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Eleven Addresses to the Lord BY JOHN BERRYMAN
3 Forsake me not when my wild hours come; grant me sleep nightly, grace soften my dreams; achieve in me patience till the thing be done, a careful view of my achievement come. Make me from time to time the gift of the shoulder. When all hurt nerves whine shut away the whiskey. Empty my heart toward Thee. Let me pace without fear the common path of death. Cross am I sometimes with my little daughter: fill her eyes with tears. Forgive me, Lord. Unite my various soul, sole watchman of the wide & single stars. 9 A Prayer for the Self Who am I worthless that You spent such…
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FS: insane cat. Slightly used.
– Posted from my iPhone
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December by Gary Johnson
A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves, And also the partridge in a pear tree And the golden rings and the turtle doves. In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled, Enduring the cold and also the flu, Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled. Not much triumph going on here–and yet There is much we do not understand. And my hopes and fears are met In this small singer holding onto my hand. Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark And are there angels singing overhead?…
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Brutal.
Argh. It hurts us precious. – Posted from my iPhone
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Charles river under ice.
– Posted from my iPhone Location:Boston Massachusetts
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So you think you’re in
So you think you’re in the middle of the ocean Stranded on an island of your own Or stuck in the top of a mountain Either way you’re gonna say you’re all alone And I hesitate to say that you’re a liar I never tell the truth myself But I tried to chase you down and I got tired So I’m leaving you to you or someone else ’cause you never want to hook up in the middle And I’d meet you there to talk if you would show But you answer every question with a riddle And refuse to even choose to let me go It used to be…
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My tree.
A gift from my sisters to cheer me up. – Posted from my iPhone. Carefully. Location:Old Plymouth Rd,Sagamore Beach,United States
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Susanna by Anne Porter
Nobody in the hospital Could tell the age Of the old woman who Was called Susanna I knew she spoke some English And that she was an immigrant Out of a little country Trampled by armies Because she had no visitors I would stop by to see her But she was always sleeping All I could do Was to get out her comb And carefully untangle The tangles in her hair One day I was beside her When she woke up Opening small dark eyes Of a surprising clearness She looked at me and said You want to know the truth? I answered Yes She said it’s something that My…
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Waking at 3 a.m.
Even in the cave of the night when you wake and are free and lonely, neglected by others, discarded, loved only by what doesn’t matter–even in that big room no one can see, you push with your eyes till forever comes in its twisted figure eight and lies down in your head. You think water in the river; you think slower than the tide in the grain of the wood; you become a secret storehouse that saves the country, so open and foolish and empty. You look over all that the darkness ripples across. More than has ever been found comforts you. You open your eyes in a vault that…
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Insomniac by Galway Kinnell
I open my eyes to see how the night is progressing. The clock glows green, the light of the last-quarter moon shines up off the snow into our bedroom. Her portion of our oceanic duvet lies completely flat. The words of the shepherd in Tristan, “Waste and empty, the sea,” come back to me. Where can she be? Then in the furrow where the duvet overlaps her pillow, a small hank of brown hair shows itself, her marker that she’s here, asleep, somewhere down in the dark underneath. Now she rotates herself a quarter turn, from strewn all unfolded on her back to bunched in a Z on her side,…
