Tag Archives: random

“Samurai Song”

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posture
Image by pesbo via Flickr

Here’s another one by Robert Pinsky–I’m loving everything of his I’ve read so far!

When I had no roof I made
Audacity my roof. When I had
No supper my eyes dined.

When I had no eyes I listened.
When I had no ears I thought.
When I had no thought I waited.

When I had no father I made
Care my father. When I had
No mother I embraced order.

When I had no friend I made
Quiet my friend. When I had no
Enemy I opposed my body.

When I had no temple I made
My voice my temple. I have
No priest, my tongue is my choir.

When I have no means fortune
Is my means. When I have
Nothing, death will be my fortune.

Need is my tactic, detachment
Is my strategy. When I had
No lover I courted my sleep.

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“Poem About People”

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Here’s a poem I recently ran across, by Robert Pinsky

Robert Pinsky

Image by Lisa Newton via Flickr

He may very well be one of my new favorites!

 

The jaunty crop-haired graying
Women in grocery stores,
Their clothes boyish and neat,
New mittens or clean sneakers,

Clean hands, hips not bad still,
Buying ice cream, steaks, soda,
Fresh melons and soap—or the big
Balding young men in work shoes

And green work pants, beer belly
And white T-shirt, the porky walk
Back to the truck, polite; possible
To feel briefly like Jesus,

A gust of diffuse tenderness
Crossing the dark spaces
To where the dry self burrows
Or nests, something that stirs,

Watching the kinds of people
On the street for a while—
But how love falters and flags
When anyone’s difficult eyes come

Into focus, terrible gaze of a unique
Soul, its need unlovable: my friend
In his divorced schoolteacher
Apartment, his own unsuspected

Paintings hung everywhere,
Which his wife kept in a closet—
Not, he says, that she wasn’t
Perfectly right; or me, mis-hearing

My rock radio sing my self-pity:
“The Angels Wished Him Dead”—all
The hideous, sudden stare of self,
Soul showing through like the lizard

Ancestry showing in the frontal gaze
Of a robin busy on the lawn.
In the movies, when the sensitive
Young Jewish soldier nearly drowns

Trying to rescue the thrashing
Anti-semitic bully, swimming across
The river raked by nazi fire,
The awful part is the part truth:

Hate my whole kind, but me,
Love me for myself. The weather
Changes in the black of night,
And the dream-wind, bowling across

The sopping open spaces
Of roads, golf courses, parking lots,
Flails a commotion
In the dripping treetops,

Tries a half-rotten shingle
Or a down-hung branch, and we
All dream it, the dark wind crossing
The wide spaces between us.

“I Carry Your Heart”

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This is one of my favorites by E.E. Cummings. I cherish this love poem.

E.E. Cummings, full-length portrait, facing le...

Image via Wikipedia

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

My Idol On Stage

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This poem’s about going to see my favorite band perform.

 

The first time I saw him

LIVE—

Breathtaking. Unforgettable.

I’d cling to every word he’d sing.

I closed my eyes

to savor the moment.

When I reopened them

it happened.

I realized I was sharing

him with everyone there.

He wasn’t just mine.

He belonged to

the people on the floor,

in the doorways,

up in those balconies.

When his music speaks

to me

at home,

it’s as if a dear friend

is whispering to me

their biggest secrets.

A dear friend

who’s there for me

in times of darkness.

I saw my idol a second time.

Going in then

I knew what to expect.

My guard was up,

You couldn’t fool me.

I was mouthing every word

he’d utter

to a favorite song of mine.

Then, it happened.

He changed the words

in that gorgeous melody—

So much so

the meaning was murdered.

I never quite

got over that.

I still treasure his music,

as it so beautifully flows.

But there’s a barrier up

in my heart and mind.

There’s nowhere

for those lyrics

to safely stay.

“Let the poets cry

themselves to sleep,” he says,

as I carefully tuck

his words

and my memories

into my pocket.

He Loves Her

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Heart
Image by mozzercork via Flickr

I wrote this one just last night. A sort of love poem.

He Loves her

in a way she’ll never

quite grasp.

He loves her

regardless

of the “typical” things:

Heedless household nagging,

chronic bitchiness when she’s ragging.

He loves her

no matter

how many times she

asks for validation

of their love.

She loves him

for reasons beyond

her imagination.

She loves him

regardless

of the “typical” things:

general male messiness,

clothes strewn about as he’ll undress.

She loves him

no matter

how many times

he has to

validate

their love.

She loves him

as he loves her—

they love one another

for still loving

the other.

“Learn To Be Quiet”

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Here’s a short writing by Franz Kafka, who was primarily a novelist/short story writer. I feel so strongly about what he has to say here, I feel like we all just need to take the time each day, each HOUR of every day to stop for a moment and really think about what life is all about. This writing makes me do just that.

 

Franz Kafka #2

You need not do anything.

 

Remain sitting at your table and listen.

 

You need not even listen, just wait.

 

You need not even wait,

 

just learn to be quiet, still and solitary.

 

And the world will freely offer itself to you unmasked.

 

It has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.

“All You Who Sleep Tonight”

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Vikram Seth - Cambridge - 27 November 2011

Image by Chris Boland via Flickr

This is a poem by Vikram Seth, a fantastic Indian poet/novelist, and so much more. This is a poem of his that I have treasured on many lonely nights.

 

All you who sleep tonight

Far from the ones you love,

No hand to left or right

And emptiness above –

Know that you aren’t alone

The whole world shares your tears,

Some for two nights or one,

And some for all their years.