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Best of enemies
I would borrow a lost god
to hinder me with a hard
and slippery light
I invite guests
meaning to be merry for
I could not be alone
whatever I am is naked
and would have stayed out
all night
Poems on the topic: guest
Poems on the topic “guest” on Poets.by.
Guest of honor
no notice taken
of her passed out in the cake—
birthday rum
Guacamole
they usually fry flat
these things aren't alive they're tortillas
I wonder that they will come
do I hear them
anytime after four
look I'm cooking all these leaves for nothing
bends because there's still some moisture inside it
they must have went home
look at that floor
well I'm ready
no development from mess call
all yes a quiet evening at home
you and your friend there what's her name
some time in the early evening means
they never intended to come for dinner
joined that one
* * *
I had a guest last night,
he crawled on top of me,
chose the best spot
to force himself in,
his eyes
so curiously mounted
on his shoulders
working their way
deep into me
Does rain come knocking at your door?
Does rain come knocking at your door
And you open up to it
Welcome it like a long awaited guest
And let it enter,
Not only in your home but also in your soul
You talk to it, as if it were your long lost friend
You pack up your deepest darkest secrets
And hand over the briefcase for the rain to take away
Do you secretly pour some pent up tears into that baggage too?
Or do you save them for when the rain leaves your home
And then let those tears soak you
Do you find solace in letting go when the rain comes
Everything that you've been holding on to?
Do you feel like a newborn when the sky is clear
Knowing there'll be no more rain
For a long long time now....
There Are Rooms
There are rooms in a life that may sometimes
Have someone in them; but they are guests there.
Even when one most loves, one may find,
Really, a solitude that begins at this wall,
Ends at that wall; the rest is not entirely ours.
As years turn and suns, moons and stars
Rise up and fall like rain by every window
Even one's hands will shrivel soon enough
Right at the ends of one's arms, as hands
Of strangers. But to fret at this discovery
Of emptiness arrived at and emptiness
Made clear by moon's dance with water,
Sun's dance with dust, by endings never sought
In even that one room that is one's own, is
Not worthy of even that we call our life.
All our guests deserve from us restraint.
Lyman King
You may think, passer-by, that Fate
Is a pit-fall outside of yourself,
Around which you may walk by the use of foresight
And wisdom.
Thus you believe, viewing the lives of other men,
As one who in God-like fashion bends over an anthill,
Seeing how their difficulties could be avoided.
But pass on into life:
In time you shall see Fate approach you
In the shape of your own image in the mirror;
Or you shall sit alone by your own hearth,
And suddenly the chair by you shall hold a guest,
And you shall know that guest
And read the authentic message of his eyes.
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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