Sunday, February 12, 2017
Taste Of Love , Pentangle
Oh the cold wind and rain
Raining in my heart again
Never ending, but never to stay
Raining in my heart again
Never ending, but never to stay
Looking good, but standing away
Just a tiny taste of love
Clinging to my heart, so bitterly.
Once I saw a fawn on the run
Jumping over streams in the sun
I want to follow and travel her way
I want to catch her and hear her say
Those tiny tastes of love
Clinging to my heart, so bitterly.
Oh for the chance to hold her and to touch her
Feel her heart beating and pounding inside her
I love her so much.
Oh for the chance to hold her and to touch her
Feel her heart beating and pounding inside her
I love her so much
By the hedgerows golden leaves
Hide the sleeping winter souls
How I wish that the sunshine in spring
Will touch my heart and my love may bring
That tiny taste of love
Clinging to my heart, so bitterly.
Just a tiny taste of love
Clinging to my heart, so bitterly.
Once I saw a fawn on the run
Jumping over streams in the sun
I want to follow and travel her way
I want to catch her and hear her say
Those tiny tastes of love
Clinging to my heart, so bitterly.
Oh for the chance to hold her and to touch her
Feel her heart beating and pounding inside her
I love her so much.
Oh for the chance to hold her and to touch her
Feel her heart beating and pounding inside her
I love her so much
By the hedgerows golden leaves
Hide the sleeping winter souls
How I wish that the sunshine in spring
Will touch my heart and my love may bring
That tiny taste of love
Clinging to my heart, so bitterly.
between now and tomorrow
between now
and tomorrow
i am a changing
multitude
i scintillate,
we oscillate
within resonance
of being, feeling,
with the sound
of memory, crows,
gulls, wind,
a taste of laughter
and of distant pain,
a longing for
what is lost and
for what cannot be.
between now
and tomorrow
salt on my lips,
stones in my mouth.
the soul flying
helplessly lost
in a distant sky,
we'd help, sending
tap and echo, our
hands to reach
the labyrinthic
passages of this bird
so hungry and sweet,
fragile in the cold,
we want to warm it,
kiss its heart,
it flutters so fast.
it is impossible
to separate soul
from body
and it is our learned
horror of death
that we cannot be alive
wholeheartedly.
in this we have no talent,
unlike the animals
who will not think,
how is embrace full
and from where will
courage come, how can
we chose steps when
we are always in fear?
between now
and tomorrow
i breathe but it
is not i who breathes.
and tomorrow
i am a changing
multitude
i scintillate,
we oscillate
within resonance
of being, feeling,
with the sound
of memory, crows,
gulls, wind,
a taste of laughter
and of distant pain,
a longing for
what is lost and
for what cannot be.
between now
and tomorrow
salt on my lips,
stones in my mouth.
the soul flying
helplessly lost
in a distant sky,
we'd help, sending
tap and echo, our
hands to reach
the labyrinthic
passages of this bird
so hungry and sweet,
fragile in the cold,
we want to warm it,
kiss its heart,
it flutters so fast.
it is impossible
to separate soul
from body
and it is our learned
horror of death
that we cannot be alive
wholeheartedly.
in this we have no talent,
unlike the animals
who will not think,
how is embrace full
and from where will
courage come, how can
we chose steps when
we are always in fear?
between now
and tomorrow
i breathe but it
is not i who breathes.
words, poetry, slow morning thoughts
words....
give me this shovel,
let us dig.
would you like a cucumber
or tomatoes?
this is what words do,
point to food, tools, needs.
the origin of communication
going from pointing to language.
nobody can eat the word cucumber
though the word may cause him/her salivating,
anticipating the taste of reality.
so this is what poetry can do,
to make you taste reality
and approach it another way.
to re-approach being with reality,
inside. and outside.
to lose orientation and meaning
and re-create it again your own way.
poetry stands between word and reality
in the flow of imagination, the writer's
and the reader's.
give me this shovel,
let us dig.
would you like a cucumber
or tomatoes?
this is what words do,
point to food, tools, needs.
the origin of communication
going from pointing to language.
nobody can eat the word cucumber
though the word may cause him/her salivating,
anticipating the taste of reality.
so this is what poetry can do,
to make you taste reality
and approach it another way.
to re-approach being with reality,
inside. and outside.
to lose orientation and meaning
and re-create it again your own way.
poetry stands between word and reality
in the flow of imagination, the writer's
and the reader's.
Reinvent your Life ,Charles Bukowski
Charles Bukowski, The Pleasures of the Damned, No leaders please
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)