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Old 04-26-2010, 12:53 AM   #81
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a poem by e.e. cummings

since feeling is first
who pays any attention
to the syntax of things
will never wholly kiss you;

wholly to be a fool
while Spring is in the world

my blood approves,
and kisses are a better fate
than wisdom
lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry
-- the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then
laugh, leaning back in my arms
for life's not a paragraph

And death i think is no parenthesis
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Old 04-26-2010, 01:33 AM   #82
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The Wind Sings Welcome in Early Spring
~ Carl Sandburg

(For Paula)THE GRIP of the ice is gone now.
The silvers chase purple.
The purples tag silver.
They let out their runners
Here where summer says to the lilies:
“Wish and be wistful,
Circle this wind-hunted, wind-sung water.”

Come along always, come along now.
You for me, kiss me, pull me by the ear.
Push me along with the wind push.
Sing like the whinnying wind.
Sing like the hustling obstreperous wind.

Have you ever seen deeper purple …
this in my wild wind fingers?
Could you have more fun with a pony or a goat?
Have you seen such flicking heels before,
Silver jig heels on the purple sky rim?
Come along always, come along now.
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Old 04-26-2010, 08:53 AM   #83
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The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behind the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside them in her apron
To tell them "Supper." At the word, the saw,
As if to prove saws knew what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy's hand, or seemed to leap—
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
The boy's first outcry was a rueful laugh,
As he swung toward them holding up the hand
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all—
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man's work, though a child at heart—
He saw all spoiled. "Don't let him cut my hand off—
The doctor, when he comes. Don't let him, sister!"
So. But the hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then—the watcher at his pulse took fright.
No one believed. They listened at his heart.
Little—less—nothing!—and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs.

Out, Out - Robert Frost
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Old 04-26-2010, 08:56 AM   #84
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Red's back. With my favorite poet in the whole world. Life is good.
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Old 04-26-2010, 08:58 AM   #85
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NAMING OF PARTS

To-day we have naming of parts. Yesterday,
We had daily cleaning. And to-morrow morning,
We shall have what to do after firing. But to-day,
To-day we have naming of parts. Japonica
Glistens like coral in all of the neighboring gardens,
And to-day we have naming of parts.

This is the lower sling swivel. And this
Is the upper sling swivel, whose use you will see,
When you are given your slings. And this is the piling swivel,
Which in your case you have not got. The branches
Hold in the gardens their silent, eloquent gestures,
Which in our case we have not got.

This is the safety-catch, which is always released
With an easy flick of the thumb. And please do not let me
See anyone using his finger. You can do it quite easy
If you have any strength in your thumb. The blossoms
Are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see
Any of them using their finger.

And this you can see is the bolt. The purpose of this
Is to open the breech, as you see. We can slide it
Rapidly backwards and forwards: we call this
Easing the spring. And rapidly backwards and forwards
The early bees are assaulting and fumbling the flowers:
They call it easing the Spring.

They call it easing the Spring: it is perfectly easy
If you have any strength in your thumb: like the bolt,
And the breech, and the cocking-piece, and the point of balance,
Which in our case we have not got; and the almond-blossom
Silent in all of the gardens and the bees going backwards and forwards,
For to-day we have naming of parts.

mp3 of Henry Reed reading the poem, here:
http://www.solearabiantree.net/namin...ngofparts.html
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Old 04-26-2010, 09:32 AM   #86
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THE fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

Fog - Carl Sandburg
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Old 04-26-2010, 09:35 AM   #87
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One of my all time favorites.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought --
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

Jabberwocky - Lewis Carroll
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Old 04-28-2010, 02:43 AM   #88
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Bonnard's Nudes
by Raymond Carver


His wife. Forty years he painted her.
Again and again. The nude in the last painting
the same young nude as the first. His wife.


As he remember her young. As she was young.
His wife in her bath. At her dressing table
in front of the mirror. Undressed.


His wife with her hands under her breasts
looking out on the garden.
The sun bestowing warmth and color.


Every living thing in bloom there.
She young and tremulous and most desirable.
When she died, he painted a while longer.


