Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Beneath the Cherry Blossoms

By Gabriela Anaya ValdepeƱa

Would it be paradise or only purgation
to be nailed by you beneath the cherry blossoms?
Fortune or crime, that I, too wise or too
Afraid, won't dare attest your lips' promise?
Don't ask, or I will lie: I've never dreamt
your sagacious beard, your tortoise pic asleep
on my sill, my hair spread long across your belly,
your guitar trembling in my bed's shadow.
Both balls, and milk, will blue waiting for me
to come to you. You are no Washington —
though you'd never chop the tree to spite the shade
shielding my shy skin from the sun, a lie
is not beneath you, to have me lie beneath
you for a term. But passion's politics
won't reach beyond the steps of my white heart.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

Sonnet C

Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long
To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?
Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,
Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light?
Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem
In gentle numbers time so idly spent;
Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem
And gives thy pen both skill and argument.
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised every where.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

By William Shakespeare