(Poem #110)The Villain While joy gave clouds the light of stars, That beamed wher'er they looked; And calves and lambs had tottering knees, Excited, while they sucked; While every bird enjoyed his song, Without one thought of harm or wrong-- I turned my head and saw the wind, Not far from where I stood, Dragging the corn by her golden hair, Into a dark and lonely wood. |
The Villain -- W H Davies
Naming the Stars -- Joyce Sutphen
(Poem #109)Naming the Stars This present tragedy will eventually turn into myth, and in the mist of that later telling the bell tolling now will be a symbol, or, at least, a sign of something long since lost. This will be another one of those loose changes, the rearrangement of hearts, just parts of old lives patched together, gathered into a dim constellation, small consolation. Look, we will say, you can almost see the outline there: her fingertips touching his, the faint fusion of two bodies breaking into light. |
Telephone Repairman -- Joseph Millar
(Poem #108)Telephone Repairman All morning in the February light he has been mending cable, splicing the pairs of wires together according to their colors, white-blue to white-blue violet-slate to violet-slate, in the warehouse attic by the river. When he is finished the messages will flow along the line: thank you for the gift, please come to the baptism, the bill is now past due: voices that flicker and gleam back and forth across the tracer-colored wires. We live so much of our lives without telling anyone, going out before dawn, working all day by ourselves, shaking our heads in silence at the news on the radio. He thinks of the many signals flying in the air around him the syllables fluttering, saying please love me, from continent to continent over the curve of the earth. |
Hysteria -- T. S. Eliot
(Poem #107)Hysteria As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: "If the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden, if the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden..." I decided that if the shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected, and I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end. |
Easter Morning -- Jim Harrison
(Poem #106)Easter Morning On Easter morning all over America the peasants are frying potatoes in bacon grease. We're not supposed to have "peasants" but there are tens of millions of them frying potatoes on Easter morning, cheap and delicious with catsup. If Jesus were here this morning he might be eating fried potatoes with my friend who has a '51 Dodge and a '72 Pontiac. When his kids ask why they don't have a new car he says, "these cars were new once and now they are experienced." He can fix anything and when rich folks call to get a toilet repaired he pauses extra hours so that they can further learn what we're made of. I told him that in Mexico the poor say that when there's lightning the rich think that God is taking their picture. He laughed. Like peasants everywhere in the history of the world ours can't figure out why they're getting poorer. Their sons join the army to get work being shot at. Your ideals are invisible clouds so try not to suffocate the poor, the peasants, with your sympathies. They know that you're staring at them. |
Flying at Night -- Ted Kooser
(Poem #105)Flying at Night Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations. Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies like a snowflake falling on water. Below us, some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death, snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn back into the little system of his care. All night, the cities, like shimmering novas, tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his. |
The Ship Song -- Nick Cave
(Poem #104)The Ship Song Come sail your ships around me And burn your bridges down We make a little history, baby Every time you come around Come loose your dogs upon me And let your hair hang down You are a little mystery to me Every time you come around We talk about it all night long We define our moral ground But when I crawl into your arms Everything comes tumbling down Come sail your ships around me And burn your bridges down We make a little history, baby Every time you come around Your face has fallen sad now For you know the time is nigh When I must remove your wings And you, you must try to fly Come sail your ships around me And burn your bridges down We make a little history, baby Every time you come around Come loose your dogs upon me And let your hair hang down You are a little mystery to me Every time you come around |