One of the tips of writing I've consistently
found recommended in my internet adventures is
to -not- title a poem by an emotion. I've found,
however, that sometimes, that's the only title
that someone can give a poem due to it fitting
just so well. In that vein, here's a few poems
I've taken enjoyment in and I hope that you'll
like them as well. I'm a sucker for imagery,
what can I say?

 'LOVE'

Don't step so carefully, please.
I'm not as fragile as glass.
What I need is a fresh March breeze –
And I'll sprout like a blade of grass.

Shoes trample the frozen earth;
No stone in a field am I
But a rye-stalk trapped in ice
While pecking through to the sky.

- Written by Albinas Bernotas, a Lithuanian poet (Born 1934), translated by Dorian Rottenberg



           'I Like You and I Love You' 

I Like You and I Love You, face to face ;

The path was narrow, and they could not pass.

I Like You smiled ; I Love You cried, Alas !

And so they halted for a little space.

“Turn thou and go before,” I Love You said,

“Down the green pathway, bright with many a flower ;

Deep in the valley, lo ! my bridal bower awaits thee.”

But I Like You shook his head.

Then while they lingered on the span-wide shelf

That shaped a pathway round the rocky ledge,

I Like You bared his icy dagger’s edge,

And first he slew I Love You — then himself.

- Written by Oliver Wendell Holmes, c. 1890 & 1891

‘TRAGIC RABBIT’

Tragic rabbit, a painting.
The caked ears green like rolled corn.
The black forehead pointing at the stars.
A painting on my wall, alone

as rabbits are
and aren’t. Fat red cheek,
all Art, trembling nose,
a habit hard to break as not.

You too can be a tragic rabbit; green and red
your back, blue your manly little chest.
But if you’re ever goaded into being one
beware the True Flesh, it

will knock you off your tragic horse
and break your tragic colors like a ghost
breaks marble; your wounds will heal
so quickly water

will be jealous.
Rabbits on white paper painted
outgrow all charms against their breeding wild;
and their rolled corn ears become horns.

So watch out if the tragic life feels fine –
caught in that rabbit trap
all colors look like sunlight’s swords,
and scissors like The Living Lord.

- Written by Stan Rice, c 1975

‘Hope’

The saddest day will have an eve,
The darkest night, a morn;
Think not, when clouds are thick and dark,
Thy way is too forlorn.

For, ev’ry cloud that e’er did rise,
To shade thy life’s bright way,
And ev’ry restless night of pain,
And Ev’ry weary day,

Will bring thee gifts, thou’lt value more,
Because they cost so dear;
The soul that faints not in the storm,
Emerges bright and clear.

- Written by African American poet Clara Ann Thompson, ‘Songs From the Wayside’, 19th Century

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