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John Donne
I am a little world made cunningly
Of elements, and an angelic sprite;
But black sin hath betrayed to endless night
My worlds both parts, and (oh!) both parts must die.
You which beyond that heaven which was most high
Have found new spheres, and of new lands can write,
Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might
Drown my world with my weeping earnestly,
Or wash it if it must be drowned no more:
But oh it must be burnt! alas the fire
Of lust and envy have burnt it heretofore,
And made it fouler: Let their flames retire,
And burn me, O Lord, with a fiery zeal
Of Thee and Thy house, which doth in eating heal.
out of doors and fields
the streets full of full people
out of leaves to speak with
and hills to take posture from
out of parts for God
out of world
I am out of pretty discourse
I go too far in censuring
I am certain that the world
is the true messiah
but what will change
my books open and open
thin membranes in a void
sitting here waiting
for the light to turn green and
the world to make sense again
i suddenly realized
each hazy blur of traffic passing by
each blasting radio preaching The Word
each teeny-tiny passenger on that teeny-tiny airplane
is telling an epic story of a world
full of thousands of paths to thousands of other lives
in which i am nothing
And if the world was ending tomorrow,
Will you admit it ?
Will you say it ?
Will you still wear your white hoodie ?
And sway through the corridors ?
Will you still look at me the same way ?
And ask me if I love you again ?
Will you ?
At least, I will.
I'm lost
in this world
where criticising one another
Is a way of life.
FROM Paumanock starting, I fly like a bird,
Around and around to soar, to sing the idea of all;
To the north betaking myself, to sing there arctic songs,
To Kanada, till I absorb Kanada in myself—to Michigan then,
To Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, to sing their songs, (they are inimitable;)
Then to Ohio and Indiana to sing theirs—to Missouri and Kansas and Arkansas, to sing
theirs,
To Tennessee and Kentucky—to the Carolinas and Georgia, to sing theirs,
To Texas, and so along up toward California, to roam accepted everywhere;
To sing first, (to the tap of the war-drum, if need be,)
The idea of all—of the western world, one and inseparable.
And then the song of each member of These States.
The world is so full of a number of things,
I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.
I cannot spare water or wine,
Tobacco-leaf, or poppy, or rose;
From the earth-poles to the Line,
All between that works or grows,
Every thing is kin of mine.
Give me agates for my meat,
Give me cantharids to eat,
From air and ocean bring me foods,
From all zones and altitudes.
From all natures, sharp and slimy,
Salt and basalt, wild and tame,
Tree, and lichen, ape, sea-lion,
Bird and reptile be my game.
Ivy for my fillet band,
Blinding dogwood in my hand,
Hemlock for my sherbet cull me,