‘Bound for your distant home’
By Alexsandr Pushkin

Bound for your distant home
you were leaving alien lands.
In an hour as sad as I’ve known
I wept over your hands.
My hands were numb and cold,
still trying to restrain
you, whom my hurt told
never to end this pain.

But you snatched your lips away
from our bitterest kiss.
You invoked another place
than the dismal exile of this.
You said, ‘When we meet again,
in the shadow of olive-trees,
we shall kiss, in a love without pain,
under cloudless infinities.’

But there, alas, where the sky
shines with blue radiance,
where olive-tree shadows lie
on the waters glittering dance,
your beauty, your suffering,
are lost in eternity.
But the sweet kiss of our meeting ......
I wait for it: you owe it me .......

In the Afternoon of my Life

Stone is a forehead where dreams grieve
without curving waters and frozen cypresses.
Stone is a shoulder on which to bear Time
with trees formed of tears and ribbons and planets.

Federico Garcia Lorca “Lament for Ignacio Sanchez Mejias”

Things do not occur without reason,
without some special need for them.
Who will remember me? The gray that I’ve seen
Of winter’s misty streets at dusk
the lighted building windows against the darkness of the sky;
the rebirth of life and spirit that I felt
like Cherry blossoms during Spring;
the hot sultry nights of Summer
where two lovers chance fate’s decrees.
The reds, yellows and browns of Autumn’s rainbow,
that forecast Winter’s gray and white sheet.
Who will remember yesterday’s memories that
I strain to capture in these few lines for you.


I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely head

Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

What is the cause of things, why are they so?
Is it some heavenly master plan or
Fickle fate that prevented you and I from ever meeting?
Perhaps we would have not prevailed…
Or… our happiness too short lived.
But… perhaps… we would have.
For you, I would have: fought dragons,
conquered mountains,
written songs and poems,
collected flowers for your mornings,
sat by you in the afternoon
driving home from work;
brought you a blanket and my
burning body to keep you warm
during the cold nights;
loved you with all my being, for
only you have I loved, and
was honored to be loved by you.
This you must know.
Yet darkness comes to us all,
my heart’s wounds are too deep;
for I bared my soul; now the pain is
more than I can bear.
For a brief moment I wondered:
Do dreams come true after all
these years?
Alas, they remain but dreams.


The child and the afternoon do not know you
because you have died forever.

The autumn will come with small white snails,
misty grapes and with clustered hills,
but no one will look into your eyes
because you have died forever.

Because you have died for ever,
like all the dead of the earth, like all the dead who are forgotten
in a heap of lifeless dogs.

Nobody knows you. No. But I sing of you.
For posterity I sing of your profile and grace.

I sing of [your] elegance with words that groan,
and I remember a sad breeze through the olive trees.

Federico Garcia Lorca “Llanto por Ignacio Sanchez Mejias”

In the afternoon of my life, I sit on a rock
I can't see all the other rocks;
my thoughts are buried there.
I don't want to remember the past,
The present is but an instant, and
I don't care about the “future”.
“Past, present, future”... they are but
words that some philosopher made up;
they have no relevance for the dead
and the dying.

By: Homeless with a Laptop, That is my Name

Dedicated to Kara...

Our Wood...

Is a magical place
where I laid my head...
in your lap... and ran my
fingers through your hair...
I told you my greatest dreams
and cried my saddest songs...
where my dreams came to...
nothing

I dreamed of finding you
in our wood...
of birches and firs
of sunflowers and golden bumblebees
who buzzed and buzzed
around two ghostly figures
that sought to find one another...
and almost did

I cried for the peace of our wood
by a brook of crystal waters
formed by tears of...
anguished hearts who roam and roam
the valleys and hills of life
in search of ...
a dream too good to be true...
and it is

The slumber of drunkenness
provides no relief, nor brings me closer...
to our wood, where we sought to join
in a place that time stood still
where joy would last...
but whose magic is short-lived

That I’ve resigned myself to a life...
of... dreams, slumber, dizzing heights
and deepest lows...is but a dialectical process.
A statue in our wood dries... ever harder
and harder... the plaster conforms...
to fate’s unseen hand that shapes...
a mold it did not choose ... my
contribution is the tear in its eye

The Muse

By Barbara Millar
Posted and loved by Homeless with a Laptop, That is my Name

You may hide before she sees you
But she will find you. She will
Call your name. You’ll hear
Her mad, bewitching moan, and,
You, a shipwrecked sailor, drown
In the undulating waves of her devotion
As she rides the tides of your emotion;
And when she’s gone,
She’ll haunt you
As the day is long,
And you will mourn.