A few landscapes. Then died.
And was put down next to her.
His young wife.
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Old 04-28-2010, 02:58 AM   #89
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I used to do a little but a little wouldn't do it
So a little got more and more
I just keep trying to get a little better
Said a little better than before
I used to do a little but a little wouldn't do it
So a little got more and more
I just keep trying to get a little better
Said a little better than before
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Old 04-28-2010, 10:49 PM   #90
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may i feel said he
by E. E. Cummings

may i feel said he
(i'll squeal said she
just once said he)
it's fun said she

(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she

(let's go said he
not too far said she
what's too far said he
where you are said she)

may i stay said he
which way said she
like this said he
if you kiss said she

may i move said he
is it love said she)
if you're willing said he
(but you're killing said she

but it's life said he
but your wife said she
now said he)
ow said she

(tiptop said he
don't stop said she
oh no said he)
go slow said she

(cccome?said he
ummm said she)
you're divine!said he
(you are Mine said she)
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Old 04-28-2010, 11:37 PM   #91
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Circe: when I had to learn to memorize [and recite] a poem in college, that was the one I did.

This is low poetry [if it's poetry], but it cracked me up.

Unknown

He didn't like the casserole
And he didn't like my cake,
He said my biscuits were too hard
Not like his mother used to make.
I didn't perk the coffee right
He didn't like the stew,
I didn't mend his socks
The way his mother used to do.
I pondered for an answer
I was looking for a clue.
Then I turned around and
smacked the shit out of him...

Like his mother used to do.
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Old 04-28-2010, 11:43 PM   #92
Circe Timtam
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The only poem I ever had to memorize was Jabberwocky. But I grew up in a home with a mathematician father who would make mobius strips to amuse me, randomly spout Robert Frost, Ogden Nash or Lewis Carroll poetry, stop me on my way to my room to listen to Fernando by Abba, made me ponder the poetry behind Simon & Garfunkel lyrics and would pause while walking through the living room to fart on the cat's head.

So for some inexplicable (ha!) reason, having to memorize Jabberwocky seemed completely normal to me and I haven't forgotten it to this day.
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Old 04-30-2010, 02:15 AM   #93
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12 FL OZ

Cream and crimson cylinder
Coca-Cola can
In a thousand years someone may dig thee up
And think thee
Ancient Art

- P2, 1980
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Old 05-02-2010, 02:46 AM   #94
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A Poison Tree
by William Blake

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I water'd it in fears,
Night and morning with my tear;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright:
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.
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Old 05-02-2010, 03:28 AM   #95
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IN THE FOREST

Out of the mid-wood's twilight
Into the meadow's dawn,
Ivory limbed and brown-eyed,
Flashes my Faun!

He skips through the copses singing,
And his shadow dances along,
And I know not which I should follow,
Shadow or song!

O Hunter, snare me his shadow!
O Nightingale, catch me his strain!
Else moonstruck with music and madness
I track him in vain!

-Oscar Wilde
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Old 05-02-2010, 03:35 AM   #96
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The Tiger
by William Blake

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
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Old 05-04-2010, 02:08 AM   #97
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The Chilterns

Your hands, my dear, adorable,
Your lips of tenderness
-Oh, I've loved you faithfully and well,
Three years, or a bit less.
It wasn't a success.

Thank God, that's done! and I'll take the road,
Quit of my youth and you,
The Roman road to Wendover
By Tring and Lilley Hoo,
As a free man may do.

For youth goes over, the joys that fly,
The tears that follow fast;
And the dirtiest things we do must lie
Forgotten at the last;
Even love goes past.

What's left behind I shall not find,
The splendor and the pain;
The splash of sun, the shouting wind,
And the brave sting of rain,
I may not meet again.

But the years, that take the best away,
Give something in the end;
And a better friend than love have they,
For none to mar or mend,
That have themselves to friend.

I shall desire and I shall find
The best of my desires;
The autumn road, the mellow wind
That soothes the darkening shires.
And laughter, and inn-fires.

