Tuesday, March 31, 2009

careful hands


Spring is like a perhaps hand
(which comes carefully
out of Nowhere)arranging
a window,into which people look(while
people stare
arranging and changing placing
carefully there a strange
thing and a known thing here)and

changing everything carefully

spring is like a perhaps
Hand in a window
(carefully to
and fro moving New and
Old things,while
people stare carefully
moving a perhaps
fraction of flower here placing
an inch of air there)and

without breaking anything.

e.e.cummings

Thursday, March 26, 2009

A Green World


I fell into the ocean
When you became my wife
I risked it all against the sea
To have a better life
Marie you are the wild blue sky
Men do foolish things
You turn kings into beggars
And beggars into kings

Pretend that you owe me nothing
And all the world is green
We can bring back the old days again
When all the world is green

The face forgives the mirror
The worm forgives the plow
The questions begs the answer
Can you forgive me somehow?
Maybe when our story's over
We'll go where it's always spring
The band is playing our song again
And all the world is green

Pretend that you owe me nothing
And all the world is green
Can we bring back the old days again?
And all the world is green

The moon is yellow silver
On the things that summer brings
It's a love you'd kill for
And all the world is green
He's balancing a diamond
On a blade of grass
The dew will settle on our graves
When all the world is green

Pretend that you owe me nothing
And all the world is green
We can bring back the old days again
When all the world is green

He's balancing a diamond
On a blade of grass
The dew will settle on our graves
When all the world is green.

T.Waits

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

See the World


Day to day
Where do you want to be?
cose now you're trying to pick a fight
With everyone you need

You seem like a soldier
Who's lost his composure
You're wounded and playing a waiting game
In no-man's land no-one's to blame

See the world
Find an old fashioned girl
And when all's been said and done
It's the things that are given, not won
Are the things that you want

Empty handed, surrounded by a senseless scene
With nothing of significance
Besides a shadow of a dream
You sound like an old joke
You're worn-out, a bit broke
An' askin me time and time again
When the answer's still the same

See the world
Find an old fashioned girl
And when all's been said and done
It's the things that are given, not won
Are the things that you want

You've got a chance to put things right
So how's it going to be?
Lay down your arms now
And put us beyond doubt
So reach out it's not too far away
Don't mess around now, don't delay

See the world
Find an old fashioned girl
And when all's been said and done
It's the things that are given, not won
Are the things that you want.

Gomez

Monday, March 23, 2009

The Sun warms everything


The sun warms everything,
pure and gentle,
once again it reveals to the world
April's face,
the soul of man
is urged towards love
and joys are governed
by the boy-god.

All this rebirth
in spring's festivity
and spring's power
bids us to rejoice;
it shows us paths we know well,
and in your springtime
it is true and right
to keep what is yours.

Love me faitfully!
See how I am faithful:
with all my heart
and with all my soul,
I am with you
even when I am far away.
Whosoever loves this much
turns on the wheel.

Carmina Burana

Friday, March 20, 2009

Another Time


For us like any other fugitive,
Like the numberless flowers that cannot number
And all the beasts that need not remember,
It is today in which we live.

So many try to say Not Now,
So many have forgotten how
To say I Am, and would be
Lost, if they could, in history.

Bowing, for instance, with such old-world grace
To a proper flag in a proper place,
Muttering like ancients as they stump upstairs
Of Mine and His or Ours and Theirs.

Just as if time were what they used to will
When it was gifted with possession still,
Just as if they were wrong
In no more wishing to belong.

No wonder then so many die of grief,
So many are so lonely as they die;
No one has yet believed or liked a lie,
Another time has other lives to live.

W.H. Auden

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Reality sandwich


On Burroughs' Work

The method must be pures meat
and no symbolic dressing,
actual visions & actual prisons
as seen then and now.

Prisons and visions presented
with rare descriptions
corresponding exactly to those
of Alcatraz and Rose.

A naked lunch is natural to us,
we eat reality sandwiches.
But allegories are so much lettuce.
Don't hide the madness.

A. Ginsberg

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Grey Rooms


Well I've been here before
Sat on the floor in a grey grey room
Where I stay in all day
I don't eat, but I play with this grey grey food

Desolé, if someone is prayin' then I might break out,
Desolé, even if I scream I can't scream that loud

I'm all alone again
Crawling back home again
Stuck by the phone again

Well I've been here before
Sat on a floor in a grey grey mood
Where I stay up all night
And all that I write is a grey grey tune

So pray for me child, just for a while
That I might break out yeah
Pray for me child
Even a smile would do for now

'Cause I'm all alone again
Crawling back home again
Stuck by the phone again

Have I still got you to be my open door
Have I still got you to be my sandy shore
Have I still got you to cross my bridge in this storm
Have I still got you to keep me warm

If I squeeze my grape and I drink my wine
Coz if I squeeze my grape and I drink my wine
Oh coz nothing is lost, it's just frozen in frost,
And it's opening time, there's no-one in line

But I've still got me to be your open door,
I've still got me to be your sandy shore
I've still got me to cross your bridge in this storm
And I've still got me to keep you warm.

D. Rice

Thursday, March 12, 2009

The Phoenix and the Ashes



O Blest unfabled Incense Tree,
That burns in glorious Araby,
With red scent chalicing the air,
Till earth-life grow Elysian there!

Half buried to her flaming breast
In this bright tree, she makes her nest,
Hundred sunn'd Phoenix! When she must
Crumble at length to hoary dust!

Her gorgous death-bed! Her rich pyre
Burnt up with aromatic fire!
Her urn, sight high from spoiler men!
Her birthplace when self-born again!

The mountainless green wilds among,
Here ends she her unechoing song!
With amber tears and oderous sighs
Mourn'd by the desert where she dies!

Laid like the young fawn mossily
In sun-green vales of Araby,
I woke hard by the Phoenix tree
That with shadeless boughs flamed over me,


And upward call'd for a dumb cry
With moonbread orbs of wonder I
Beheld the immortal Bird on high
Glassing the great Sun in her eye.

Stedfast she gazed upon his fire,
Still her destroyer and her sire!
As if to his her soul of flame
Had flown already whence it came;

Like those that sit and glare so still,
Intense with their death struggle, till
We touch, and curdle at their chill!
But breathing yet while she doth burn
The deathless Daughter of the Sun!

Slowly to crimson embers turn
The beauties of the brightsome one.
O'er the broad nest her silver wings
Shook down their wasteful glitterings;

Her brinded neck high arch'd in air
Like a small rainbow faded there;
But brighter glow'd her plumy crown
Mouldering to golden ashes down;

With fume of sweet woods, to the skies,
Pure asa Saint's adoring sighs,
Warm as a prayer in Paradise,
Her life-breath rose in sacrifice!

The while with shrill triumphant tone
Sounding aloud, aloft, alone,
Ceaseless her joyful deathwail she
Sang to departing Araby!

George Darley

Sunday, March 01, 2009

I miss you, and love you...


I love thee to the depth and breadth and height.
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight.
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints.
I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life;
and, if God choose,I shall but love thee better after death.


E. Browning