Subtle Salvation in poems we know
Hiding our heads in a shadow of home
Now I wasn't looking for wreaths or for bells
Just someone to listen to the stories I tell
                     Glen Phillips--"Stories I Tell"
 

You can take me down
To show me your home
Not the place where you live
But the place where you belong
You can bend my ear
We can talk all day
Just make sure you're around
When I've finally got something to say
                     Glen Phillips--"Something to Say"
 
 

"I ask what is meant by the word 'poet'?  What is a poet?  To whom does he address himself?  And what language is to be expected of him?  He is a man speaking to men:  a man, it is true, endued with more lively sensibility, more enthusiasm and tenderness, who has a greater knowledge of human nature, and a more comprehensive soul, than are supposed to be common among mankind; a man pleased with his own passions and volitions, and who rejoices more than other men in the spirit of life that is in him; delighting to contemplate similar volitions and passions as manifested in the goings-on of the universe, and habitually impelled to create them where he does not find them."
                             William Wordsworth--from the "Preface" to Lyrical Ballads
 
 

Estragon:  I can't go on like this.
Vladimir:  That's what you think.
Estragon:  If we parted?  That might be better for us.
Vladimir:  We'll hang ourselves to-morrow.  (Pause.)  Unless Godot comes.
Estragon:  And if he comes?
Vladimir:  We'll be saved.
               Vladimir takes off his hat (Lucky's), peers inside it, feels about inside it, shakes it, knocks on the crown, puts
                it back on again.
Estragon:  Well?  Shall we go?
Vladimir:  Pull on your trousers.
Estragon:  What?
Vladimir:  Pull on your trousers.
Estragon:  You want me to pull off my trousers?
Vladimir:  Pull ON you trousers.
                               Samuel Beckett--from Waiting for Godot
 

        Doubtless, despite his suffering, he fell asleep while walking, for now he sees another scene--perhaps he has merely recovered from a delirium.  He stands at the gate of his own home.  All is as he left it, and all bright and beautiful in the morning sunshine.  He must have travelled the entire night.  As he pushes open the gate and passes up the wide white walk, he sees a flutter of female garments; his wife, looking fresh and cool and sweet, steps down from the verandah to meet him.  At the bottom of the steps she stands waiting, with a smile of ineffable joy, an attitude of matchless grace and dignity.  Ah, how beautiful she is!  He springs forward with extended arms.  As he is about to clasp her, he feels a stunning blow upon the back of the neck; a blinding white light blazes all about him, with a sound like a shock of a cannon--then all is darkness and silence!
        Peyton Farquhar was dead; his body, with a broken neck, swung gently from side to side beneath the timbers of the Owl Creek bridge.
                                 Ambrose Bierce--from An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge
 

I wonder if they all come out of the wall-paper as I did?
                                 Charlotte Perkins Gilman--from The YellowWallpaper

I would prefer not to.
                                 Herman Melville--from  Bartleby, the Scrivener
 

        'They're fornicating,' cried my mother, rushing to put her hands over my ears.
        'Get off,' I yelled.

                    ............................and...............................

As it is, I can't settle, I want someone who is fierce and will love me until death and know that love is as strong as death, and be on my side for ever and ever.  I want someone who will destroy and be destroyed by me.  There are many forms of love and affection, some people can spend their whole lives together without knowing each other's names.  Naming is a difficult and time-consuming process; it concerns essences, and it means power.  But on the wild nights who can call you home?  Only the one who knows your name.  Romantic love has been diluted into paperback form and has sold thousands and millions of copies.  Somewhere it is still in the original, written on tablets of stone.
                                  Jeanette Winterson--from Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit
 
 

...'alone in the woods
I've often seen
Your spirit darting among the spruces'.
                                 Micheal O'Siadhail--from the poem "Parting" from the book A Fragile City
 
 

Science teaches us that there is no sound in space and I think that's hogwash because if there is no sound in space how will all those wishes get up to the moon and anyone with an ounce of sense knows science fiction is much better than science fact because science fact tries to prove things like Thomas Jefferson wasn't diddling Sally Hemmings and everybody knows people diddle people all the time especially when they can't say no so yes there is sound in space and a large part of it says:  I love you in a lot of different ways and when the language is unknown to the hearer other people say things like that is gibberish but love can never be gibberish . . . foolish for sure . . . silly you bet but the basis of all relationships is love which is then followed by trust and not the other way around because if trust was the basis there would be world peace and safe internationnal travel but what I want to point out since it is always so important to do something useful is that you should, quite naturally, floss and nickels and dimes have a relationship with dollars and sense but not halves and quarters and machines that tell you deposit more money and Good Luck when it isn't luck that you need but better science which can explain how and why when all is said and done we are left with this density that forces us to recognize the Eagle Nebula is falling into itself and will one day be a planet though mostly we will not be around to see it and then there are those troublesome Black holes which are so totally fascinating though no one can exactly put their finger on what makes them so important and I am here to tell you I know:  the density of a Black hole does not prevent light from escaping but rather that once light encounters the Black whole it finds such beauty and peace and comfort it no longer needs to search which is another word for love . . . and I do.
                                     Nikki Giovanni--from the poem "Sound in Space" from the book Blues:  For All the Changes
 
 

If you will come

I shall put out
new pillows for
you to rest on
                                       Sappho