Adrift in the liberating, late light
of August, delicate, frivolous,
they make their way to my front porch
and flutter near the glassed-in bulb,
translucent as a thought suddenly
wondered aloud, illumining the air
that’s thick with honeysuckle and dusk.
You and I are doing our best
at conversation, keeping it light, steering clear
of what we’d like to say.
You leave, and the night becomes
cluttered with moths, some tattered,
their dumbly curious filaments
startling against my cheek. How quickly,
instinctively, I brush them away.
Dazed, they cling to the outer darkness
like pale reminders of ourselves.
Others seem to want so desperately
to get inside. Months later, I’ll find
the woolens, snug in their resting places,
full of missing pieces.
—Jennifer O’Grady, Poetry, 1992
Hoje em dia já ninguém lá vai, aquilo está cheio de gente
Artigos etiquetados “poesia”
We are not lovers
because of the love
we make
but the love
we have
We are not friends
because of the laughs
we spend
but the tears
we save
I don’t want to be near you
for the thoughts we share
but the words we never have
to speak
I will never miss you
because of what we do
but what we are
together
—Nikki Giovanni
XIII
I found them blind: I taught them how to see;
And now they know neither themselves nor me.
’Tis excellent to turn a thorn to a pin,
A fool to a bolt, a knave to a glass of gin.
—William Blake, The Poetical Works, 1908
she made wings
out of broken things
and rose above
the ones
that hurt her
– Adrian Michael, Love Language, 2020 (Bookshop.org)
I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you — Nobody — Too?
Then there’s a pair of us?
Don’t tell! they’d advertise — you know!
How dreary — to be — Somebody!
How public — like a Frog —
To tell one’s name — the livelong June —
To an admiring Bog!
—Emily Dickinson, Poems/Emily Dickinson, Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets, 1993