Favorite Poems

A Poem for My 35th Birthday

posted Jul 5, 2018, 10:20 PM by Thomasina Cruz

On Her Pillow In the Morning ~Thomasina Cruz

posted Sep 1, 2010, 7:06 AM by Thomasina Cruz   [ updated Jul 5, 2018, 11:12 AM ]

I have taken that
Which does not
Belong to me
My darling

And which
You were probably
For a better man

Forgive me
You were so innocent
So sweet
And so delicious

Bedtime Story ~Wanda Coleman

posted Aug 21, 2009, 11:32 PM by Thomasina Cruz   [ updated Sep 1, 2010, 7:23 AM ]

bed calls. i sit in the dark in the living room
trying to ignore them 

in the morning, especially Sunday mornings 
it will not let me up. you must sleep longer, it says 

facing south 
the bed makes me lay heavenward on my back 
while i prefer a westerly fetal position 
facing the wall 

the bed sucks me sideways into it when i
sit down on it to put on my shoes. this
persistence on its part forces me to dress in
the bathroom where things are less subversive

the bed lumps up in anger springs popping out to
scratch my dusky thighs

my little office sits in the alcove adjacent to
the bed. it makes strange little sighs
which distract me from my work
sadistically i pull back the covers
put my typewriter on the sheet and turn it on

the bed complains that i’m difficult duty
its slats are collapsing. it bitches when i
blanket it with books and papers. it tells me
it’s made for blood and bone

lately spiders ants and roaches
have invaded it searching for food

Childhood ~Rainer Maria Rilke

posted Jan 23, 2009, 11:00 PM by Thomasina Cruz

It would be good to give much thought, before
you try to find words for something so lost,
for those long childhood afternoons you knew
that vanished so completely -and why?

We're still reminded-: sometimes by a rain,
but we can no longer say what it means;
life was never again so filled with meeting,
with reunion and with passing on

as back then, when nothing happened to us
except what happens to things and creatures:
we lived their world as something human,
and became filled to the brim with figures.

And became as lonely as a sheperd
and as overburdened by vast distances,
and summoned and stirred as from far away,
and slowly, like a long new thread,
introduced into that picture-sequence
where now having to go on bewilders us.

Child in Red ~Rainer Maria Rilke

posted Jan 23, 2009, 10:50 PM by Thomasina Cruz

Sometimes she walks through the village
in her little red dress
all absorbed in restraining herself,
and yet, despite herself, she seems to move
according to the rhythm of her life to come.

She runs a bit, hesitates, stops,
half-turns around...
and, all while dreaming, shakes her head
for or against.

Then she dances a few steps
that she invents and forgets,
no doubt finding out that life
moves on too fast.

It's not so much that she steps out
of the small body enclosing her,
but that all she carries in herself
frolics and ferments.

It's this dress that she'll remember
later in a sweet surrender;
when her whole life is full of risks,
the little red dress will always seem right.

Black Cat ~Rainer Maria Rilke

posted Jan 23, 2009, 10:46 PM by Thomasina Cruz

A ghost, though invisible, still is like a place
your sight can knock on, echoing; but here
within this thick black pelt, your strongest gaze
will be absorbed and utterly disappear:

just as a raving madman, when nothing else
can ease him, charges into his dark night
howling, pounds on the padded wall, and feels
the rage being taken in and pacified.

She seems to hide all looks that have ever fallen
into her, so that, like an audience,
she can look them over, menacing and sullen,
and curl to sleep with them. But all at once

as if awakened, she turns her face to yours;
and with a shock, you see yourself, tiny,
inside the golden amber of her eyeballs
suspended, like a prehistoric fly.

Autumn ~Rainer Maria Rilke

posted Jan 23, 2009, 10:37 PM by Thomasina Cruz   [ updated Jan 23, 2009, 10:40 PM ]

The leaves are falling, falling as if from far up,
as if orchards were dying high in space.
Each leaf falls as if it were motioning "no."

And tonight the heavy earth is falling
away from all other stars in the loneliness.

We're all falling. This hand here is falling.
And look at the other one. It's in them all.

And yet there is Someone, whose hands
infinitely calm, holding up all this falling.

As Once the Winged Energy of Delight ~Rainer Maria Rilke

posted Jan 23, 2009, 10:33 PM by Thomasina Cruz   [ updated Jan 23, 2009, 10:41 PM ]

As once the winged energy of delight
carried you over childhood's dark abysses,
now beyond your own life build the great
arch of unimagined bridges.

Wonders happen if we can succeed
in passing through the harshest danger;
but only in a bright and purely granted
achievement can we realize the wonder.

To work with Things in the indescribable
relationship is not too hard for us;
the pattern grows more intricate and subtle,
and being swept along is not enough.

Take your practiced powers and stretch them out
until they span the chasm between two
contradictions...For the god
wants to know himself in you.

Along the Sun-Drenched Roadside ~Rainer Maria Rilke

posted Jan 23, 2009, 10:24 PM by Thomasina Cruz   [ updated Jan 23, 2009, 10:41 PM ]

Along the sun-drenched roadside, from the great
hollow half-treetrunk, which for generations
has been a trough, renewing in itself
an inch or two of rain, I satisfy
my thirst: taking the water's pristine coolness
into my whole body through my wrists.
Drinking would be too powerful, too clear;
but this unhurried gesture of restraint
fills my whole consciousness with shining water.

Thus, if you came, I could be satisfied
to let my hand rest lightly, for a moment,
lightly, upon your shoulder or your breast.

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