To The Whore Who Took My Poems

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1. Hum Bom! I Whom bomb? We bomb them! Whom bomb? We bomb them! Whom bomb? We bomb them! Whom bomb? We bomb them! Whom bomb? You bomb you! Whom bomb? You bomb you! Whom bomb? You bomb you! Whom bomb? You bomb you! What do we do? Who do we bomb? What do we do? Who do […]...
2. Rhyming Poem the goldfish sing all night with guitars, And the whores go down with the stars, The whores go down with the stars I’m sorry, sir, we close at 4:30, Besides yr mother’s neck is dirty, And the whores go down with the etc., The whrs. go dn. with the etc. I’m sorry jack you can’t […]...
3. As The Poems Go as the poems go into the thousands you Realize that you’ve created very Little. It comes down to the rain, the sunlight, The traffic, the nights and the days of the Years, the faces. Leaving this will be easier than living It, typing one more line now as A man plays a piano through the […]...
4. Buying The Whore You are the roast beef I have purchased And I stuff you with my very own onion. You are a boat I have rented by the hour And I steer you with my rage until you run aground. You are a glass that I have paid to shatter And I swallow the pieces down with […]...
5. Poems Done on a Late Night Car I. CHICKENS I am The Great White Way of the city: When you ask what is my desire, I answer: “Girls fresh as country wild flowers, With young faces tired of the cows and barns, Eager in their eyes as the dawn to find my mysteries, Slender supple girls with shapely legs, Lure in the […]...
6. Joy-notes when the time comes Yield To the forces outside you Images simply Of your inner compulsions When the time comes Invite Your enemies inside you Inversions simply Of your face on the world When the time comes Die From the fears that hold you The action simply Of seceding old skins When the time comes […]...
7. Her "last Poems&quot Her “last Poems” Poets ended Silver perished with her Tongue Not on Record bubbled other, Flute or Woman So divine Not unto its Summer Morning Robin uttered Half the Tune Gushed too free for the Adoring From the Anglo-Florentine Late the Praise ‘Tis dull conferring On the Head too High to Crown Diadem or Ducal […]...
8. The Bridge In his travels he comes to a bridge made entirely of bones. Before crossing he writes a letter to his mother: Dear mother, Guess what? the ape accidentally bit off one of his hands while Eating a banana. Just now I am at the foot of a bone bridge. I Shall be crossing it shortly. […]...
9. Reading An Anthology Of Chinese Poems Of The Sung Dynasty, I Pause To Admire The Length And Clarity Of Their Titles It seems these poets have nothing Up their ample sleeves They turn over so many cards so early, Telling us before the first line Whether it is wet or dry, Night or day, the season the man is standing in, Even how much he has had to drink. Maybe it is autumn and he is […]...
10. Poems to Mulgrave and Scroope Deare Friend. I heare this Towne does soe abound, With sawcy Censurers, that faults are found, With what of late wee (in Poetique Rage) Bestowing, threw away on the dull Age; But (howsoe’re Envy, their Spleen may raise, To Robb my Brow, of the deserved Bays) Their thanks at least I merit since through me, […]...
11. The Drunkards in the Street The Drunkards in the street are calling one another, Heeding not the night-wind, great of heart and gay, – Publicans and wantons – Calling, laughing, calling, While the Spirit bloweth Space and Time away. Why should I feel the sobbing, the secrecy, the glory, This comforter, this fitful wind divine? I the cautious Pharisee, the […]...
12. Dead poet I’m sure it would be easier to survive as a dead poet, I mean it in the surmise that I won’t be tempted To revise or rewrite the poem I wrote last night, or the Poems I wrote last week (which make me cringe when I Read them again), or when I read poetry of […]...
13. The Testimony Of Light Our life is a fire dampened, or a fire shut up in stone. Jacob Boehme, De Incarnatione Verbi Outside everything visible and invisible a blazing maple. Daybreak: a seam at the curve of the world. The trousered legs of the women shimmered. They held their arms in front of them like ghosts. The coal bones […]...
