SEE ALL TAGS & MOODS
scurried around a classroom papered with poems.
Even the ceiling, pink and orange quilts of phrase...
they introduced one another, perched on a tiny stage
to read their work, blessed their teacher who
my friends, my sweet barbarians,
there is that hunger which is not for food —
but an eye at the navel turns the appetite
this is the growing of things birthing of skin
and bone stem and leaf this is planet
earth beneath snowlight and desert sand
To Windrim or sycamore
rustle cicada or bark and to Wayne
upon contact / head first / baptismal
the rind of me / peels into ribbons
of foam / and pearls / i re-brown at the water’s
touch / its two-way mudmirror / hands me
its own name / earthliquid / bottomless
in the south hebron hills the slanted hills
recall old songs, and the women collect
them like rain. the men have two-syllable
The young sun’s greeting
On my bed, your letter’s glow
All the sounds that burst from morning
Blackbirds’ brassy calls, jingle of gonoleks
Your smile on the grass, on the radiant dew.
After learning “me” and “I”
but well before my father learns
a restraining order's
between him and our home,
we share some good times.
Remember the back of his bicycle.
In Jerusalem, and I mean within the ancient walls,
I walk from one epoch to another without a memory
to guide me. The prophets over there are sharing
the history of the holy ... ascending to heaven
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which…
It’s the first day of summer and we’re so happy
To see the sun and the satchel of colours it schleps
All those dark kilometres. The sky is so blue
And the sea is blue and the small islands in the sea
Both guitars run trebly. One noodles
Over a groove. The other slushes chords.
Then they switch. It’s quite an earnest affair.
Praise the rain, the seagull dive
The curl of plant, the raven talk-
Praise the hurt, the house slack
with the tip of my spring tongue, ayîki frog
your mouth will be the web
catching apihkêsis words, …
1
an urban image from the eighties
when we hung out at Chez Madame Arthur
Gotta love us brown girls, munching on fat, swinging blue hips, decked out in shells and splashes, Lawdie, bringing them woo hips.
As the jukebox teases, watch my sistas throat the heartbreak,
Down a long, long corridor
I keep walking…
—A window straight ahead so bright it hurts the eyes,
I’ve heard the phrase between you
and me too many times to believe
it to be true, but between me and you
It is 12:20 in New York a Friday
three days after Bastille day, yes
it is 1959 and I go get a shoeshine
Wild Nights — Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Sweet sweet sweet sweet sweet tea.
Susie Asado.
a glass tube
for my leg says Hugo Ball
my hat a cylinder
The sky, lit up like a question or
an applause meter, is beautiful
like everything else today: the leaves
About me the night moonless wimples the mountains
wraps ocean land …
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Helen, thy beauty is to me
Like those Nicéan barks of yore,
That gently, o’er a perfumed sea,
Out of the deep and the dark,
A sparkling mystery, a shape,
Something perfect,
When Love with unconfinèd wings
Hovers within my Gates,
And my divine Althea brings
What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
Glory be to God for dappled things —
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple…
I caught this morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his riding
Of the rolling…
Nothing is so beautiful as Spring —
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens,…
Could our first father, at his toilsome plow,
Thorns in his path, and labor on his brow,
Clothed only in a rude, unpolished skin,
I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then?
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Lord of my heart’s elation,
Spirit of things unseen,
Be thou my aspiration
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
Restored my earth to joy
Have you departed, every one,
