dimarts, 21 de juny de 2016

the poems to come are for you and for me and are not for mostpeople... you and i are human beings; mostpeople are snobs.” ― E.E. Cummings when man determined to destroy himself he picked the was of shall and finding only why smashed it into because “For whatever we lose (like a you or a me), It's always our self we find Like “when man determined to destroy himself he picked the was of shall and finding only why smashed it into because” ― E.E. Cummings, 100 Selected Poems tags: poetry, reasoning 232 likes Like “Love is the whole and more than all.” ― E.E. Cummings, 100 Selected Poems 141 likes Like “What if a dawn of a doom of a dream bites this universe in two, peels forever out of his grave, and sprinkles nowhere with me and you?” “i thank You God for most this amazing day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything which is natural which is infinite which is yes (i who have died am alive again today, and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay great happening illimitably earth) how should tasting touching hearing seeing breathing any---lifted from the no of all nothing---human merely being doubt unimaginably You? (now the ears of my ears awake and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)” ― E.E. Cummings, 100 Selected Poems tags: faith, gratitude, prayer 10 likes Like “god's terrible face brighter than a spoon collects the image of one fatal word; so that my life(which liked the sun and the moon) resembles something that has not occurred: i am a birdcage without any bird a collar looking for a dog a kiss without lips;a prayer lacking any knees but something beats within my shirt to prove he is undead who living noone is. I have never loved you dear as now i love.” ― E.E. Cummings, 100 Selected Poems 9 likes Like “if i or anybody don't know where it her his my next meal's coming from i say to hell with that that doesn't matter (and if he she it or everybody gets a bellyful without lifting my finger i say to hell with that i say that doesn't matter) but if somebody or you are beautiful or deep or generous what i say is whistle that sing that yell that spell that out big (bigger than cosmic rays w ar earthquakes famine or the ex prince of whoses diving into a whatses to rescue miss nobody's probably handbag) because i say that's not swell (get me) babe not (understand me) lousy kid that's something else my sweet (i feel that's true)” ― E.E. Cummings, 100 Selected Poems tags: poetry 9 likes Like “i St ep into the not merely immeasurable into the mightily alive the dear beautiful eternal night” ― E.E. Cummings, 100 Selected Poems 6 likes Like “my blood approves, and kisses are a far better fate than wisdom” ― E.E. Cummings, 100 Selected Poems 6 likes Like “when god lets my body be From each brave eye shall sprout a tree fruit that dangles therefrom the purpled world will dance upon Between my lips which did sing a rose shall beget the spring that maidens whom passion wastes will lay between their little breasts My strong fingers beneath the snow Into strenuous birds shall go my love walking in the grass their wings will touch with her face and all the while shall my heart be With the bulge and nuzzle of the sea” ― E.E. CummingLike “for every mile the feet go the heart goes nine”

somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

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