Brokeback Mountain: Our Community's Common Bond > Brokeback Mountain Fan Fiction & Poetry

Poems--from anywhere, for Brokeback Mountain sensitized feelings...

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twistedude:
Struck trees die black
Fire in the Air
Leaves not a Wrack
of bone or hair

            (poet's name not offered)

RouxB:
I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
 or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

Pablo Neruda

twistedude:
Just wanted to say I love the Naruda poem...it is so beautiful. It's called Sonnet 17, and the translator is not given.

twistedude:
let's see if i can do this from memory:

When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself, and curse my fate
Wishing myself like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed
Desiring this man's art and that man's scope
With what I most enjoy contented least
Yet in these thoughts, myself almost despising
 Happly I think on thee, and then my state
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate
    For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
    I then do scorn to change my place with kings. 

OldeSoul:
Love the Neruda poem (I've had it in one of my journals for awhile) and the Shakespeare as well.

Here's one I recently read, and of course BBM popped into my head:

When I go away from you
The world beats dead
Like a slackened drum.
I call out for you against the jutted stars
And shout into the ridges of the wind.
Streets coming fast,
One after the other,
Wedge you away from me,
And the lamps of the city prick my eyes
So that I can no longer see your face.
Why should I leave you,
To wound myself upon the sharp edges of the night?
~Amy Lowell

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