White mist about the black hedgerows,
The slumbering Midland plain,
The silence where the clover grows,
And the dead leaves in the lane,
Certainly, these remain.

And I shall find some girl perhaps,
And a better one than you,
With eyes as wise, but kindlier,
With lips as soft, but true.
And I daresay she will do.





The Chilterns
Rupert Brooke
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Old 05-04-2010, 10:53 AM   #98
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Joy Honey View Post
Speaking of poems that you've known for a looooong-ass time - this one's been in my head for 30 years! I hope I remembered it properly

One bright day in the middle of the night
Two dead boys got up to fight.
Back to back they faced each other,
drew their swords and shot each other.
A deaf policeman heard the noise,
turned and shot those two dead boys.
If you don't believe this lie is true
ask the blind man, he saw it, too.

It has more. Actually a prelude:

Ladies and Gentlemen
I stand before you as I stand behind you
I am here to tell you something I know nothing about
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Old 05-08-2010, 10:46 PM   #99
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"For No Clear Reason" by Robert Creeley

I dreamt last night
the fright was over, that
the dust came, and then water,
and women and men, together
again, and all was quiet
in the dim moon’s light.

A paean of such patience—
laughing, laughing at me,
and the days extend over
the earth’s great cover,
grass, trees, and flower-
ing season, for no clear reason.
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Old 05-09-2010, 12:26 AM   #100
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Vivianne Draper View Post
It has more. Actually a prelude:

Ladies and Gentlemen
I stand before you as I stand behind you
I am here to tell you something I know nothing about
That part wasn't in the book I read it in!
thanks!
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It's just words! It's not magic unicorn poop smeared on the tarot cards by a gypsy soothsayer in a voodoo trance.

"Listen, cop, I'm on the verge of disliking you."

One of the hardest things to believe is the abysmal depth of human stupidity. - Robert A. Heinlein
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Old 05-09-2010, 12:44 AM   #101
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You can't order a poem like you order a taco.
Walk up to the counter, say, I'll take two
and expect it to be handed back to you
on a shiny plate.

Still, I like your spirit.
Anyone who says, Here's my address,
write me a poem, deserves something in reply.
So I'll tell you a secret instead:
poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,
they are sleeping. They are shad- ows
drifting across our ceilings the moment
before we wake up. What we have to do
is live in a way that lets us find them.

Once I knew a man who gave his wife
two skunks for a valentine.
He could'nt understand why she was crying.
I thought they had such beautiful eyes.
And he was serious. He was a serious man
who lived in a serious way. Nothing was ugly
just because the world said so. He really
liked those skunks. So, he re-invented them
as valentines and they became beautiful.
At least, to him. And the poems that had been
hiding
in the eyes of skunks for centuries
crawled out and curled up at his feet.

Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give us,
we find poems. Check your garage, the odd sock
in your drawer, the person you almost like, but
not quite.

And let me know.
-Naomi Shihab Nye
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Old 05-10-2010, 09:15 AM   #102
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Riprap
Lay down these words
Before your mind like rocks.
placed solid, by hands
In choice of place, set
Before the body of the mind
in space and time:
Solidity of bark, leaf, or wall
riprap of things:
Cobble of milky way.
straying planets,
These poems, people,
lost ponies with
Dragging saddles –
and rocky sure-foot trails.
The worlds like an endless
four-dimensional
Game of Go.
ants and pebbles
In the thin loam, each rock a word
a creek-washed stone
Granite: ingrained
with torment of fire and weight
Crystal and sediment linked hot
all change, in thoughts,
As well as things.


Gary Snyder
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Old 05-11-2010, 01:27 PM   #103
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Night Thoughts
Godfrey Elton

There's a wind to-night in the apple-trees,
My father below has turned his keys,
But how up there shall I sleep at ease--
There's a wind to-night in the apple-trees?
Far off, beyond my half-shut doors
The clock ticks slowly, with never a pause.
In the darkness I hear the fluttering blind;
I will go to the window, what shall I find?

