Desire
Desire
Spirals inwards,
Like a hurricane,
Disturbs the calm
Of modest seas,
Gives it
Speech and reach
Of waves,
You ride upon
In a tumultous pleasure,
To know both
The agony of hell
And the bliss of heaven.
8/9/2007
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of the sights and sounds...
CACOPHONY
Blog Archive
T S Eliot Speak
"Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality"
Wislawa Szymborska
How To (and How Not To) Write Poetry by Wislawa Szymborska
"Poetry Reading" - A Poem by Wislawa Szymborska
"To be a boxer, or not to be there at all.
O Muse, where are our teeming crowds?
Twelve people in the room, eight seats to spare -
it's time to start this cultural affair.
Half came inside because it started raining,the rest are relatives. O Muse.
The women here would love to rant and rave,
but that's for boxing. Here they must behave.
Dante's Inferno is ringside nowadays.
Likewise his Paradise. O Muse.
Oh, not to be a boxer but a poet,
one sentenced to hard shelleying for life,
for lack of muscles forced to show the world
the sonnet that may make the highschool reading lists
with luck. O Muse,
O bobtailed angel, Pegasus.
In the first row, a sweet old man's soft snore:
he dreams his wife's alive again. What's more,
she's making him that tart she used to bake.
Aflame, but carefully - don't burn his cake!
-we start to read. O Muse."
O Muse, where are our teeming crowds?
Twelve people in the room, eight seats to spare -
it's time to start this cultural affair.
Half came inside because it started raining,the rest are relatives. O Muse.
The women here would love to rant and rave,
but that's for boxing. Here they must behave.
Dante's Inferno is ringside nowadays.
Likewise his Paradise. O Muse.
Oh, not to be a boxer but a poet,
one sentenced to hard shelleying for life,
for lack of muscles forced to show the world
the sonnet that may make the highschool reading lists
with luck. O Muse,
O bobtailed angel, Pegasus.
In the first row, a sweet old man's soft snore:
he dreams his wife's alive again. What's more,
she's making him that tart she used to bake.
Aflame, but carefully - don't burn his cake!
-we start to read. O Muse."
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