The Laughing Heart

your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.

– Charles Bukowski

Postscript:

This reminds me of something written by Quell, only more cheerful.
Today’s a blue day, so this poem. You can read the other poem by Bukowski we’ve run courtesy Tia, Some People. And from that post, some info on Bukowski here and a well-written article here.

Sex Without Love

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other’s bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health—just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

– Sharon Olds

Submitted by:
Arvind

Postscript:

Sex as dancing, ice-skating, true religion, marathon running.
You can read a bio of Sharon Olds here and here.
You can read an interview with her in The Guardian here and an excerpt from another one here. Here you can read her giving some advice to young poets in an interview.

Caged Bird

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing
in the orange sun rays
and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks
down his narrow cage
can seldom see through
his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and
his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn bright lawn
and he names the sky his own
But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

– Maya Angelou

Submitted by:
Meera, one of my favourite people, who says “I love this poem because it speaks a little about all of us. We wish to be the free bird soaring the endless skies, but in actuality, are mostly trapped in a cage singing of glories dreamt. I guess its time we bring down the walls that are imposed by society and ourselves and lead a freer life.”

Postscript:

Meera’s said it rather well, so not much more to say. I have plans to run a number of poems by Ms. Angelou, I’m rather fond of them.
You can read more about Maya Angelou here and here.