O, fearfully still is the moonlit ride
Where apple blossom falls like a tide:
But can that be a storm-blown shadow, see,
That moves like a robber from tree to tree?
I can see him too at the high road edge
There, where the blossom blows over the hedge!
What a snow of moonlit blossom! Hark!
There's a dog in the village beginning to bark.
While calmly beyond my half-shut doors
The clock ticks slowly with never a pause.

Last edited by Gabe Lippmann; 05-11-2010 at 02:36 PM. Reason: MY KINGDOM FOR A "D"
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Old 05-11-2010, 01:37 PM   #104
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DRUMMER HODGE
(Thomas Hardy)


I

They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
Uncoffined - just as found:
His landmark is a kopje-crest
That breaks the veldt around;
And foreign constellations west
Each night above his mound.

II

Young Hodge the Drummer never knew -
Fresh from his Wessex home -
The meaning of the broad Karoo,
The Bush, the dusty loam,
And why uprose to nightly view
Strange stars amid the gloam.

III

Yet portion of that unknown plain
Will Hodge forever be;
His homely Northern breast and brain
Grow to some Southern tree,
And strange-eyed constellations reign
His stars eternally.



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Old 05-11-2010, 02:29 PM   #105
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That part wasn't in the book I read it in!
thanks!
oh geesh there's more -- i just remembered it.

Ladies and Gentlemen;
I stand before you as I stand behind you
I am here to tell you something I know nothing about
Next Tuesday, which is Good Friday
There will be a mother's meeting for fathers only
No admission, pay at the door
Pull out a seat and sit on the floor.
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Old 05-12-2010, 02:53 AM   #106
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Old 05-13-2010, 12:28 AM   #107
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A Wraith Of Summertime
(
James Whitcomb Riley)

In its color, shade and shine,
'T was a summer warm as wine,
With an effervescent flavoring of flowered bough and vine,
And a fragrance and a taste
Of ripe roses gone to waste,
And a dreamy sense of sun- and moon- and star-light interlaced.

'Twas a summer such as broods
O'er enchanted solitudes,
Where the hand of Fancy leads us through voluptuary moods,
And with lavish love out-pours
All the wealth of out-of-doors,
And woos our feet o'er velvet paths and honeysuckle floors.

'Twas a summertime long dead,--
And its roses, white and red,
And its reeds and water-lilies down along the river-bed,--
O they all are ghostly things--
For the ripple never sings,
And the rocking lily never even rustles as it rings!

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Old 05-13-2010, 06:14 PM   #108
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Wake up, Niggers
~The Last Poets (of Harlem) [Alafía Pudím]
{*chants of "Wake up" and "Wake up, niggers!" occurs throughout the song}
Night, descends, as the sun's light ends
And black comes back, to blend again
And with the depth of the sun
Night blackness become one
Blackness being you
peeping through the red, the white, and the blue
Dreaming of bars, black civilizations that once florished and grew
HEY! - WAKE UP, NIGGERS or y'all through!!

Drowning in the puddle of the white man's spit
as you pause for some drawers in the midst of shit
And ain't got nothing to save your funky-ass with!
You cool, fool - sipping on a menthol cigarette 'round midnight
Rapping about how the Big Apple is outta sight, when you ain't never had a bite
Who are you fooling? Me, you
Wake up, niggers or ya ALL through!

In Uptown, two roaches are drowned in each other's piss
In Downtown, interracial lovers secretly kiss
while junkies are dreaming of total bliss
Somewhere in the atmospheeeere, far away from heeeeere
Beyond realms of white dimensions, gathered by suppressed intentions
As their CRIES, cries, cries go unrecognized
except by their keeper, the Grim Reaper
"SAVE ME!!," a carnity shout, as the lights go out
'cause you ain't paid your 'lectric bill
and the rats and roaches move on in for the kill
As your lips struggle the Grain, that last drought from the wine bottle
And you roll snake eyes, never to realizing that you BLEW
WAKE up, niggers or ya all through!

