Poetry and Discussion
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. (Robert Frost)
as the clan of the white man
strategize and plan
a globalized, economical scam
we’re left here disappearing.
this pressure that’s been piling up
Everyone I meet
Seems to be playing the A-Side.
My friends and I
Are all playing the B-Side.
To feel sad at all anymore.
Our lives spin
Around the turntable universe
it's sad to know that your raft has drifted so far away. you filled it up with water and i know you're trying to drain it out but it takes time. i miss the way our rafts clashed and collided, the salt water slippery and deceiving on the painted rubber.
i can't reach you from here.
i can't throw seashells anymore.
but you really fell hard for the gulls and everyone told you they were the rats of the sky; i wish you had listened.
you might not have sprung a leak.
(12 december 2009)
Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89). Poems. 1918.
45. ‘I wake and feel the fell of dark, not day"
I WAKE and feel the fell of dark, not day.
What hours, O what black hoürs we have spent
This night! what sights you, heart, saw; ways you went!
And more must, in yet longer light’s delay.
With witness I speak this. But where I say 5
Hours I mean years, mean life. And my lament
Is cries countless, cries like dead letters sent
To dearest him that lives alas! away.
I am gall, I am heartburn. God’s most deep decree
Bitter would have me taste: my taste was me; 10
Bones built in me, flesh filled, blood brimmed the curse.
Selfyeast of spirit a dull dough sours. I see
The lost are like this, and their scourge to be
As I am mine, their sweating selves; but worse.
My country tis of thee,
old land of butchery,
of thee I sing,
land where the Indians died,
because of pilgrims' pride,
from every mountainside,
what an awful thing!
All the art gazes away
Instead of following me
With their critical gaze.
They look off
In the distance
Like a couple watching seaside sunsets.
I look off too,
Not even their picture frame cages.
Sometimes, just looking
this submission is for the feature "Art Under the Influence"- the influence is one pint of Rolling Rock beer-- IT COMES IN PINTS?
believe me when i
say i adore your French tongue
and your black peacoat.
secretly i used
to hope you would peek when i'd
change behind the door.
i fell in love with
my seventh grade teacher. i
believe he did too.
So I wrote this under the influence of anger directed at myself. Lately, I've been really disgusted with how I have acted towards people in general, especially towards those I respect greatly. This isn't really an apology, but more of a poem written upon my realization thats its time for a shift in how I treat people and govern myself, because I do not want to be the rebel that becomes that which he hates (that is if I am in fact a rebel). It could also be considered the companion piece to my poem about running from the eldritch spirit and confrontation as this is the next logical step to facing the evils that may inhabit oneself.
As we entered the old home
I pointed out the chipped paint
Spreading forth like a wave
This artist's sketchbook is just lovely! Thought those who are trying their hand at drawing might enjoy.
I'll live in the moment
while looking over my shoulder at the future
and keeping the past in my notebook.
I will never give up,
I'll stay here.
Help others with their existential crisis.
It is my mission
To the darkest night.
I know you want to have a treat,
but rember, you are what you eat,
no desert before dinner,
we all like cookies cakes and pie,
but remember this is not a lie,
no dessert before dinner,
we all scream for ice cream,
but go easy on the whipped cream,
no dessert before dinner,
don't do something prenmature,
don't do something immature,
no dessert before dinner
Zounds, Leopold what a scary dragon I just wet my pants!
Fear not Archibald I shall smite him with my Lance,
The dragon ate Leopold,
Oh s’blood Theobald, Leopold is dead,
Fear not Archibald, I shall smash the monster’s head,
The dragon ate Theobald,
Oh damn Ulric, the beast just ate two knights,
Fear not Archibald, I’ll put up a better fight,
The dragon ate Ulric
Three knights dead, Samwise oh what a day,
Fear not Archibald, I will make him pay,
The dragon ate Samwise
No one else is left but me,
How can I alone set my kingdom free?
Then Jack the peasant came,
Pardon Sir I can save the day,
I’ll just kindly ask the dragon to fly away,
Archibald laughed at Jack
I know you think I will fail this test,
But may I be damned to hell if my choice isn’t the best,
The dragon ate Jack,
I might as well try this; I know I’ll die,
Archibald’s arrow hit the beast between the eyes,
I am a hero! I’ll be the subject of songs!
I sent that vile creature where it belongs,
The roc swooped down and ate Archibald
The muse has struck
For the first time
In a long time
The one with the golden hair
Long and cascading
Hiding all the mystery of the world
And all of its truths.
I used to think poetry
About women worthless
But I see now
There is a ghost outside my window.
With each passing day
Moving forward, never stopping
In every single way
Hopelessly losing, coming to acknowledge
What it means to be human.
Or at least, my own brand of humanity.
Dover Beach by Matthew Arnold (1867)
By Samantha Glavin
I slip my toes in and out of my shoes
Rocking from foot to foot
My hand squeezing my elbow.
Time is my enemy.