Connecting Singles^® EU Forums 100% Free Online Dating

Hey, have fun, Imma

I'd like to read Dr. Seuss', too.

Hi Ama,
It's not a love poem, but an interesting commentary on a very serious issue presented in a light-hearted way. A bit of background on this one.

'Yertle the Turtle is a poem by Theodor Geisel, a.k.a. Dr. Seuss, published in 1958. Yertle, king of the pond, stand on his subjects in an attempt to reach higher than the moon -- until the bottom turtle burps and he falls into the
mud, ending his rule. The story, among Seuss's most notable, is widely recognized as condemning fascism and absolute power; the despotic ruler Yertle was intended to parallel the dictator Adolf Hitler.'

On the far-away island of Sala-ma-Sond,
Yertle the Turtle was king of the pond.
A nice little pond. It was clean. It was neat.
The water was warm. There was plenty to eat.
The turtles had everything turtles might need.
And they were all happy. Quite happy indeed.

They were… until Yertle, the king of them all,
Decided the kingdom he ruled was too small.
“I’m ruler”, said Yertle, “of all that I see.
But I don’t see enough. That’s the trouble with me.
With this stone for a throne, I look down on my pond
But I cannot look down on the places beyond.
This throne that I sit on is too, too low down.
It ought to be higher!” he said with a frown.
“If I could sit high, how much greater I’d be!
What a king! I’d be ruler of all that I see!”

So Yertle the Turtle King, lifted his hand
And Yertle, the Turtle King, gave a command.
He ordered nine turtles to swim to his stone
And, using these turtles, he built a new throne.
He made each turtle stand on another one’s back
And he piled them all up in a nine-turtle stack.
And then Yertle climbed up. He sat down on the pile.
What a wonderful view! He could see ‘most a mile!

“All mine!” Yertle cried. “Oh, the things I now rule!
I’m the king of a cow! And I’m the king of a mule!
I’m the king of a house! And, what’s more, beyond that
I’m the king of a blueberry bush and a cat!
I’m Yertle the Turtle! Oh, marvelous me!
For I am the ruler of all that I see!”

And all through the morning, he sat up there high
Saying over and over, “A great king am I!”
Until ‘long about noon. Then he heard a faint sigh.
“What’s that?” snapped the king,and he looked down the stack.
And he saw, at the bottom, a turtle named Mack.
Just a part of his throne. And this plain little turtle
Looked up and he said, “Beg your pardon, King Yertle.
I’ve pains in my back and my shoulders and knees.
How long must we stand here, Your Majesty, please?”

“SILENCE!” the King of the Turtles barked back.
“I’m king, and you’re only a turtle named Mack.”

“You stay in your place while I sit here and rule.
I’m the king of a cow! And I’m the king of a mule!
I’m the king of a house! And a bush! And a cat!
But that isn’t all. I’ll do better than that!
My throne shall be higher!” his royal voice thundered,
“So pile up more turtles! I want ’bout two hundred!”

“Turtles! More turtles!” he bellowed and brayed.
And the turtles ‘way down in the pond were afraid.
They trembled. They shook. But they came. They obeyed.
From all over the pond, they came swimming by dozens.
Whole families of turtles, with uncles and cousins.
And all of them stepped on the head of poor Mack.
One after another, they climbed up the stack.

Then Yertle the Turtle was perched up so high,
He could see forty miles from his throne in the sky!
“Hooray!” shouted Yertle. “I’m the king of the trees!
I’m king of the birds! And I’m king of the bees!
I’m king of the butterflies! King of the air!
Ah, me! What a throne! What a wonderful chair!
I’m Yertle the Turtle! Oh, marvelous me!
For I am the ruler of all that I see!”

Then again, from below, in the great heavy stack,
Came a groan from that plain little turtle named Mack.
“Your Majesty, please… I don’t like to complain,
But down here below, we are feeling great pain.
I know, up on top you are seeing great sights,
But down here at the bottom we, too, should have rights.
We turtles can’t stand it. Our shells will all crack!
Besides, we need food. We are starving!” groaned Mack.