Sitting in the corner with your minds tied to your behinds
Bonafied members of Niggers Anonymous
never knowing which way you're going - pimpin' off life
Turning tricks to slick dicks, with candy asses
"All masses are behelding a mind mourning for the Late Great black maaaaaaan.."
(Ahhhhhhh-meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen...)
YOU NIGGERS UNDERSTAND?! UP AGAINST THE WALL
black male and farmers, are a-blow you away
And you'll never live to see the light of day
And the nightstick, the nightstick it glides GRACEFULLY upside yo' head
That's right, brothers and sisters, YOU livin' dead
When the cock crows, and the night goes
and it saves your ass in the nick of time
As you wake up and you start to find
yourself, laying up in bed - scratching your ass in hand
Trying to remember where you recall this veneer nightmare
that always leave you feelin' blue
But you still can't place, The Man face, as hard as you try to
HEY! - WAKE UP, NIGGERS OR WE ALL THROUGH!!!

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Old 05-13-2010, 06:19 PM   #109
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Casey's Revenge

Grantland Rice


There were saddened hearts in Mudville for a week or even more;
There were muttered oaths and curses --every fan in town was sore.
"Just think," said one, "how soft it looked with Casey at the bat!
And then to think he'd go and spring a bush-league trick like that."

All his past fame was forgotten; he was now a hopeless "shine."
They called him "Strike-out Casey" from the mayor down the line,
And as he came to bat each day his bosom heaved a sigh,
While a look of hopeless fury shone in mighty Casey's eye.

The lane is long, someone has said, that never turns again,
And fate, though fickle, often gives another chance to men.
And Casey smiled -- his rugged face no longer wore a frown;
The pitcher who had started all the trouble came to town.

All Mudville had assembled; ten thousand fans had come
To see the twirler who had put big Casey on the bum;
And when he stepped into the box, the multitude went wild.
He doffed his cap in proud disdain -- but Casey only smiled.

"Play ball!," the umpire's voice rang out, and then the game began;
But in that throng of thousands there was not a single fan
Who thought that Mudville had a chance; and with the setting sun
Their hopes sank low -- the rival team was leading "four to one."

The last half of the ninth came round, with no change in the score;
But when the first man up hit safe the crowd began to roar.
The din increased, the echo of ten thousand shouts was heard
When the pitcher hit the second and gave "four balls" to the third.

Three men on base -- nobody out -- three runs to tie the game!
A triple meant the highest niche in Mudville's hall of fame;
But here the rally ended and the gloom was deep as night
When the fourth one "fouled to catcher" and the fifth "flew out to right."

A dismal groan in chorus came -- a scowl was on each face --
When Casey walked up, bat in hand, and slowly took his place;
His bloodshot eyes in fury gleamed; his teeth were clinched in hate;
He gave his cap a vicious hook and pounded on the plate.

But fame is fleeting as the wind, and glory fades away;
There were no wild and wooly cheers, no glad acclaim this day.
They hissed and groaned and hooted as they clamored, "Strike him out!"
But Casey gave no outward sign that he had heard this shout.

The pitcher smiled and cut one loose; across the plate it spread;
Another hiss, another groan. "Strike one!" the umpire said.
Zip! Like a shot, the second curve broke just below his knee--
"Strike two!" the umpire roared aloud; but Casey made no plea.

No roasting for the umpire now -- his was an easy lot;
But here the pitcher whirled again -- was that a rifle shot?
A whack! a crack! and out through space the leather pellet flew,
A blot against the distant sky, a speck against the blue.

Above the fence in center field, in rapid whirling flight,
The sphere sailed on; the blot grew dim and then was lost to sight.
Ten thousand hats were thrown in air, ten thousand threw a fit,
But no one ever found the ball that mighty Casey hit!

