A Little Funny

Here is something funny:
You.

Here is something funnier:
Despite that, I love you.

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Touched By An Angel by Maya Angelou

Just a beautiful poem by an amazing writer, that I’m enjoying tonight…

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.

Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love’s light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.

by Maya Angelou

Crazy Suzanne

 

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‘Mad Woman’ Eugene Delacroix, 1822

There’s a mad woman who lives on my street
Sings sad songs and wears nothing on her feet.
She wanders unsteadily to and fro,
Perhaps unsure of where to go?
She talks to herself, of course, and cries
And no one listens, no one replies.
She’s a nut job, it’s true, she’s round the bend
But sometimes I think I could be her friend.

I know her pain, I’ve felt despair
I often wake up with the crazy hair
Of sleepless nights and aimless days
Where hope is the fix that never stays.
So crazy lady let me hold you tight
And though you hurt, know it will be alright.

 

Fairytale

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‘The Window Seat’ by Sir William Orpen

Once upon a time
The princess lost a shoe and her heart
But her time was up
So she had to go.

She took the steps two at a time
As the clock tower chimed the death knells of evening.
She was afraid to look back or speak
But was certain that she would be rescued and all lost items would be returned,
After all the prince had said he loved her.

And so she waited,
Looking through her little window every day
Waiting for the sound of hooves and two galloping hearts
That never came.

Her clothes became rags
Her face grew old and her body tired.
There were no fairy godmothers to
Wave magic wands and make things ok,
Conjure up happy endings and all that other fantasy stuff,
Just a belief that her brave hero was lost on his way,
And if he wasn’t here tomorrow, he’d be here another day…

So still she waits, that fool for love,
Locked in her small tower
Full of dusty hopes and dreams
That never will come true;
Her heart is lost forever, just like that small glass shoe.

Apples and Pairs

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Son of Man : René Magritte, 1964

I am an apple,
Bruised up inside.
Love to my core
That I can’t really hide.

I am an apple
You wanted to own.
Now when I need you
I’m always alone.

I am an apple,
A crumble of stuff
Eaten up, passed by
It gets pretty tough.

I am an apple
Left in the bowl.
My heart it is rotting
Like a maggot’s small hole.

I am an apple.
But I can’t go on.
You were my pair
And this was our song.

Running Shoes

Run away with me. Put on your trainers.
Lace them up tightly with the double knots
Made from the fabric of my sweetest dreams.
Crouch down, take the blocks, wait for the pistol
To shoot you right in the back of your head,
Exploding your world and blowing your mind
In a kaleidoscope of hot blooded lust
As you sprint down the track of no return,
Heart racing heart, cold sweat, a struggle,
Towards me and a white line that signals
You have come to finish what you started,

Shoes still on. Running, living, being we

Or running away; escaping and free

“My Love has made me selfish…” A love letter from John Keats to Fanny Brawne

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“My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you — I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again — my Life seems to stop there — I see no further. You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving—I should be exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing you. I should be afraid to separate myself far from you.”

John Keats 1819