Posts tagged ‘Facebook’

On a Pose of Virgil’s

On a Pose of Virgil’s

Near its peak, the mountain requires nearly no
effort to climb. There is no sky behind the flags,
barges of pretty silt. Some wrestlers oil themselves
to prevent a grip, others rub grit on their skin

to help it. In the cartoon, Orpheus puts glasses on
the back
of his head and walks in reverse. The pastor’s white
collar is a foam neck brace. I am sorry to hear,
this morning, as I can’t see the mug top through

the pouring steam, that there is nothing new in
philosophy: I meant to tell you a story but cannot
keep myself interested long enough to describe
the pinewoods exactly. I can never remember jokes,

but there were twenty-four flavors of syrup for
the soft-serve, as for an entire day of ice cream,
and a man near the summit holding his palms fast to
the grass, waiting for the dew to come so he could
wash.

— Zach Savich, from Full Catastrophe Living

T. S. Poetry

Visit me at: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorD.B.Mauldin/

Forbearance

Forbearance

Hast thou named all the birds without a gun;
Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk;
At rich men’s tables eaten bread and pulse:
Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust;
And loved so well a high behavior
In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained
Nobility more nobly to repay
O be my friend, and teach me to be thine!

— Ralph Waldo Emerson, from Emerson: Poems

T. S. Poetry

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Bantams in Pine-Woods

Bantams in Pine-Woods

  • Chieftain Iffucan of Azcan in caftan
    Of tan with henna hackles, halt!

    Damned universal cock, as if the sun
    Was blackamoor to bear your blazing tail.

    Fat!  Fat!  Fat!  Fat!  I am the personal.
    Your world is you.  I am my world.

    You ten-foot poet among inchlings. Fat!
    Begone! An inchling bristles in these pines,

    Bristles, and points their Appalachian tangs,
    And fears not portly Azcan nor his hoos.

    — Wallace Stevens, from The Collected Poems: The Corrected Edition

  • T.S. Poetry
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The Pasture

The Pasture

I’m going out to clean the pasture spring;
I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away
(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I shan’t be gone long. You come too.

I’m going out to fetch the little calf
That’s standing by the mother. It’s so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I shan’t be gone long. You come too.

— Robert Frost, from The Poetry of Robert Frost

T. S. Poetry

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Sonnet 8

Sonnet 8

Music to hear, why hear’st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
Why lov’st thou that which thou receiv’st not gladly,
Or else receiv’st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Resembling sire and child and happy mother,
Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee: ‘Thou single wilt prove none.

— William Shakespeare, more Shakespeare’s Sonnets

T. S. Poetry

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Filed: Misc.

Filed Misc.

The contents of a hanging file folder
spill out like an overturned glass of wine

A pack of Sow and Grow seeds, 300 mg
that sound like a maraca
when you shake it
A receipt for a Paul Klee poster, Blossoms
in the Night, $27.07 including tax
procured from the San Francisco Museum
of Modern Art, 2007
A sticker from a Napa Valley winery with an acronym
that makes one smile: VGSH
Very Good Shit Happens
and a folded list
in my late father’s spidery writing:
shoes, walking stick, jacketwarm

— Shikha Malaviya, from Geography of Tongues

T. S. Poetry

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As You Like It, Act 2, Scene 7

As You Like It, Act 2, Scene 7

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That does not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp.

— William Shakespeare, from William Shakespeare: The Complete Works

T. S. Poetry

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