“25. The Unknowable
“THE BLANK RUNE
“Total trust,
surrender,
relinquishing control--
all this is only words.
Look into the night sky.
Tell me what you see.
“Blank is the end, blank is the beginning....
“The Blank Rune often calls for no less an act of courage than the empty-handed leap into the void.”
--Ralph Blum, The Book of RuneCards, 1989
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Friday, January 28, 2011
Thursday, November 04, 2010
ARMISTICE DAY WAR POETRY READING
Australian soldiers in Ypres, Belgium, 1917
photo by Frank Hurley
At 11:00 on the eleventh day of the eleventh month of 1918, “The War to End All Wars” came to an end.
Designated Armistice Day, it is still commemorated as such in France and Belgium, as Remembrance Day in the UK and Commonwealth countries, as Volkstrauertag in Germany, and as Veterans Day in the United States.
In World War I, on the Western Front, a years-long stalemate between the German, French, and British armies would see millions of men die pointlessly in the living horror of trench warfare.
Out of this colossal tragedy arose poetry that is among the most beautiful, disturbing, and compelling poetry ever written.
“These men are worth your tears.”
--Wilfred Owen
Classic World War I Poetry
read by Radigan Neuhalfen
2010 November 10, Wednesday
20:00 (8:00 PM)
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Lyrical IIII
Marilyn Manson
I don't like the drugs
But the drugs like me
Orgy
Message from Opticon
Guess what? You're out of time
Mark Chesnutt
And then if she's still on my mind I'll try to drink enough to drown the hurt
And if that don't work
I'll think of something
John Denver
Come let me love you
Let me give my life to you
Come love me again
Rolling Stones
I'll be in my basement room
With a needle and a spoon
And another girl to take my pain away
Shakira
Solo tu sabes bien quien soy
Y por eso es tuyo mi corazon
Strong Bad
Oh that skinny blonde girl
And the circles and the ages and the ages
K's Choice
I'm not an addict (maybe that's a lie)
Nothing means a thing to me
Coheed and Cambria
Bye bye, Beautiful
Don't bother to write
I don't like the drugs
But the drugs like me
Orgy
Message from Opticon
Guess what? You're out of time
Mark Chesnutt
And then if she's still on my mind I'll try to drink enough to drown the hurt
And if that don't work
I'll think of something
John Denver
Come let me love you
Let me give my life to you
Come love me again
Rolling Stones
I'll be in my basement room
With a needle and a spoon
And another girl to take my pain away
Shakira
Solo tu sabes bien quien soy
Y por eso es tuyo mi corazon
Strong Bad
Oh that skinny blonde girl
And the circles and the ages and the ages
K's Choice
I'm not an addict (maybe that's a lie)
Nothing means a thing to me
Coheed and Cambria
Bye bye, Beautiful
Don't bother to write
Sunday, April 04, 2010
Happy Easter (Banned in the UK)
The poem that resulted in successful prosecution for "blasphemy" against the publishers in the U.K. (an episode in the history of censorship):
"The Love that Dares to Speak its Name"
James Kirkup
1918-2009 English
As they took him from the cross
I, the centurion, took him in my arms--
the tough lean body
of a man no longer young,
beardless, breathless,
but well hung.
He was still warm.
While they prepared the tomb
I kept guard over him.
His mother and the Magdalen
had gone to fetch clean linen
to shroud his nakedness.
I was alone with him.
For the last time
I kissed his mouth. My tongue
found his, bitter with death.
I licked his wound--
the blood was harsh.
For the last time
I laid my lips around the tip
of that great cock, the instrument
of our salvation, our eternal joy.
The shaft, still throbbed, anointed
with death's final ejaculation.
I knew he'd had it off with other men--
with Herod's guards, with Pontius Pilate,
with John the Baptist, with Paul of Tarsus,
with foxy Judas, a great kisser, with
the rest of the Twelve, together and apart.
He loved all men, body, soul and spirit -- even me.
So now I took off my uniform, and, naked,
lay together with him in his desolation,
caressing every shadow of his cooling flesh,
hugging him and trying to warm him back to life.
Slowly the fire in his thighs went out,
while I grew hotter with unearthly love.
It was the only way I knew to speak our love's proud name,
to tell him of my long devotion, my desire, my dread--
something we had never talked about. My spear, wet with blood,
his dear, broken body all open wounds,
and in each wound his side, his back,
his mouth -- I came and came and came
as if each coming was my last.
