Poetry Sunday: Christopher Marlowe

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love by Christopher Marlowe

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

 

And we will sit upon the Rocks,
Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow Rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing Madrigals.

 

And I will make thee beds of Roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle;

 

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

 

A belt of straw and Ivy buds,
With Coral clasps and Amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

 

The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

my soul cries out

The train pulls away from the station

taking my heart 

and leaving me standing on the platform

with silent tears streaming down my cheeks. 

Heavy feet carry me out of the station

and into the cool night air

where the stars and moon stare down 

as passive observers to my anguish.

My soul cried out in agony

begging to be returned 

to its beloved,

and every step that takes me further

away from you

slowly tears apart my chest

until the dam splits and is rendered useless.

I stand alone on the dark and empty commons

weeping and wishing for your warmth

and your hand in mine.

My soul eagerly awaits the day

it once again stands before you

full to the point of overflowing with love.

A Week of Stolen Kisses

A week of stolen kisses

and subtly intense glances with eyes flicking away at the last moment

was the most difficult challenge.

The SAT, my exams, interviews-

nothing could hold a candle to it.

Oh how I wanted to wrap you up in my arms

and kiss you until the stars came out.

I stole kisses where I could,

in the coolness of the basement

far from prying eyes,

beside the bonfire

with flickering flames to hide our faces,

on the balcony hidden in shadows

beneath the midnight moon.

Heart racing in the moments of near capture

and stifled giggles muffled in pillows.

I’m curled against you when I wake,

your arm pulled tight around my waist

intertwined with dreams and reality

and begging the sun to wait

just 15 minutes more.

When I Say ‘I love you’

When I say ‘I love you’, I do not say it lightly. Those three words are heavy with the weight of all I feel for you. I have filled my heart to its breaking point, to where the seams are splitting in earnest, begging to let the affection pour from its boundaries. The cage of my ribs is too small to hold all the love I have for you. It beats against the door and picks the lock and sneaks out in those three words – those small words that possess an ocean of passion. I thought saying those words would make you run, would make you search for the shoreline in dismay. My brain insisted it was too early, while my heart pleaded with me to say the words before it was too late. I said them softly the first time, and they were past the barriers of my lips before I knew they had even been formed. Your eyes held mine, and I could see your soul smiling as those three words hung in the air. You tasted them, and found them pleasurable, and for the first time I heard those three words repeated back. And now I repeat them as often as I can, whispered to you in the queue for groceries, breathed out in a sigh as I lay by your side, murmured into the crook of your neck in the early mornings, mumbled as I wake from an afternoon nap, said without any hesitation as we dance around each other in the kitchen. When I say ‘I love you’, I say it again and again, not because I do not believe it, but because the words are so delightful to taste and their pleasure will never grow old or wither away.  Saying ‘I love you’ has become the beautiful part of my day, a thrilling adventure wrapped up in three words, eight letters.

Barefaced Burning Blue Gaze

You have eyes the color of the Pacific

just as the sun dips below

the horizon

and the thunder heads roll across

the surface of the ocean.

The wind is kicking up the

whitecaps

and tossing waves into

cliffs.

A hammered blue steel surrounds the

wide darkness of your pupils,

a midnight kissed with flecks of stardust

and populated with flashes of lightening.

My skin was burning where your fingers traced,

across my stomach

down the lines in my back

against the softness of my cheek.

The electric current racing over the

roaring of my heart and mind.

Then a stillness appears,

like the pause between breaths

the lull of the wind

the gap between the sets of waves.

I look into your eyes

and I am speechless,

held in your barefaced burning blue gaze.