Oh, somewhere in this favored land dark clouds may hide the sun.
And somewhere bands no longer play and children have no fun;
And somewhere over blighted lives there hangs a heavy pall;
But Mudville hearts are happy now -- for Casey hit the ball!
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Old 05-16-2010, 03:08 AM   #110
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Old 05-16-2010, 03:10 AM   #111
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Once in the 40s
by William Stafford

We were alone one night on a long

road in Montana. This was in winter, a big
night, far to the stars. We had hitched,
my wife and I, and left our ride at
a crossing to go on. Tired and cold--but
brave--we trudged along. This, we said,
was our life, watched over, allowed to go
where we wanted. We said we'd come back some time
when we got rich. We'd leave the others and find
a night like this, whatever we had to give,
and no matter how far, to be so happy again.
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Old 05-16-2010, 03:23 AM   #112
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http://www.poetryfoundation.org/jour...m.html?id=1750

Fever 103°

by Sylvia Plath

Pure? What does it mean?
The tongues of hell
Are dull, dull as the triple

Tongues of dull, fat Cerebus

Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable
Of licking clean

The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.

The tinder cries.
The indelible smell

Of a snuffed candle!

Love, love, the low smokes roll
From me like Isadora's scarves, I'm in a fright

One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel.

Such yellow sullen smokes
Make their own element. They will not rise,

But trundle round the globe

Choking the aged and the meek,
The weak

Hothouse baby in its crib,

The ghastly orchid
Hanging its hanging garden in the air,

Devilish leopard!

Radiation turned it white
And killed it in an hour.

Greasing the bodies of adulterers

Like Hiroshima ash and eating in.
The sin. The sin.

Darling, all night

I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.

Three days. Three nights.

Lemon water, chicken
Water, water make me retch.

I am too pure for you or anyone.

Your body
Hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern ----

My head a moon

Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin
Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.

Does not my heat astound you. And my light.

All by myself I am a huge camellia
Glowing and coming and going, flush on flush.

I think I am going up,

I think I may rise ----
The beads of hot metal fly, and I, love, I

Am a pure acetylene

Virgin
Attended by roses,

By kisses, by cherubim,

By whatever these pink things mean.
Not you, nor him.

Not him, nor him

(My selves dissolving, old whore petticoats) ----
To Paradise.


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Old 05-18-2010, 09:21 PM   #113
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Stop locking yourself in this thread *shakes fist*

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
- Robert Frost.
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Old 05-25-2010, 04:21 AM   #114
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O Best of All Nights, Return and Return Again
by James Laughlin

How she let her long hair down over her shoulders, making a
love cave around her face. Return and return again.
How when the lamplight was lowered she pressed against
him, twining her fingers in his. Return and return again.
How their legs swam together like dolphins and their toes
played like little tunnies. Return and return again.
How she sat beside him cross-legged, telling him stories of
her childhood. Return and return again.
How she closed her eyes when his were open, how they
breathed together, breathing each other. Return and return again.
How they fell into slumber, their bodies curled together like
two spoons. Return and return again.
How they went together to Otherwhere, the fairest land they
had ever seen. Return and return again.
O best of all nights, return and return again.
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Old 05-25-2010, 10:18 PM   #115
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DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT
by Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
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Old 05-25-2010, 10:56 PM   #116
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By someone Bard Knows intimately...

Get it Up
a Priapic Paean to C.P.

“Get it up!” you say
like a breath of wind across the bay,
angelic annunciation.
“I've got a plan,
it's singing in my veins:
I am harbor to your tidal rise -
open, immovable.
Roll in waves under gluteal riptide,
crash liquid bones against headlands;
deep cove, beachhead, sea-cliff.
Life has a plan - get it up!”

“Humm humm! “I say
like the rumble of thunder from far away,
atmospheric answer.
“You know the plan,
it's written in your blood:
I am clay on your potter's wheel -
pliable, dense.
Turn the table under striving thighs,
form your icon with glistening hands;
obelisk, totem, temple arch.
Life has a plan - get it up!”

