Archive for ‘General’

Sunday, 14 October 2018

Cell Song by Etheridge Knight

Night Music Slanted
Light strike the cave of sleep. I alone
tread the red circle
and twist the space with speech

Come now, etheridge, don’t
be a savior; take your words and scrape
the sky, shake rain

on the desert, sprinkle
salt on the tail
of a girl,

can there anything
good come out of
prison

From: http://www.english.illinois.edu/maps/poets/g_l/knight/online_poems.htm

Date: 1968

By: Etheridge Knight (1931-1991)

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Friday, 12 October 2018

Locker Room Talk by John Adams

I keep dirty things in my locker,
I keep dirty things in my locker,
I keep dirty things, I keep dirty things
and I talk dirty in my locker room

Unbelievable support I’m receiving,
Unbelievable support I’m receiving,
I’m closing one eye, I’m rating very high,
to be honest, it’s just unbelievable.

I’d lock people out of my country,
I’d lock people out of my country,
I’d lock people out, I’d lock people out –
my country could become a locker room.
I keep dirty things in my locker,
I keep dirty things in my locker,
I keep dirty things, I keep dirty things
and I talk dirty in my locker room.

From: https://www.thethreelamps.com/article/three-poems-by-john-adams?publication=spring-2017

Date: 2017

By: John Adams (19??- )

Thursday, 11 October 2018

House of Air by Philip Gross

a letter was sent
but no one was there
no one at home
in the house of air

no window no frame
no number no door
between sixty eight
and sixty four

just a pit prop joist
wedged there to shore
two end walls peeling
patchwork squares

paint patterns plaster
layers on layers
unpicked by rain
and roots and years

like generations
a stray cat stirs
in the deep pile carpet
of rubble and briars

it’s one big room
just follow the stairs
zig zag to the sky
through invisible floors

a fireplace smoulders
green then flares
mauve buddleia
the postman stares

number sixty six
strange it was there
this time yesterday
he could swear.

From: http://www.poetrybyheart.org.uk/poems/house-of-air/

Date: 1995

By: Philip Gross (1952- )

Monday, 1 October 2018

Dusting by Marilyn Nelson

Thank you for these tiny
particles of ocean salt,
pearl-necklace viruses,
winged protozoans:
for the infinite,
intricate shapes
of submicroscopic
living things.

For algae spores
and fungus spores,
bonded by vital
mutual genetic cooperation,
spreading their
inseparable lives
from equator to pole.

My hand, my arm,
make sweeping circles.
Dust climbs the ladder of light.
For this infernal, endless chore,
for these eternal seeds of rain:
Thank you. For dust.

From: https://www.ct.gov/cct/cwp/view.asp?a=2162&q=275616

Date: 1994

By: Marilyn Nelson (1946- )

Friday, 28 September 2018

Verdict by Michael Goldman

Nothing has happened.
We sit as if preserved.

Spared
at random.

From: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?volume=121&issue=5&page=12

Date: 1973

By: Michael Goldman (19??-????)

Friday, 21 September 2018

The Romance of Middle Age by Mary Meriam

Now that I’m fifty, let me take my showers
at night, no light, eyes closed. And let me swim
in cover-ups. My skin’s tattooed with hours
and days and decades, head to foot, and slim
is just a faded photograph. It’s strange
how people look away who once would look.
I didn’t know I’d undergo this change
and be the unseen cover of a book
whose plot, though swift, just keeps on getting thicker.
One reaches for the pleasures of the mind
and heart to counteract the loss of quicker
knowledge. One feels old urgencies unwind,
although I still pluck chin hairs with a tweezer,
in case I might attract another geezer.

From: https://www.maplevalleyreporter.com/life/the-romance-of-middle-age-poem-by-mary-meriam/

Date: 2009

By: Mary Meriam (1955- )

Saturday, 15 September 2018

Ballade of Middle Age by Andrew Lang

Our youth began with tears and sighs,
With seeking what we could not find;
Our verses all were threnodies,
In elegiacs still we whined;
Our ears were deaf, our eyes were blind,
We sought and knew not what we sought.
We marvel, now we look behind:
Life’s more amusing than we thought!

Oh, foolish youth, untimely wise!
Oh, phantoms of the sickly mind!
What? not content with seas and skies,
With rainy clouds and southern wind,
With common cares and faces kind,
With pains and joys each morning brought?
Ah, old, and worn, and tired we find
Life’s more amusing than we thought!

Though youth “turns spectre-thin and dies,”
To mourn for youth we’re not inclined;
We set our souls on salmon flies,
We whistle where we once repined.
Confound the woes of human-kind!
By Heaven we’re “well deceived,” I wot;
Who hum, contented or resigned,
“Life’s more amusing than we thought”!

Envoy.
O nate mecum, worn and lined
Our faces show, but that is naught;
Our hearts are young ’neath wrinkled rind:
Life’s more amusing than we thought!

From: Lang, Andrew, Ballades & Rhymes: From Ballades in Blue China and Rhymes à la Mode, 1911, Longmans, Green and Co: London, New York and Calcutta, pp. 147-148.
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/3138/3138-h/3138-h.htm)

Date: 1885

By: Andrew Lang (1844-1912)

Thursday, 13 September 2018

Getting By by David Harris Ebenbach

At boring jobs I used to calculate
how much I made per minute, keeping track
of the day, twelve cents by twelve cents, as it
deposited its small worth in the bank.
Once, doing temp work, I passed this along
to my equally bored supervisor,
who did her own math, compared it to mine,
and stomped off to the office manager.
She came back with a raise, and somehow I
wasn’t fired. We got back to the work of
ordering envelopes by zip code, by
a labor of something other than love.
A labor of minutes, and here’s the thing
about minutes: they just keep on passing.

From: https://workmagazinearchives.wordpress.com/back-issues/davidharrisebenbach4172011/

Date: 2011

By: David Harris Ebenbach (1972- )

Monday, 10 September 2018

Bargain Hunt by Ron Padgett

                     for Tessie

Suppose you found a bargain so incredible
you stood there stunned for a moment
unable to believe that this thing could be
for sale at such a low price: that is what happens
when you are born, and as the years go by
the price goes up and up until, near the end
of your life, it is so high that you lie there
stunned forever.

From: http://jacketmagazine.com/27/padg.html

Date: 2005

By: Ron Padgett (1942- )

Saturday, 8 September 2018

Of Fullness by Abeir Soukieh

fill me up on foreign words so that I might,
in meaning,
feel full.
and play me music, absolute; though map-less,
goes farther
still.

From: http://cordite.org.au/poetry/mathematics/3-poems-2/

Date: 2017

By: Abeir Soukieh (19??- )