And then the miracle possessed us.
I felt him enter into me, and fiercely spend
his spirit's final seed within my hole, my soul,
pulse upon pulse, unto the ends of the earth--
he crucified me with him into kingdom come.
--This is the passionate and blissful crucifixion
same-sex lovers suffer, patiently and gladly.
They inflict these loving injuries of joy and grace
one upon the other, till they die of lust and pain
within the horny paradise of one another's limbs,
with one voice cry to heaven in a last divine release.
Then lie long together, peacefully entwined, with hope
of resurrection, as we did, on that green hill far away.
But before we rose again, they came and took him from me.
They knew not what we had done, but felt
no shame or anger. Rather they were gald for us,
and blessed us, as would he, who loved all men.
And after three long, lonely days, like years,
in which I roamed the gardens of my grief
seeking for him, my one friend who had gone from me,
he rose from sleep, at dawn, and showed himself to me before
all others. And took me to him with
the love that now forever dares to speak its name.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whitehouse_v_Lemon
"The Love that Dares to Speak its Name"
James Kirkup
1918-2009 English
As they took him from the cross
I, the centurion, took him in my arms--
the tough lean body
of a man no longer young,
beardless, breathless,
but well hung.
He was still warm.
While they prepared the tomb
I kept guard over him.
His mother and the Magdalen
had gone to fetch clean linen
to shroud his nakedness.
I was alone with him.
For the last time
I kissed his mouth. My tongue
found his, bitter with death.
I licked his wound--
the blood was harsh.
For the last time
I laid my lips around the tip
of that great cock, the instrument
of our salvation, our eternal joy.
The shaft, still throbbed, anointed
with death's final ejaculation.
I knew he'd had it off with other men--
with Herod's guards, with Pontius Pilate,
with John the Baptist, with Paul of Tarsus,
with foxy Judas, a great kisser, with
the rest of the Twelve, together and apart.
He loved all men, body, soul and spirit -- even me.
So now I took off my uniform, and, naked,
lay together with him in his desolation,
caressing every shadow of his cooling flesh,
hugging him and trying to warm him back to life.
Slowly the fire in his thighs went out,
while I grew hotter with unearthly love.
It was the only way I knew to speak our love's proud name,
to tell him of my long devotion, my desire, my dread--
something we had never talked about. My spear, wet with blood,
his dear, broken body all open wounds,
and in each wound his side, his back,
his mouth -- I came and came and came
as if each coming was my last.
And then the miracle possessed us.
I felt him enter into me, and fiercely spend
his spirit's final seed within my hole, my soul,
pulse upon pulse, unto the ends of the earth--
he crucified me with him into kingdom come.
--This is the passionate and blissful crucifixion
same-sex lovers suffer, patiently and gladly.
They inflict these loving injuries of joy and grace
one upon the other, till they die of lust and pain
within the horny paradise of one another's limbs,
with one voice cry to heaven in a last divine release.
Then lie long together, peacefully entwined, with hope
of resurrection, as we did, on that green hill far away.
But before we rose again, they came and took him from me.
They knew not what we had done, but felt
no shame or anger. Rather they were gald for us,
and blessed us, as would he, who loved all men.
And after three long, lonely days, like years,
in which I roamed the gardens of my grief
seeking for him, my one friend who had gone from me,
he rose from sleep, at dawn, and showed himself to me before
all others. And took me to him with
the love that now forever dares to speak its name.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whitehouse_v_Lemon
Thursday, March 25, 2010
after you've bought ten swampy acres of cutover forest in Michigan, and the idyllic version we often imagine (yours is not a country background; most people's isn't)
“In our imaginations, as well as in our literature, we often carry an image of life in the country that is a conglomeration of our favorite fantasies. We see a 'little place in the country' as the best reward for a life of city labor in 'commerce,' and as the realization of our deeply-felt hopes for what a pleasant life should be. Somehow we regard country life as more complete than city life, its pleasures more natural and its rhythms more in tune with the seasons and with the earth. Country vs. city has been a standard literary conflict for hundreds of years; and almost always it is country life that wins the tussle....
“Today as we look at our cities we really do find an appalling situation. In older, more established places like Philadelphia we find an inner city area where murder is commonplace and where huge blocks of buildings stand abandoned and condemned. In more 'futuristic' cities such as Los Angeles the inhabitants have escaped the concentration of a central area, but the result is that they move about enclosed in small glass and steel cubicles, isolated from a polluted sky, from the earth and from each other. The great freeways, built to promote speedy transport, developed traffic jams that often return the traveler to something slower than the speed of grandpa's horse and buggy.
