Flight

flying

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth,
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds, –and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of –Wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there
I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air…
Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace
Where never lark or even eagle flew —
And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

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Phenomenal Woman

pia2

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,
It’s in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can’t see.
I say,
It’s in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I’m a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
‘Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

Meet me

man

Meet me in an old book store, where the scent of pages harks back to the time when people used to live what they read.
Meet me on a rough grassy path in the park, where people used to walk to breathe, where there is a scent of wilderness to keep.
Meet me on the footsteps of a rainbow dream, where the colours are from your laughter, and where you find angels in the depths of your sleep.
Meet me on a cobblestoned street, where once mighty armies marched to a beat, where bugles sounded even in retreat.
Meet me on the strains of a guitar, where the rhythm lives inside you even as it hits you from afar.
Meet me in the rhythm of a song, when they play majestic violins as they sweep over the sea, where the only ones dancing are you & me.
Meet me in a poem, where the words are woven in a symphony, of timeless desire, of poignant pain and sighs of delight.
Meet me on a piece of paper, where timeless ink has left its mark, where the music is written but the song has yet to start.

re blogged from a very dear friend’s blog http://wilderverses.blogspot.in/

I want..

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I want to see you.

Know your voice.

Recognize you when you
first come around the corner.

Sense your scent when I come
into a room you’ve just left.

Know the lift of your heel,
the glide of your foot.

Become familiar with the way
you purse your lips
then let them part,
just the slightest bit,
when I lean in to your space
and kiss you.

I want to know the joy
of how you whisper
“more”