Everyone's got
a ring around
the fourth finger
of
the left hand
I move to you
With my empty finger
And together we fill the earth
Our floor is bedrock
Our roof the volcanic sky all red
and molten
A ring around
A ring around
your belly
I make it with my arms
We make it with our bodies
If not fire then
flood
if not flood then
fire
a bitter aftertaste
in the water
Unemployed men
in winter skin & hunger
hiring out
to the state
1.25 an hr
the rest of the countryside
careless
with matches & overloaded
dams
A plant in between my fingers, caught on fire.
I told myself I would never fall down this hole
But we can't all be as strong as we wish
Maybe one day I'll live my day dreams..
But that day isn't today
i give and i give and i give and i give,
giving is my name, parts and pieces of
my youth and yonder, i give as a gift to
you. i have 2555 days of my youth to
spare, but i only itch and itch and itch
to inch away at myself for you, for you,
only for you, not noticing the cracks and cuts
and cracks and cuts in my carved out flesh;
no one notices the worn torn gone-case
burn out hell of a weary heart i drag around
in fiery chains, searing in my soul, an iron
furnace of self-giving and selfish taking.
i cry and i weep and i pray and i worship,
i care and i think and i anger and i worry,
i love and i love and i love and i love and till
this day i never learnt how to love without losing
i know it’s my fault
i know this by now
i know you meant it all
i know you know how.
i know your heart has no heat
i know i can’t be sure of mine
i know you laughed at my demise
i know you hope there’s no lifeline.
i know that you enjoyed yourself
i know that it’s now my turn
i know you’re still watching
i know you’re fearful that you’ll burn.
i know it’s not your fault
i know it hardly never ever is
i know your blood is laced with salt
i know you never ask why not.
Ain't no getting over it is there?
Painted blue when you'd rather be neutral.
Never asked for emotions,
But who ever asked you what you wanted?
No one...
Dull eyes, unable to cry.
Numbed hands, unable to hurt.
Crippled heart, unable to leap at the minimal mention of happiness.
Who did this to you?
Who made you hallow?
Is it really the one you think of?
Was told that you were loved,
So remind me what love is.
Dichotomy, contradicting,
Set fire to my carefree decisions.
Without hesitation, break me down.
so many hearts singe
with my feelings
so many streets flats nations
bistros prairies hold my
frenzies hopes
here fields and bungalows
and dogs on chains
but there's one sky & sun one
subtle puppetry
I'd like my words to enter
prairie rooms ship holds
to murmur some ecstatic
forest vision
find kin in prisoners
in solitude crowds each with
his flame
a boy carved his initials
way up high
I'll be a knight he said
a poet lover sage
but they cut
the tree down
he worked dreamed mated
gave birth and lost a child
to death
had a profession comfort
used wood to burn
cosy night fires
flame-coloured flowers
and letters flew
around the room
chastising burning
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
The house had gone to bring again
To the midnight sky a sunset glow.
Now the chimney was all of the house that stood,
Like a pistil after the petals go.
The barn opposed across the way,
That would have joined the house in flame
Had it been the will of the wind, was left
To bear forsaken the place’s name.
No more it opened with all one end
For teams that came by the stony road
To drum on the floor with scurrying hoofs
And brush the mow with the summer load.
The birds that came to it through the air
At broken windows flew out and in,
Their murmur more like the sigh we sigh
From too much dwelling on what has been.
From where I lingered in a lull in March
Outside the sugar-house one night for choice,
I called the fireman with a careful voice
And bade him leave the pan and stoke the arch:
‘O fireman, give the fire another stoke,
And send more sparks up chimney with the smoke.’
I thought a few might tangle, as they did,
Among bare maple boughs, and in the rare
Hill atmosphere not cease to glow,
And so be added to the moon up there.
The moon, though slight, was moon enough to show
On every tree a bucket with a lid,
And on black ground a bear-skin rug of snow.
The sparks made no attempt to be the moon.
They were content to figure in the trees
As Leo, Orion, and the Pleiades.
Heap high the wood on my rusty grate
As I sit enthroned like a potentate
In my old arm chair, while the crackling blaze
Unbars the gates, to my dazzled gaze,
Of a flame bright world that my fancy weaves
Though the storm may batter the creaking eaves.
There is Norway pine from the Arctic’s chill
From wrecks that splintered off Peaked Hill;
There is stout oak fashioned by broad axe blows,
And stranger wood that the jungle grows;
For such is the tribute I levy, - these
Are the far flung gifts of the seven seas.
The surf that claws at the wind swept beach
Like skeleton fingers seems to reach
For my lonely shelter; but staunch it stands
Though its walls resound to the rattling sands