the way you looked when you wanted me.

I miss the three courses you would make

And the flowers I’d arranged on the dinner table.

I miss the foolishness after you came home from work,

And closing the blinds.

We had so many memories that didn’t include her,

And yet…

Now I am making new memories

With new people, and it all seems so different.

Even I am different,

More aware of the dangers,

Venturing more carefully, double wrapped in armor.

How did I let my guard down with you before?

All you ever had to do was smile and I forgot everything.

– Shammy 7/11/12 4:43am

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