December 17th, 2003
No idea why:
She Walks in Beauty
George Gordon, Lord Byron
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
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November 20th, 2003
Part of a poem found by MedicMike:
The Bum of the Rods and the Bum of the Plush
by Fry Pan Jack
The bum on the rods is hunted down
As the enemy of mankind
The other is driven around to his club
Is feted, wined and dined.
And they who curse the bum on the rods
As the essence of all that is bad,
Will greet the other with a winning smile,
And extend the hand so glad.
The rest of it is here.
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September 10th, 2003
On LCDR Smash’s page I found several haiku’s by an old friend of his, Kylan, who recently died in Iraq.
His last poem:
uncomfortable ?
body armor shifting
on the car seat
Some others:
raising her veil,
she sips fruit juice ?
the souk in summer
squirrel drinking
from one small puddle ?
tank tracks
More of his work can be found on The Heron’s Nest
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September 8th, 2003
As I was walking up the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today.
I wish, I wish he’d stay away.
–Hughes Mearns
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August 27th, 2003
Donated by MedicMike:
Some Things I Wanted To Say To You
Tell your lovers
the world robs us in so many ways
that a caress is your way
of taking something back
-Stephen Dunn
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August 19th, 2003
”He was a loner who liked company; a poet of isolation who sought a mass audience; a rebel who sought to fit in. Although a family man to the core, he frequently felt alienated from his wife and children and withdrew into reveries. While preferring to stay at home, he traveled more than any poet of his generation to give lectures and readings, even though he remained terrified of public speaking to the end…”
Via MedicMike
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August 19th, 2003
Have some poetry:
T.S. Eliot (1888-1965) was born in St. Louis, Missouri. He settled in London in 1915 and became a British citizen in 1927. Encouraged by Ezra Pound, he began publishing his work in 1915 and soon established himself as an important voice of the modern world. In 1948 Eliot was awarded the Nobel Prize in literature. His works include “Murder in the Cathedral,” “The Waste Land,” and “Four Quartets.”
Listen to this eloquent rendition of “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” in which Eliot conveys the frustration and irony of this notable poem. Taken from the HarperAudio release “T.S. Eliot Reads.”
Woud it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: “ I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”–
Via MedicMike. A hard charging and ballsy MoFo.
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August 6th, 2003
MedicMike passed this one along. It’s actually a song but I’m listing it under poetry:
Lately she feels at home in airports
Feels at home on trains
More comfortable with strangers
Than with those who know her name
She’d rather be herded onto a 767
Hurdled through the sky
Then to be safe and sound on ground
With him looking into her eyes.
She’s a Moving Target
She prefers it that way
She’s leaving town tomorrow
She got in yesterday
Aw she’s a Moving Target
Now she’s here now she’s not
Now he’s weighing the pros and cons
Of what exactly he’s got.
Lately he’s become accustomed to
The sound of a pre-recorded voice
Explaining why it is she’s unreachable
It’s business
It’s choice
He used to leave her heartfelt messages
Now he slams the receiver down
She picks up the signal loud and clear
In a phone booth in a boarder town.
She’s a Moving Target
He’s so slow to take aim
He sees her profile east and west
A boarding pass with her name
Aw She’s a Moving Target
Now she’s here now she’s not
Now he’s weighing the pros and cons
Of what exactly he’s got.
Now she’s settling down for the night
“Do not disturb” on her door
He’s in a bar drinking beer with his buddies
Wondering what did he fall in love for
He never understood girls very much
He don’t understand women at all
He’d like to phone her up and yell
Or tell her that he loves her
But where in the hell do you call…
A Moving Target
Leave your message at the tone
Oh he longs for the bygone days
When women were afraid to be alone
Aw she’s a Moving Target
Now she’s here, now she’s not
Now he’s weighing the pro’s and con’s
Of what exactly he’s got.
He’s got a Moving Target.
She prefers it that way
She’s leaving town this evening
She got in earlier today
Aw she’s a Moving Target
Now she’s here, now she’s not
Now he’s weighing the pro’s and con’s
Of what exactly he’s got.
He’s got a Moving Target.
–Christine Lavin “Moving Target”
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July 16th, 2003
HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
–William Butler Yeats
(I First heard this in the movie Equilibrium.)
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