A Poem Thread

Discussion in 'Art & Culture' started by Angelus, Nov 9, 2002.

  1. Magical Realist Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    14,310
    "Even this late it happens:
    the coming of love,
    the coming of light.

    You wake and the candles
    are lit as if by themselves,
    stars gather,
    dreams pour into your pillows,
    sending up warm bouquets
    of air.

    Even this late the bones
    of the body shine
    and tomorrow's dust flares
    into breath."

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    Mark Strand, The Coming of Light
     
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  3. Tiassa Let us not launch the boat ... Staff Member

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    36,998
    Free Dirt
    by Henri Cole, 2013


    My house is mine:
    the choice of menu,
    the radio and television,
    the unpolished floors,
    the rumpled sheets.

    It's like being inside
    a rolltop desk. I have
    no maid who takes care
    of me. Sometimes,
    during breakfast,

    I speak French with
    a taxidermied wren.
    There is no debt
    between us. We listen
    to language tapes:

    Viens-tu du ciel profond (Baudelaire)?
    Always, I hear a little oratorio
    inside my head. Moths
    have carried away my carpets,
    like invisible pallbearers.

    I like invisibleness,
    except in the moon's strong,
    broad rays. Some nights,
    I ask her paleness, Will I be okay?
    I am weak and fruitless at night,

    like a piece of meat with eyes,
    but in the morning optimistic again,
    like a snowflake that has traveled
    many miles and many years
    to be admired on the kitchen pane.

    Alone, I guzzle
    and litter and urinate
    and shout. Please do not
    wake me from this dream,
    making meals from discrete

    objects―a sweet potato,
    a jar of marmalade,
    a bottle of sauvignon blanc.
    Today, I saw a sign
    in majuscule for free dirt

    and thought, We all have
    chapters we'd rather keep
    unpublished, in which we
    get down with the swirl.
    The little wren perched on my

    finger weighs almost nothing,
    just nails and beak. But it
    gives me tiny moments―
    here at my kitchen table―
    like a diaphanous chorus

    mewling something
    about love, or the haze
    of love, a haze that makes
    me squint-eyed and sick
    if I think too much about it.

    What am I but this flensed
    syntax, sight and sound,
    in which my heart, not
    insulated yet, makes
    ripple effects down the line?

     
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  5. Tiassa Let us not launch the boat ... Staff Member

    Messages:
    36,998
    Record Body Count
    by Rheostatics, 1991


    Joey pulled himself up to his knees,
    Pulled his body back up the bank,
    And looked back down there.

    He said, "The water wasn't that deep,
    but I almost drowned there.
    You can drown in a bathtub, so they say.

    "Someone in class called me a loser,
    So I decided to skip the day,
    Hey, hey, hey, skip the day.

    "I tried to look casual slipping 'round the back
    Just a shot-put across the track
    And to the gate beside the portables.

    "A red tie and school-grey slacks
    Doesn't blend in with the grass
    As the teacher was changing class.

    "He chased me halfway through the park,
    'Til I ran into the woods,
    And I'm very good in the woods!

    "So I was an Indian,
    Built a fire by the creek
    And dried my eyes there.

    "There's a record body count this year.
    There's a record body count this year!"​

    Joey stepped up on a block of ice,
    Put a rope around his neck,
    And fell asleep before he died.

    [(YouTube↱)]
     
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  7. Magical Realist Valued Senior Member

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    14,310
    The Thing Is
    BY ELLEN BASS

    "to love life, to love it even
    when you have no stomach for it
    and everything you’ve held dear
    crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
    your throat filled with the silt of it.
    When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
    thickening the air, heavy as water
    more fit for gills than lungs;
    when grief weights you down like your own flesh
    only more of it, an obesity of grief,
    you think, How can a body withstand this?
    Then you hold life like a face
    between your palms, a plain face,
    no charming smile, no violet eyes,
    and you say, yes, I will take you
    I will love you, again."
     
  8. Magical Realist Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    14,310
    Louise Erdrich
    Birth

    "When they were wild
    When they were not yet human
    When they could have been anything,
    I was on the other side ready with milk to lure them,
    And their father, too, the name like a net in his hands."
     
  9. Magical Realist Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    14,310
    "And the people stayed home.
    And read books and listened, and rested and exercised,
    and made art and played games,
    and learned new ways of being and were still.
    And listened more deeply.
    Some meditated, some prayed, some danced.
    Some met their shadows.
    And the people began to think differently.

    And the people healed.
    And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless and heartless ways the earth began to heal.