“The effect of this urban deterioration is to disenchant us with city life, and to bolster our image of the country as an escape--as an ideal, 'natural' way of life. Removed as most of us are from the realities of rural living, we cling to a fantasy version of 'life on the land,' even embellishing the benefits of the country to the level of poetry. The dirt and dangers of city life take a poor second place to the imagined pleasures of the white farmhouse on a country lane....
“How To Tell If Homesteading Is For You
“Try to look at yourself objectively. If you grew up in Paramus, New Jersey and have had no experience with country living, ask yourself: Why do I want to leave the kind of life I am living? What am I really looking for in the country? Make a list of the rewards you expect. Especially, tote up what talents or interests you have that you think will enable you to live happily in the new and foreign environment.
“Answering difficult questions like these (and others discussed later) is important, and doing so early on in your thinking may save you misery and money later on. Many city people do need a change or move, but they don't necessarily need to move to rural Maine or British Columbia. If, on the one hand, yours is not a country background (and most people's isn't), you will have much to learn, and to give up. You have, in other words, every reason to assume that you would not be happy as a homesteader.
“On the other hand, you may discover you are genuinely frustrated by not being a homesteader (which you probably knew long ago). In any case, take a very long look at your motives. Look at your skills, your ability with tools, your preferences for entertainment, and your opinion on weeding gardens. The best time for having second thoughts is while you're still contemplating the trade-in value of your green Cadillac, not after you've bought ten swampy acres of cutover forest in Michigan....
“This chapter has emphasized not the pleasures and rewards of homesteading, but the hard work and care required in beginning this kind of country life. The reason is this: It is very easy to drive through the country and find the white farmhouse and red barn that seem the epitome of country life. It is far better to realize that this quaint country place likely has no plumbing, no central heating, has sagging floors and rotted sills, poor insulation, and a damp cellar. It is likely to have no adequate water supply. The land around it may be eroded or pocked with rusty farm machinery hidden in the weeds. Out back may be a rotted and sagging barn and the remains of an old fruit orchard. This bleak picture probably is an exaggeration, but it is no more extreme than the idyllic version we often imagine.”
--David E. Robinson, The Complete Homesteading Book: Proven Methods for Self-Sufficient Living, 1974, illustrated by Paula Savastano
“Today as we look at our cities we really do find an appalling situation. In older, more established places like Philadelphia we find an inner city area where murder is commonplace and where huge blocks of buildings stand abandoned and condemned. In more 'futuristic' cities such as Los Angeles the inhabitants have escaped the concentration of a central area, but the result is that they move about enclosed in small glass and steel cubicles, isolated from a polluted sky, from the earth and from each other. The great freeways, built to promote speedy transport, developed traffic jams that often return the traveler to something slower than the speed of grandpa's horse and buggy.
“The effect of this urban deterioration is to disenchant us with city life, and to bolster our image of the country as an escape--as an ideal, 'natural' way of life. Removed as most of us are from the realities of rural living, we cling to a fantasy version of 'life on the land,' even embellishing the benefits of the country to the level of poetry. The dirt and dangers of city life take a poor second place to the imagined pleasures of the white farmhouse on a country lane....
“How To Tell If Homesteading Is For You
“Try to look at yourself objectively. If you grew up in Paramus, New Jersey and have had no experience with country living, ask yourself: Why do I want to leave the kind of life I am living? What am I really looking for in the country? Make a list of the rewards you expect. Especially, tote up what talents or interests you have that you think will enable you to live happily in the new and foreign environment.
“Answering difficult questions like these (and others discussed later) is important, and doing so early on in your thinking may save you misery and money later on. Many city people do need a change or move, but they don't necessarily need to move to rural Maine or British Columbia. If, on the one hand, yours is not a country background (and most people's isn't), you will have much to learn, and to give up. You have, in other words, every reason to assume that you would not be happy as a homesteader.
“On the other hand, you may discover you are genuinely frustrated by not being a homesteader (which you probably knew long ago). In any case, take a very long look at your motives. Look at your skills, your ability with tools, your preferences for entertainment, and your opinion on weeding gardens. The best time for having second thoughts is while you're still contemplating the trade-in value of your green Cadillac, not after you've bought ten swampy acres of cutover forest in Michigan....
