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The Villain -- W H Davies

(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.
-- 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.
-- Joyce Sutphen

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.
-- Joseph Millar

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.

-- T. S. Eliot

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.
-- Jim Harrison

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.
-- Ted Kooser

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
-- Nick Cave