    And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again,
    they grieved their losses, and made new choices,
    and dreamed new images,
    and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully,
    as they had been healed."
    – Written by Kitty O’Meara
     
  10. Magical Realist Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    14,310
    Working Class Hero
    John Lennon

    As soon as you're born, they make you feel small
    By giving you no time instead of it all
    'Til the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
    A working class hero is something to be
    A working class hero is something to be

    They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
    They hate you if you're clever and they despise a fool
    'Til you're so fucking crazy you can't follow their rules
    A working class hero is something to be
    A working class hero is something to be

    When they've tortured and scared you for 20 odd years
    Then they expect you to pick a career
    When you can't really function, you're so full of fear
    A working class hero is something to be
    A working class hero is something to be

    Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
    And you think you're so clever and classless and free
    But you're still fucking peasants as far as I can see
    A working class hero is something to be
    A working class hero is something to be

    There's room at the top they are telling you still
    But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
    If you want to be like the folks on the hill
    A working class hero is something to be
    A working class hero is something to be

    If you want to be a hero, well, just follow me
    If you want to be a hero, well, just follow me
     
  11. Tiassa Let us not launch the boat ... Staff Member

    Messages:
    36,998
    I'm not a religious person but
    by Chen Chen, 2017


    God sent an angel. One of his least qualified, though. Fluent only in
    Lemme get back to you. The angel sounded like me, early twenties,
    unpaid interning. Proficient in fetching coffee, sending super
    vague emails. It got so bad God personally had to speak to me.
    This was annoying because I'm not a religious person. I thought
    I'd made this clear to God by reading Harry Potter & not attending
    church except for gay weddings. God did not listen to me. God is
    not a good listener. I said Stop it please, I'll give you wedding cake,
    money, candy, marijuana. Go talk to married people, politicians,
    children, reality TV stars. I'll even set up a booth for you,
    then everyone who wants to talk to you can do so
    without the stuffy house of worship, the stuffier middlemen,
    & the football blimps that accidentally intercept prayers
    on their way to heaven. I'll keep the booth decorations simple
    but attractive: stickers of angels & cats, because I'm not religious
    but didn't people worship cats? Thing is, God couldn't take a hint.
    My doctor said to eat an apple every day. My best friend said to stop
    sleeping with guys with messiah complexes. My mother said she is
    pretty sure she had sex with my father so I can't be some new
    Asian Jesus. I tried to enrage God by saying things like When I asked
    my mother about you, she was in the middle of making dinner
    so she just said Too busy. I tried to confuse God by saying I am
    a made-up dinosaur & a real dinosaur & who knows maybe
    I love you, but then God ended up relating to me. God said I am
    a good dinosaur but also sort of evil & sometimes loving no one.
    It rained & we stayed inside. Played a few rounds of backgammon.
    We used our indoor voices. It got so quiet I asked God
    about the afterlife. Its existence, human continued existence.
    He said Oh. That. Then sent his angel again. Who said Ummmmmmm.
    I never heard from God or his rookie angel after that. I miss them.
    Like creatures I made up or found in a book, then got to know a bit.

     
  12. Magical Realist Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    14,310
    “Built to be lonely
    to love the absent.
    Find me
    Free me
    from this
    corrosive doubt
    futile despair
    horror in repose.
    I can fill my space
    fill my time
    but nothing can fill this void in my heart.”
    ― Sarah Kane, 4.48 Psychosis
     
  13. Tiassa Let us not launch the boat ... Staff Member

    Messages:
    36,998
    Good Bones
    by Maggie Smith, 2016


    Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
    Life is short, and I've shortened mine
    in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
    a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
    I'll keep from my children. The world is at least
    fifty percent terrible, and that's a conservative
    estimate, though I keep this from my children.
    For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
    For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
    sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
    is at least half terrible, and for every kind
    stranger, there is one who would break you,
    though I keep this from my children. I am trying
    to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
    walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
    about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
    right? You could make this place beautiful.

     
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  14. Magical Realist Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    14,310
    "If dark nights must come, let them come.
    Open your doors.
    Let them come, my dear, and ask them what they want.
    Maybe all they want is your presence. Nothing else.
    Maybe all they want to do is to hold you so close and polish you secretly, without telling anyone–
    Maybe that is all they want.
    Know that deep inside they hold ten thousand fragrant mornings. They hold the source of laughter.
    They hold life."

    ~ Guthema Roba
     
  15. Magical Realist Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    14,310
    The Way It Is

    "There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
    things that change. But it doesn’t change.
    People wonder about what you are pursuing.
    You have to explain about the thread.
    But it is hard for others to see.
    While you hold it you can’t get lost.
    Tragedies happen; people get hurt
    or die; and you suffer and get old.
    Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
    You don’t ever let go of the thread."

    ~ William Stafford ~
     
  16. Magical Realist Valued Senior Member

    Messages:
    14,310
    Good Bones

    BY MAGGIE SMITH

    "Life is short, though I keep this from my children.
    Life is short, and I’ve shortened mine
    in a thousand delicious, ill-advised ways,
    a thousand deliciously ill-advised ways
    I’ll keep from my children. The world is at least
    fifty percent terrible, and that’s a conservative
    estimate, though I keep this from my children.
    For every bird there is a stone thrown at a bird.
    For every loved child, a child broken, bagged,
    sunk in a lake. Life is short and the world
    is at least half terrible, and for every kind
    stranger, there is one who would break you,
    though I keep this from my children. I am trying
    to sell them the world. Any decent realtor,
    walking you through a real shithole, chirps on
    about good bones: This place could be beautiful,
    right? You could make this place beautiful."
     
    Last edited: Jun 17, 2022
  17. Tiassa Let us not launch the boat ... Staff Member

    Messages:
    36,998
    Confronting Hatred
    by Rudy Francisco, 2017


    how beautiful would it be
    if we lived in a place

    where everyone called hatred
    by its full name,

    tapped it on the shoulder,
    looked into its eyes
    without shaking
    and said

    "you cannot live here
    anymore."

     
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