“This chapter has emphasized not the pleasures and rewards of homesteading, but the hard work and care required in beginning this kind of country life. The reason is this: It is very easy to drive through the country and find the white farmhouse and red barn that seem the epitome of country life. It is far better to realize that this quaint country place likely has no plumbing, no central heating, has sagging floors and rotted sills, poor insulation, and a damp cellar. It is likely to have no adequate water supply. The land around it may be eroded or pocked with rusty farm machinery hidden in the weeds. Out back may be a rotted and sagging barn and the remains of an old fruit orchard. This bleak picture probably is an exaggeration, but it is no more extreme than the idyllic version we often imagine.”
--David E. Robinson, The Complete Homesteading Book: Proven Methods for Self-Sufficient Living, 1974, illustrated by Paula Savastano
Sunday, January 17, 2010
go lull yourself
And go lull yourself with what you can understand, and with piano-tunes,
For I lull nobody, and you will never understand me.
--Walt Whitman, “To a Certain Civilian,” Leaves of Grass
For I lull nobody, and you will never understand me.
--Walt Whitman, “To a Certain Civilian,” Leaves of Grass
Sunday, January 03, 2010
World War I flyers
skull with aviator's helmet and goggles and German 50-mark note between the teeth as a symbol of the cheapness of an aviator's life
Take the manifold out of my back
Take the crankshaft out of my brain
Take the pistons out of my stomach
And assemble the fucking engine again
--World War I aviators' song
Sunday, December 13, 2009
the graves we lie in
Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us;
The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in,
The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us,
We bargain for the graves we lie in...
--James Russell Lowell, "The Vision of Sir Launfal"
The beggar is taxed for a corner to die in,
The priest hath his fee who comes and shrives us,
We bargain for the graves we lie in...
--James Russell Lowell, "The Vision of Sir Launfal"
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Saturday, November 07, 2009
clear as water, stiff as earth, high as a rock when the hour nears
Oh, I am drunk
When the hour nears, you will die within a day and a night
The body as soft as cotton and then as hard as wood
Your eyes clear as water and stiff as earth
Your belongings heaped up high as a rock
Will be covered with dust
The very dearest and closest friends turn into demons
Your serenity, burning like fire will collapse like ash...
Your fame like the wind will fade, like the rainbow
And one will throw away like an old fur
What you have treasured like gold
--Danzan Ravjaa, in History of Mongolian Literature by Walther Heissig
When the hour nears, you will die within a day and a night
The body as soft as cotton and then as hard as wood
Your eyes clear as water and stiff as earth
Your belongings heaped up high as a rock
Will be covered with dust
The very dearest and closest friends turn into demons
Your serenity, burning like fire will collapse like ash...
Your fame like the wind will fade, like the rainbow
And one will throw away like an old fur
What you have treasured like gold
--Danzan Ravjaa, in History of Mongolian Literature by Walther Heissig
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Songs entitled "North Dakota"
"North Dakota" by Lyle Lovett, U.S.A.
album: Joshua Judges Ruth, 1992
The boys from North Dakota
They drink whisky for their fun
"North Dakota" by Thrush Hermit, Canada
album: Sweet Homewrecker, 1997
If it makes you sad
It makes me sadder
If you ever miss me
I will always miss you more
In North Dakota we can only waste our time
"North Dakota" by Kris Delmhorst, U.S.A.
album: Appetite, 1998
And I'm watching your goodbye and I'm trying to cry
Guess I'm not built for this load, guess it's back to the road
So now Delaware is tollbooths, Virginia is twilight
and Michigan's beef jerky in a small boy's hand
and Arkansas's a skinny cop, Oregon is purple hands
and Flagstaff, Arizona is delirium at night
And I love North Dakota 'cause you have never been there
and the days go on for hours and the towns all look the same
and I can ride the back roads and I can walk the main streets
and I could show everyone your picture but they would not know your name
I love, I love, I love
North Dakota
"North Dakota" by Chris Knight, U.S.A.