“You hush up your mouth!” howled the mighty King Yertle.
“You’ve no right to talk to the world’s highest turtle.
I rule from the clouds! Over land! Over sea!
There’s nothing, no, NOTHING, that’s higher than me!”

But, while he was shouting, he saw with surprise
That the moon of the evening was starting to rise
Up over his head in the darkening skies.
“What’s THAT?” snorted Yertle. “Say, what IS that thing
That dares to be higher than Yertle the King?
I shall not allow it! I’ll go higher still!
I’ll build my throne higher! I can and I will!
I’ll call some more turtles. I’ll stack ‘em to heaven!
I need ’bout five thousand, six hundred and seven!”

But, as Yertle, the Turtle King, lifted his hand
And started to order and give the command,
That plain little turtle below in the stack,
That plain little turtle whose name was just Mack,
Decided he’d taken enough. And he had.
And that plain little lad got a bit mad.
And that plain little Mack did a plain little thing.
He burped!
And his burp shook the throne of the king!

And Yertle the Turtle, the king of the trees,
The king of the air and the birds and the bees,
The king of a house and a cow and a mule…
Well, that was the end of the Turtle King’s rule!
For Yertle, the King of all Sala-ma-Sond,
Fell off his high throne and fell Plunk! in the pond!

And today the great Yertle, that Marvelous he,
Is King of the Mud. That is all he can see.
And the turtles, of course… all the turtles are free
As turtles and, maybe, all creatures should be.

Oh, it's lovely, Imma. I love it.

WHEN WE TWO PARTED

by Lord Byron

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted,
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sank chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:—
Long, long shall I rue thee
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears.

The cactus flower stem thrusts forth
Erupting out of inner succulent depths
Complex yet fragile flower blooms
Pinkly delicate and so very, very beautiful

The stem hangs over the flower pot
Like some strangulated camel turd
The pinkly delicate beauty that had bloomed
Memorial desert mirage now of our love consumed

Where hast thou gone, my precious living life?
What burnt away, cut like a knife?
How can we stagger forth each day -
When love has left and flown away?

A love that bloomed, yet died too soon
Emasculated, lonely prickly pear -
Please don't give up......
Please don't despair!

The secrets eternal neither you know nor I
And answers to the riddle neither you know nor I
Behind the veil there is much talk about us, why
When the veil falls, neither you remain nor I

(Omar Khayyam)

The Power Of Love

Love can change everything you have known
Everything you believe with this feeling shown
A heart beating faster can make two people fly
Make you walk on water in the twinkle of an eye

It takes control of the heart, mind, body and soul
They fit that place deep inside to make you whole
The elements together fire, earth, water and air
Are nothing without love, in it they all share

Without the one you love there is nothing it seems
Together the strength can make hopes and dreams
A feeling so breathtakingly gentle lifts you up above
This natural passion comes with the power of love.......

For you, Imma


TO HER FATHER WITH SOME VERSES

by Anne Bradstreet

Most truly honoured, and as truly dear,
If worth in me or ought I do appear,
Who can of right better demand the same
Than may your worthy self from whom it came?

The principal might yield a greater sum,
Yet handled ill, amounts but to this crumb;
My stock's so small I know not how to pay,
My bond remains in force unto this day;

Yet for part payment take this simple mite,
Where nothing's to be had, kings loose their right.
Such is my debt I may not say forgive,
But as I can, I'll pay it while I live;

Such is my bond, none can discharge but I,
Yet paying is not paid until I die.

Ama, how beautiful. Thank you. Very sweet of you to share that with me.

Will you be going to the 40th International Poetry 'Do' that is happening in Rotterdam Schouwburg right now? I shall be going on Friday I think.

My pleasure, Imma.

No, I actually have not heard about the event. I just checked it out online and it seems the last day is this Friday, which makes it difficult as I have already filed for leave from work starting next week till the end of June.

But enjoy yourself while you're there. I've read that Hugo Claus' work, our most famous controversial author here in Belgium is being featured. He died last year by euthanasia. He was a novelist, poet, playwright, painter and film director. Gosh, could you imagine how talented a person can be?

Have fun! And maybe you could purchase a nice poetry book and share some poems with us?

