Poem for the Day

Posted: 19 October 2014

They conversed as they sipped their Darjeeling,
(About love, as a matter of fact.)
The ladies with some depth of feeling,...
And the gents with their usual tact.

‘Affairs should be strictly platonic,’
The withered town councillor said;
And the smile from his wife was ironic,
As she wistfully nodded her head.

‘Too much of the old rough and tumble
Is a health risk,’ the major maintained.
The young lady was prompted to mumble
‘How exactly….?’ But no one explained.

The deaconess spoke out forthrightly
On the topic of ecstasy;
And offered the bishop politely
Some more of the excellent tea!

There was one empty place at the table,
And one person, my poppet, too few.
There should have been someone there able
To hold forth on the subject like you.

Table Talk
Heinrich Heine (Translated by David Cram)

Poem for the Day

Posted: 18 October 2014

Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse - and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness -...
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.

Oh, come with old Khayyám, and leave the Wise
To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on; nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

And that inverted Bowl we call The Sky,
Whereunder crawling coopt we live and die,
Lift not thy hands to It for help - for It
Rolls impotently on as Thou or I.

Oh Thou, who didst with Pitfall and with Gin
Beset the Road I was to wander it,
Thou wilt not with Predestination round
Enmesh me, and impute my Fall to Sin ?

Oh, Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make,
And who with Eden didst devise the Snake ;
For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man
Is blacken'd, Man's Forgiveness give - and take!

And much as Wine has play'd the Infidel,
And robb'd me of my Robe of Honour - well,
I often wonder what the Vintners buy
One half so precious as the Goods they sell.

Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose!
That Youth's sweet-scented Manuscript should close!
The Nightingale that in the Branches sang,
Ah, whence, and whither flown again, who knows!

Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,
Would not we shatter it to bits - and then
Re-mould it nearer to the Heart's Desire!

Ah, Moon of my Delight who know'st no wane,
The Moon of Heav'n is rising once again :
How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same Garden after me - in vain!

And when Thyself with shining Foot shall pass
Among the Guests Star-scatter'd on the Grass,
And in thy joyous Errand reach the Spot
Where I made one-turn down an empty Glass!

from The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam
Edward Fitzgerald

Poem for the Day

Posted: 17 October 2014

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch...
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

Her Kind
Anne Sexton

Poem for the Day

Posted: 16 October 2014

Dream after dream I see the wrecks that lie
Unknown of man, unmarked upon the charts,
Known of the flat-fish with the withered eye,...
And seen by women in their aching hearts.

World-wide the scattering is of those fair ships
That trod the billow tops till out of sight:
The cuttle mumbles them with horny lips,
The shells of the sea-insects crush them white.

In silence and in dimness and in greenness
Among the indistinct and leathery leaves
Of fruitless life they lie among the cleanness.
Fish glide and flit, slow under-movement heaves;

But no sound penetrates, not even the lunge
Of live ships passing , nor the gannet’s plunge.

John Masefield

Poem for the Day

Posted: 15 October 2014

Lie down lass, lie down, in sage green meadows
Your blouse flouncing open, in the teasing breeze
The meadows, feel so cotton, this time of season...
Come lay beside me lass and sense the softness

Open field, sweet honeysuckle.....arouses my yen
Shamrock blades in sparkle by the mid-noon sun
No clouds abide our scape of choice, to pleasure
Again I ask you lass......come lay you down by me

Come close my love...these hungry emerald eyes
Beg to stare into your warm, black diamond eyes
Take my hand in bond, lov' and let me assure you
That Emeralds and diamonds.....never fade away

Emeralds and Black Diamonds
Frank James Ryan Jr...FjR

101-105 of 841 blog entries

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