album: A Pretty Good Guy, 2001
I never should have brought her here
Living’s rough this time of year
Trying to keep food and fire till winter's done
Sometimes she gazed across the plains
With a look that I couldn’t name
And I’d wonder if she’d stay till springtime come
I found her on the first warm day
The rain had washed the snow away
Went for wood and lost her way back home
And I ain’t the kind believes in ghosts
But some nights I get pretty close
When the North Dakota winter moans
"North Dakota" by Hold On Kid, Australia
album: Just For The Record - Demo, 2008
Maybe we should get away
Be ourselves, just the two of us
In your car, we'll drive till the road runs out
We can run forever
Hey and when we get there
We can find a cheap hotel
Where we can hide from the world
We can pretend that we're all alone
And no one else exists
album: Joshua Judges Ruth, 1992
The boys from North Dakota
They drink whisky for their fun
"North Dakota" by Thrush Hermit, Canada
album: Sweet Homewrecker, 1997
If it makes you sad
It makes me sadder
If you ever miss me
I will always miss you more
In North Dakota we can only waste our time
"North Dakota" by Kris Delmhorst, U.S.A.
album: Appetite, 1998
And I'm watching your goodbye and I'm trying to cry
Guess I'm not built for this load, guess it's back to the road
So now Delaware is tollbooths, Virginia is twilight
and Michigan's beef jerky in a small boy's hand
and Arkansas's a skinny cop, Oregon is purple hands
and Flagstaff, Arizona is delirium at night
And I love North Dakota 'cause you have never been there
and the days go on for hours and the towns all look the same
and I can ride the back roads and I can walk the main streets
and I could show everyone your picture but they would not know your name
I love, I love, I love
North Dakota
"North Dakota" by Chris Knight, U.S.A.
album: A Pretty Good Guy, 2001
I never should have brought her here
Living’s rough this time of year
Trying to keep food and fire till winter's done
Sometimes she gazed across the plains
With a look that I couldn’t name
And I’d wonder if she’d stay till springtime come
I found her on the first warm day
The rain had washed the snow away
Went for wood and lost her way back home
And I ain’t the kind believes in ghosts
But some nights I get pretty close
When the North Dakota winter moans
"North Dakota" by Hold On Kid, Australia
album: Just For The Record - Demo, 2008
Maybe we should get away
Be ourselves, just the two of us
In your car, we'll drive till the road runs out
We can run forever
Hey and when we get there
We can find a cheap hotel
Where we can hide from the world
We can pretend that we're all alone
And no one else exists
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Delaying not, hurrying not, low and delicious
O give me the clew! (it lurks in the night here somewhere);
Oh, if I am to have so much, let me have more!
A word then (for I will conquer it),
The word final, superior to all,
Subtle, sent up--what is it?--I listen;
Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves?
Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands?
Whereto answering, the sea,
Delaying not, hurrying not,
Whispered me through the night, and very plainly before daybreak,
Lisped to me the low and delicious word death,
And again death, death, death, death,
Hissing melodious, neither like the bird nor like my aroused child's heart,
But edging near as privately for me rustling at my feet,
Creeping thence steadily up to my ears and laving me softly all over,
Death, death, death, death, death.
--Walt Whitman, "Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking," Leaves of Grass
Oh, if I am to have so much, let me have more!
A word then (for I will conquer it),
The word final, superior to all,
Subtle, sent up--what is it?--I listen;
Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves?
Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands?
Whereto answering, the sea,
Delaying not, hurrying not,
Whispered me through the night, and very plainly before daybreak,
Lisped to me the low and delicious word death,
And again death, death, death, death,
Hissing melodious, neither like the bird nor like my aroused child's heart,
But edging near as privately for me rustling at my feet,
Creeping thence steadily up to my ears and laving me softly all over,
Death, death, death, death, death.