YOUR SMILE, YOUR TOUCH, YOUR HEART


Your smile awakens my soul,
As the sun awakens the day.
A kiss and my life is yours,
It seems a fair price to pay.
Your touch arouses my senses,
As the moon arouses the night.
Hold me and win me forever,
In your arms all things are right.
Your heart endures all emotion,
As the sky endures all the stars.
Love me and we'll have eternity,
There is no greater love than ours.

Lessons from the Kama Sutra

Wait for her with an azure cup.
Wait for her in the evening at the spring, among perfumed roses.
Wait for her with the patience of a horse trained for mountains.
Wait for her with the distinctive, aesthetic taste of a prince.
Wait for her with seven pillows of cloud.
Wait for her with strands of womanly incense wafting.
Wait for her with the manly scent of sandalwood on horseback.
Wait for her and do not rush.
If she arrives late, wait for her.
If she arrives early, wait for her.
Do not frighten the birds in her braided hair.
Wait for her to sit in a garden at the peak of its flowering.
Wait for her so that she may breathe this air, so strange to her heart.
Wait for her to lift her garment from her leg, cloud by cloud.
And wait for her.
Take her to the balcony to watch the moon drowning in milk.
Wait for her and offer her water before wine.
Do not glance at the twin partridges sleeping on her chest.
Wait and gently touch her hand as she sets a cup on marble.
As if you are carrying the dew for her, wait.
Speak to her as a flute would to a frightened violin string,
as if you knew what tomorrow would bring.
Wait, and polish the night for her ring by ring.
Wait for until Night speaks to you thus:
There is no one alive but the two of you.

So take her gently to the death you so desire,
and wait.

by Mahmoud Darwish

I was brought up in south Lancashire, England (now called Merseyside), where people have a great sense of humour. Here is a poem by the Liverpool poet, Roger McGough, from the book The Mersey Sound:

At Lunchtime A Story of Love

When the busstopped suddenly to avoid
damaging a mother and child in the road, the
young lady in the green hat sitting opposite
was thrown across me, and not being one to
miss an opportunity i started to makelove
with all my body.

At first she resisted saying that it
was tooearly in the morning and toosoon
after breakfast and that anyway she found
me repulsive. But when i explained that
this being a nuclearage, the world was going
to end at lunchtime, she tookoff her
greenhat, put her busticket in her pocket
and joined in the exercise.

The buspeople, and therewere many of
them, were shockedandsurprised and amused-
andannoyed, but when the word got around
that the world was coming to an end at lunch-
time, they put their pride in their pockets
with their bustickets and madelove one with
the other. And even the busconductor, being
over, climbed into the cab and stuck up
some sort of relationship with the driver.

Thatnight, on the bus coming home,
wewere all alittle embarrased, especially me
and the young lady in the green hat, and we
allstarted to say in different ways howhasty
and foolish we had been. Butthen, always
having been a bitofalad, i stood up and
said what a pity that the world didn't nearly
end every lunchtime and that we could always
pretend. And then it happened...

Quick asa crash we all changed partners
and soon the bus was aquiver with white
mothballbodies doing naughty things.

And the next day
And everyday
In everybus
In everystreet
In everytown
In everycountry

people pretended that the world was coming
to an end at lunchtime. It still hasn't.
Although in a way it has.

Creatures of the Fire

We swan-dive into the volcano, burning;
We’re creatures of the fire,
Mingled male and female, yearning
For the heat, the sweet explosion of desire.

I splash into the pleasure, all consuming;
I’m joyfully insane,
My passion for you deep, and fully blooming;
Long after, sweet warm flickers still remain.

You make my body sizzle with your kisses,
And yet there’s so much more;
My heart is kindled, too; It knows what bliss is,
This closeness that I’ve never felt before.

My body and my heart belong to you;
I’m peaceful and complete.
I see more adventures coming for we two,
We creatures of the tender fire and heat.

Sass, that was Hot!!! What a visual tittilator! I need to go draw something!

Calm down Imma...don't hurt yourself!!...

I will have you know I am calm and as cool as a cucumber even when hot and bothered.

Yes, that was very naughty of me...you may spank me if you insist... ...ouch!!...

Nope, you'll have to ask nicely.