水巷

「誰讓你我相逢，且相逢於這小小的水巷如兩條魚。」

鄭愁予

愛情是一只蚊子

愛情是一只蚊子
它總在你最不為意的時候
叮你一口
發現已經太遲
皮膚紅了一塊，癢癢的
又忍不住不去抓它
愈抓卻愈是癢了
愛情就是這樣
你說麻煩不麻煩

The Road Not Taken. Robert Frost.

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth;         5   Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same,         10   And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.         15   I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.

握

今晚，你在我掌中，我在你掌中
且任河水向北流，河漢向西傾
握永恆於一瞬，啊，將一瞬握成永恆

余光中

叮嚀叮嚀嚀

風鈴
余光中


我的心是七層塔簷上懸掛的風鈴
叮嚀叮嚀嚀
此起彼落
敲叩著一個人的名字
你的塔上也感到微震嗎
這是寂靜的脈搏
日夜不停
你聽見了嗎
叮嚀叮嚀嚀
這惱人的音調禁不勝禁
除非叫所有的風都改道
鈴都 摘掉
塔都推倒
只因我的心是高高低低的風鈴
叮嚀叮嚀嚀
此起彼落
敲叩著一個人的名字

見與不見

 The Lovers, Magritte

作者：扎西拉姆·多多

你见，或者不见我， 　　　　
我就在那里，
不悲不喜；

你念，或者不念我， 　　
情就在那里， 　　　
不来不去； 　　

你爱，或者不爱我， 　　
爱就在那里， 　　
不增不减； 　　

你跟，或者不跟我， 　　
我的手就在你手里， 　　
不舍不弃； 　　

来我的怀里， 　　
或者， 　　
让我住进你的心里 　　
 默然 相爱， 　　
寂静 欢喜 

October in Poetry.

Thanks Tammy for including a poem I like in the collection of "October in Poetry".

what a poor man would give for love.

Saint Jean Cap Ferrat, Chagall.

He Wishes For The Cloths of Heaven 
W.B. Yeats

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

time is short if we don't make it long.

Persistence of Memory, Dali.

Time Stands
William Kean Seymour

It is a lovely thing to make time stand,
Delivering a glad moment to my hand
When moments hustle loosely by, uncaught
By the deep treasuring spirit in a thought.

To make time stand, in crystal memory clear,
Whilst a loved music flows upon the ear,
Or sudden rainbows bend, or on a hill
A sunset group of pines rears hushed and still:

This I have known, and these have come again
With echoing happiness in heart and brain;
Time standing still, surrendering to me
Beauty that otherwise would cease to be.

a happy heart makes a stone a flower.

The Butterfly, Johann Georg Meyer Von Bremen

The Example  
W.H. Davies

Here's an example from
          A Butterfly;
That on a rough, hard rock
          Happy can lie;
Friendless and all alone
On this unsweetened stone. 

Now let my bed be hard
          No care take I;
I'll make my joy like this
         Small Butterfly;
Whose happy heart has power
To make a stone a flower.

Is it today? Or yesterday?

Christina's World, Andrew Wyeth

The Day That Summer Died
Vernon Scannell

From all around the mourners came
  The day that Summer died,
From hill and valley, field and wood
  And lane and mountainside.

They did not come in funeral black
  But every mourner chose
Gorgeous colours or soft shades
  Of russet, yellow, rose.

Horse chestnut, oak and sycamore
  Wore robes of gold and red;
The rowan sported scarlet beads;
  No bitter tears were shed.

Although at dusk the mourners heard,
  As a small wind softly sighed,
  A touch of sadness in the air
  The day that Summer died.

There is no telling where time is.

It's time for bed. Time to sink into secret thoughts until my consciousness surrenders to the darkness. Let me put an end to Tuesday night with a part of Ted Hughes' poem 'September'.

"We sit late, watching the dark slowly unfold:
No clock counts this.
When kisses are repeated and the arms hold
There is no telling where time is.

It is midsummer: the leaves hang big and still:
Behind the eye a star,
Under the silk of the wrist a sea, tell
Time is nowhere."

You can see more of September in poetry here.

Funeral Blues

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He is Dead.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.