--Walt Whitman, "Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking," Leaves of Grass
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Lyrical III
Seven Nations
I'm waiting for midnight
I'm waiting for silence
John Cougar Mellencamp
She calls me "Baby"
She calls everybody "Baby"
Marilyn Manson
Kill your god
Kill your god
Kill your TV
Merle Haggard
If someone ever said I gave a damn
They damn sure told you wrong
LFO
Deep down I know she loves me
But she's got a funny way of showing me how she cares
Last night she did a donut on my lawn
Then drove off with one finger in the air
Nirvana
I found it hard
It's hard to find
Oh well, whatever, nevermind
Motion City Soundtrack
I'll be back tomorrow
I'll be back in the ballroom, swinging
I'll be back with a capital "H"
It stands for "Hero" and the Hero is me
I'll be back tomorrow
I'll be back at a quarter to eleven
I'm half drunk, I can't see straight
And I'm off to save the world
New Found Glory
I finally have an audience to ignore me
Quarashi
There's a party at your house
'Cause your mama is a stripper
No Address
She don't like me singing songs
She don't wanna sing along
It's still the same
She only likes me when I'm gone
Counting Crows
Well, I woke up in mid-afternoon
'Cause that's when it all hurts the most
Steve Earle
I got an empty feeling deep inside
I'm going over to the other side
I'm waiting for midnight
I'm waiting for silence
John Cougar Mellencamp
She calls me "Baby"
She calls everybody "Baby"
Marilyn Manson
Kill your god
Kill your god
Kill your TV
Merle Haggard
If someone ever said I gave a damn
They damn sure told you wrong
LFO
Deep down I know she loves me
But she's got a funny way of showing me how she cares
Last night she did a donut on my lawn
Then drove off with one finger in the air
Nirvana
I found it hard
It's hard to find
Oh well, whatever, nevermind
Motion City Soundtrack
I'll be back tomorrow
I'll be back in the ballroom, swinging
I'll be back with a capital "H"
It stands for "Hero" and the Hero is me
I'll be back tomorrow
I'll be back at a quarter to eleven
I'm half drunk, I can't see straight
And I'm off to save the world
New Found Glory
I finally have an audience to ignore me
Quarashi
There's a party at your house
'Cause your mama is a stripper
No Address
She don't like me singing songs
She don't wanna sing along
It's still the same
She only likes me when I'm gone
Counting Crows
Well, I woke up in mid-afternoon
'Cause that's when it all hurts the most
Steve Earle
I got an empty feeling deep inside
I'm going over to the other side
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Picking up hookers instead of my pen
Cowboys are special with their own brand of misery
from being alone too long.
You could die from the cold in the arms of a nightmare,
knowing well that your best days are gone.
Picking up hookers instead of my pen,
I let the words of my youth fade away.
Old worn-out saddles and old worn-out memories,
with no one and no place to stay.
My heroes have always been cowboys.
And they still are, it seems.
Sadly in search of, and one step in back of,
themselves and their slow-moving dreams.
--Sharon Rice, "My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys"
from being alone too long.
You could die from the cold in the arms of a nightmare,
knowing well that your best days are gone.
Picking up hookers instead of my pen,
I let the words of my youth fade away.
Old worn-out saddles and old worn-out memories,
with no one and no place to stay.
My heroes have always been cowboys.
And they still are, it seems.
Sadly in search of, and one step in back of,
themselves and their slow-moving dreams.
--Sharon Rice, "My Heroes Have Always Been Cowboys"
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
"The Raven" in 1946, one hundred and one years later
"'The Raven' is probably the best-known poem in America. When it appeared in the New York Evening Mirror for January 29, 1845, it created a national, even an international, sensation. 'No brief poem,' says George E. Woodberry, 'ever established itself so immediately, so widely, and so imperishably in men's minds.'"
--American Writers: Revised Edition, The Athenaeum Press: Boston, 1946
--American Writers: Revised Edition, The Athenaeum Press: Boston, 1946
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Sunday, January 04, 2009
As the dish heated the spoon
Hey diddle diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon!
The little dog laughed
To see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon!
He ran from conviction
And fed his addiction
As the dish heated the spoon.
The spoon begged to go
But the dish shouted "No!
The heroin will be ready soon."
--Rob DenBleyker, Cyanide and Happiness, 2008 November 30
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon!
The little dog laughed
To see such sport,
And the dish ran away with the spoon!
He ran from conviction
And fed his addiction
As the dish heated the spoon.
The spoon begged to go
But the dish shouted "No!
The heroin will be ready soon."
--Rob DenBleyker, Cyanide and Happiness, 2008 November 30
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Fourth Verse of "We Three Kings"
Myrrh is mine: Its bitter perfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom.
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,
Sealed in the stone-cold tomb.
--John Henry Hopkins, Jr., "We Three Kings," 1863
Breathes a life of gathering gloom.
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,
Sealed in the stone-cold tomb.
--John Henry Hopkins, Jr., "We Three Kings," 1863
Friday, December 19, 2008
air inside the ice cube
I write out my life
hour by hour, word by word
gazing into the anger of old women on the bus
numbering the striations
of air inside the ice cube
imagining the existence
of something uncreated
this poem
our lives
--Adrienne Rich, "Incipience," 1971
hour by hour, word by word
gazing into the anger of old women on the bus
numbering the striations
of air inside the ice cube
imagining the existence
of something uncreated
this poem
our lives
--Adrienne Rich, "Incipience," 1971
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