Ode To Tomatoes – Pablo Neruda

The street
filled with tomatoes,
midday,
summer,
light is
halved
like
a
tomato,
its juice
runs
through the streets.
In December,
unabated,
the tomato
invades
the kitchen,
it enters at lunchtime,
takes
its ease
on countertops,
among glasses,
butter dishes,
blue saltcellars.
It sheds
its own light,
benign majesty.
Unfortunately, we must
murder it:
the knife
sinks
into living flesh,
red
viscera
a cool
sun,
profound,
inexhaustible,
populates the salads
of Chile,
happily, it is wed
to the clear onion,
and to celebrate the union
we
pour
oil,
essential
child of the olive,
onto its halved hemispheres,
pepper
adds
its fragrance,
salt, its magnetism;
it is the wedding
of the day,
parsley
hoists
its flag,
potatoes
bubble vigorously,
the aroma
of the roast
knocks
at the door,
it’s time!
come on!
and, on
the table, at the midpoint
of summer,
the tomato,
star of earth, recurrent
and fertile
star,
displays
its convolutions,
its canals,
its remarkable amplitude
and abundance,
no pit,
no husk,
no leaves or thorns,
the tomato offers
its gift
of fiery color
and cool completeness.

Pablo Neruda
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Poem analysis

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Cats And Rain

“I think that the world should be full of cats and full of rain,
that’s all,
just cats and rain.”

Charles Bukowski
Gif: theletters2juliet

Shane Koyczan: The Story Of Now From GRID13

A few months ago I started a travel blog… not my own travels, but travels others have made, beautiful videos and photography from many places round the world… take a trip across the globe at The Virtual Tour.

TheVirtualTour

Washington DC
Kyaw TunUnsplash

Come see the cherry trees of a water constellation
and the round key of the rapid universe,
come touch the fire of instantaneous blue,
come before its petals are consumed.

Pablo Neruda

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Butterflies – John Keats

Another Kind Of Grass

4893-Butterflies“I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days
three such days with you I could fill with more delight
than fifty common years could ever contain.”

John Keats

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HIS HEART WAS DARKER THAN THE STARLESS NIGHT – EMILY DICKINSON

Another Kind Of Grass

http://media.giphy.com/media/K4Ah8dch7yrAs/giphy.gif

His Heart was darker than the starless night
For that there is a morn
But in this black Receptacle
Can be no Bode of Dawn

EMILY DICKINSON

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THE ART OF DROWNING – BILLY COLLINS

I wonder how it all got started, this business
about seeing your life flash before your eyes
while you drown, as if panic, or the act of submergence,
could startle time into such compression, crushing
decades in the vice of your desperate, final seconds.

After falling off a steamship or being swept away
in a rush of floodwaters, wouldn’t you hope
for a more leisurely review, an invisible hand
turning the pages of an album of photographs-
you up on a pony or blowing out candles in a conic hat.

How about a short animated film, a slide presentation?
Your life expressed in an essay, or in one model photograph?
Wouldn’t any form be better than this sudden flash?
Your whole existence going off in your face
in an eyebrow-singeing explosion of biography-
nothing like the three large volumes you envisioned.

Survivors would have us believe in a brilliance
here, some bolt of truth forking across the water,
an ultimate Light before all the lights go out,
dawning on you with all its megalithic tonnage.
But if something does flash before your eyes
as you go under, it will probably be a fish,

a quick blur of curved silver darting away,
having nothing to do with your life or your death.
The tide will take you, or the lake will accept it all
as you sink toward the weedy disarray of the bottom,
leaving behind what you have already forgotten,
the surface, now overrun with the high travel of clouds.

Billy Collins

Image

JABBERWOCKY (READ BY BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH)

THE PINES IN THE WIND

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“The moon turns its clockwork dream
The biggest stars look at me with your eyes
And as I love you, the pines in the wind
want to sing your name with their leaves of wire”

Pablo Neruda
From: Here I Love You