So apparently the previous poetry thread got deleted, and that's sad for me because I LOVE poetry so here's another one!! . Just make sure you put the website or book or whatever that you got the poem from after it, ok? Apparently it was referencing problems that got the last one deleted... I'll start for you 
Having
a Coke with You
is
even more fun than going to San Sebastian, Irún, Hendaye, Biarritz,
Bayonne
or being sick to my stomach on the Travesera de Gracia in
Barcelona
partly because in your orange shirt you look like a
better happier St. Sebastian
partly because of my love for you,
partly because of your love for yoghurt
partly because of the
fluorescent orange tulips around the birches
partly because of the
secrecy our smiles take on before people and statuary
it is hard
to believe when I’m with you that there can be anything as still
as
solemn as unpleasantly definitive as statuary when right in front of
it
in the warm New York 4 o’clock light we are drifting back and
forth
between each other like a tree breathing through its
spectacles
and
the portrait show seems to have no faces in it at all, just paint
you
suddenly wonder why in the world anyone ever did them
I
look
at you and I would rather look at you than all the portraits
in the world
except possibly for the Polish Rider occasionally and
anyway it’s in the Frick
which thank heavens you haven’t gone
to yet so we can go together the first time
and the fact that you
move so beautifully more or less takes care of Futurism
just as at
home I never think of the Nude Descending a Staircase or
at a
rehearsal a single drawing of Leonardo or Michelangelo that used to
wow me
and what good does all the research of the Impressionists
do them
when they never got the right person to stand near the
tree when the sun sank
or for that matter Marino Marini when he
didn’t pick the rider as carefully
as the horse
it
seems they were all cheated of some marvelous experience
which is
not going to go wasted on me which is why I am telling you about it
Frank O’Hara
You Are Tired
You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I.
Come
with me, then,
And we’ll leave it far and far away–
(Only
you and I, understand!)
You
have played,
(I think)
And broke the toys you were fondest
of,
And are a little tired now;
Tired of things that break,
and–
Just tired.
So am I.
But
I come with a dream in my eyes tonight,
And knock with a rose at
the hopeless gate of your heart–
Open to me!
For I will show
you the places Nobody knows,
And, if you like,
The perfect
places of Sleep.
Ah,
come with me!
I’ll blow you that wonderful bubble, the
moon,
That floats forever and a day;
I’ll sing you the
jacinth song
Of the probable stars;
I will attempt the
unstartled steppes of dream,
Until I find the Only Flower,
Which
shall keep (I think) your little heart
While the moon comes out of
the sea.
- E.E. Cummings
www.readalittlepoetry.wordpress.com/2006/01/07/you-are-tired-by-e-e-cummings/
These are two poems that I would read to someone very dear to me over Skype before she fell asleep (or really, passed out from tiredness). I love them, not because they remind me of her but because they touch that romantic part of my being that allows me to be free. I love them.