She will wrap you in her long, blonde tresses
The way your ligaments coil round
Your bones and tendons,
Taut, yet yielding,
Moving where you move.

You must shed your skin
So she can feel the bare, attenuated sinew
And where the nerves begin and end.

Her laughter falls like tiny drops of mist
Upon your face and hands;
She hears the sound that pleasure makes
When pleasure aches
As only pleasure can.

You’ll wish your face were wet with kisses,
Her lips upon your lips and lashes
When dawn unties her golden tresses
And dresses her in morning mists.

And when the night softly undresses
Veil by veil her silk and laces,
The moon will smile her silver smile, her body
More lovely than her face is.

She’ll kneel before you on the ground
And ask the stars to wear her crown.
You lay her on a bed of down.

Her golden hair your hands caress
And you, your love, to her confess
With every wave of tenderness
That heaves from one who has been blessed.

And when you lay in deepest sleep
She’ll quietly retreat into the corners of your dreams.
She is more than what she seems.
Neither lover nor wife, she is the dawn that comes
In the middle of your life.

I Wish I Were an Echo

By Gabriela Anaya Valdepeña


Once, my wishes were selfless;
But I stopped wasting them on the world.

I only wish now to be an echo.

If I could give my words anything,
it would be fingers.

I can’t explain to you why
I prefer midwives to physicians.

But if I ever give birth again,
it will be upright,
holding on to the limb of a lotus.

The best prisons are those
in which a prisoner is given freedom,
for in confusion lies enslavement.

May I be your fiancé again?
Being a wife has turned my eyes gray.

I am in love with circles,
suspicious of corners, because
they are the first place
someone looks for you when you hide.

I am in love with clocks,
especially on towers,
I trust what they say.

I cannot trust mirrors or pictures.

It is difficult to gauge my own face.

For every bad thing I hear,
I must tell myself two good things.

If I were an echo,
I would become what I speak.

Moonlight

I sometimes think that never blows so red
The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely head
Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

I like to listen to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata and think of the moon’s reflection on a lake... dreaming... thinking of life and its possibilities... it is a feeling of beauty and wonderment at the majesty of it all...

Dining with Homeless

Lemon Grass Beef w/chili Bo Xao Xa Ot by Doug

Ingredients

2-3 pounds beef (or chicken)
4 cloves garlic
1 large yellow or white onion
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons minced lemon grass
1 teaspoon ground chilies (to taste)
4 tablespoon fish sauce (Nuoc Mam)
2-3 spring (green) onion stalks
2-3 tablespoons coarsely ground peanuts
1 tablespoon sugar
1 tablespoons honey

Directions

Cut beef into small pieces (either "nuggets" or small strips).
Peel garlic and slice finely.
Cut onion into 1/2 inch strips.
Peel off the hard outer layers of lemon grass stalk and discard.
Peel off the medium layers of lemon grass stalk for stewing purposes
Mince the soft inner layers of the stalk.
Heat oil in large frying pan over medium heat.
Add salt, garlic and onion.
Fry over medium heat until onion is opaque.
Add lemon grass and chili.
Fry 1 - 2 minutes until fragrant.
Add beef and cook until lightly browned.
Mix in fish sauce, sugar and honey.
Cook until beef is the way you like it.
Stir occasionally and add water if necessary.
Remove the medium layers of lemon grass stalk before serving

Serving Instructions

Serve over white rice. Garnish with peanuts and thin slices of spring onion stalk. I like mine [the author of the recipe – not moi] with a Vietnamese chili-garlic sauce (Tuong Ot Toi Viet Nam: it's the best hot sauce EVER- I sometimes use it in the recipe instead of the garlic and pepper). (The above notes are provided by the recipe author)

Recipe by Doug [Didn't write down his last name]

Homeless with a Laptop, That is my Name's version of the above recipe

Pop a frozen pizza into microwave oven, heat for 5 minutes on high, remove pizza from the microwave and begin eating

This post and the last paragraph by Homeless with a Laptop, That is my Name