“Yes yes!” we say
like a strike of lightning on a summer day,
apocalyptic allegiance.
We are the plan,
it's pressed into our flesh:
We are spark and tinder to pelvic wildfire -
smoking at flash point.
Spin the world on implacable axes,
join us with unstoppable forces;
fusion, fission, event horizon.
Life has a plan - get it up!
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Old 05-26-2010, 10:39 AM   #117
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Love Sonnet XVII
by Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were a salt rose, or topaz
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
So I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
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Old 05-31-2010, 06:47 PM   #118
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The Call of the Winds by Lucy Maud Montgomery
Ho, come out with the wind of spring,
And step it blithely in woodlands waking;
Friend am I of each growing thing
From the gray sod into sunshine breaking;
Mine is the magic of twilights dim,
Of violets blue on the still pool's rim,
Mine is the breath of the blossoms young
Sweetest of fragrances storied or sung*
Come, ye earth-children, weary and worn,
I will lead you over the hills of morn.

Ho, come out with the summer wind,
And loiter in meadows of ripening clover,
Where the purple noons are long and kind,
And the great white clouds drift fleecily over.
Mine is immortal minstrelsy,
The fellowship of the rose and bee,
Beguiling laughter of willowed rills,
The rejoicing of pines on inland hills,
Come, ye earth-children, by dale and stream,
I will lead you into the ways of dream.

Ho, when the wind of autumn rings
Through jubilant mornings crisp and golden,
Come where the yellow woodland flings
Its hoarded wealth over by-ways olden.
Mine are the grasses frosted and sere,
That lisp and rustle around the mere,
Mine are the flying racks that dim
The lingering sunset's reddening rim,
Earth-children, come, in the waning year,
I will harp you to laughter and buoyant cheer.

Ho, when the wind of winter blows
Over the uplands and moonlit spaces,
Come ye out to the waste of snows,
To the glimmering fields and the silent places.
I whistle gaily on starry nights
Through the arch of the elfin northern lights,
But in long white valleys I pause to hark
Where the ring of the home-lights gems the dark.
Come, ye earth-children, whose hearts are sad,
I will make you valiant and strong and glad!
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Old 06-04-2010, 06:47 PM   #119
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The Slave's Complaint
(
George Moses Horton)


Am I sadly cast aside,
On misfortune's rugged tide?
Will the world my pains deride
Forever?

Must I dwell in Slavery's night,
And all pleasure take its flight,
Far beyond my feeble sight,
Forever?

Worst of all, must Hope grow dim,
And withhold her cheering beam?
Rather let me sleep and dream
Forever!

Something still my heart surveys,
Groping through this dreary maze;
Is it Hope? -- then burn and blaze
Forever!

Leave me not a wretch confined,
Altogether lame and blind --
Unto gross despair consigned,
Forever!

Heaven! in whom can I confide?
Canst thou not for all provide?
Condescend to be my guide
Forever:

And when this transient life shall end,
Oh, may some kind eternal friend
Bid me from servitude ascend,
Forever!

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Old 06-10-2010, 02:43 PM   #120
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My favorite poem, though not my favorite poet. Have this pasted to my little cubby wall.


Sir Walter Ralegh

The Lie.

Go, soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best;
The truth shall be thy warrant:
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.

Say to the court it glows
And shines like rotten wood,
Say to the church it shows
What's good, and doth no good:
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie.

Tell potentates, they live
Acting, by others' action;
Not lov'd unless they give;
Not strong, but by affection.
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.

Tell men of high condition,
That manage the estate,
Their purpose is ambition;
Their practice only hate.
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who in their greatest cost
Like nothing but commending.
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell zeal it wants devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it meets but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust:
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.

Tell age it daily wasteth;
Tell honour how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
Tell favour how it falters:
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.

Tell wit how much it wrangles
In fickle points of niceness;
Tell wisdom she entangles
Herself in over-wiseness:
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.

Tell physic of her boldness;
Tell skill it is prevention;
Tell charity of coldness;
Tell law it is contention:
And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.

Tell fortune of her blindness;
Tell nature of decay;
Tell friendship of unkindness;
Tell justice of delay:
And if they will reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming;
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming.
If arts and schools reply,
Give arts and schools the lie.

Tell faith it's fled the city;
Tell how the country erreth;
Tell manhood, shakes off pity;
Tell virtue, least preferred.
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.

So when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing;
Because to give the lie
Deserves no less than stabbing:
Stab at thee, he that will,
No stab thy soul can kill!
c. 1592
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