14. Metaphors Of A Magnifico Twenty men crossing a bridge, Into a village, Are twenty men crossing twenty bridges, Into twenty villages, Or one man Crossing a single bridge into a village. This is old song That will not declare itself. . . Twenty men crossing a bridge, Into a village, Are Twenty men crossing a bridge Into a village. […]...
15. Working Out Van Gogh cut off his ear Gave it to a Prostitute Who flung it away in Extreme Disgust. Van, whores don’t want Ears They want Money. I guess that’s why you were Such a great Painter: you Didn’t understand Much Else....
16. Two Poems from the War Oh, not the loss of the accomplished thing! Not dumb farewells, nor long relinquishment Of beauty had, and golden summer spent, And savage glory of the fluttering Torn banners of the rain, and frosty ring Of moon-white winters, and the imminent Long-lunging seas, and glowing students bent To race on some smooth beach the gull’s […]...
17. 98. To Mr. M'Adam, of Craigen-Gillan SIR, o’er a gill I gat your card, I trow it made me proud; “See wha taks notice o’ the bard!” I lap and cried fu’ loud. Now deil-ma-care about their jaw, The senseless, gawky million; I’ll cock my nose abune them a’, I’m roos’d by Craigen-Gillan! ‘Twas noble, sir; ’twas like yourself’, To grant […]...
18. Clouds to find the origin, Trace back the manifestations. Tao Between being and non-being Barely there These sails of water, ice, air – Indifferent drifters, wandering High on freedom Of the homeless Restlessly swithering Like ghosts, slithering through substance In puffs and wisps Lending an enchanting or ominous air Luminous or casting shadows, Ambivalent filters of […]...
19. WANTS POEMS AND HAS NEVER REJECTED ANYONE Eamer o’ Keefe with your tinge of brogue And Irish warmth, Daisy and Debjani With your karma and cool verse, I salute you. ( III ) “Ecoutez la voix du vent” – listen to the wind’s voice As Milosz commands “All your griefs, My sad ones, are in vain” but offering In recompense soaring sonatas […]...
20. Occasional Poems I Christmas Poem for Nancy Noel, Noel We live and we die Between heaven and hell Between the earth and the sky And all shall be well And all shall be unwell And once again! all shall once again! All shall be well By the ringing and the swinging of the great beautiful holiday bell […]...
21. Two spanish poems (a) orihuela-time The sun in orihuela calms the dust And people glide about the streets at ease (problems left indoors to cool themselves) Time has grown fat and no one cares To pin each minute to its proper place The day is long tomorrow’s not yet real Doves and old men occupy the squares Nattering […]...
22. A Following the phone rang at 1:30 a. m. and it was a man from Denver: “Chinaski, you got a following in Denver…” “yeah?” “yeah, I got a magazine and I want some poems from you…” “FUCK YOU, CHINASKI!” I heard a voice in the background… “I see you have a friend,” I said. “yeah,” he answered, […]...
23. Poems On The Slave Trade – Sonnet VI High in the air expos’d the Slave is hung To all the birds of Heaven, their living food! He groans not, tho’ awaked by that fierce Sun New torturers live to drink their parent blood! He groans not, tho’ the gorging Vulture tear The quivering fibre! hither gaze O ye Who tore this Man from […]...
24. To My Wife – With A Copy Of My Poems I can write no stately proem As a prelude to my lay; From a poet to a poem I would dare to say. For if of these fallen petals One to you seem fair, Love will waft it till it settles On your hair. And when wind and winter harden All the loveless land, It […]...
25. 148. To Miss Logan, with Beattie's Poems AGAIN the silent wheels of time Their annual round have driven, And you, tho’ scarce in maiden prime, Are so much nearer Heaven. No gifts have I from Indian coasts The infant year to hail; I send you more than India boasts, In Edwin’s simple tale. Our sex with guile, and faithless love, Is charg’d, […]...
26. The Norsemen ( From Narrative and Legendary Poems ) GIFT from the cold and silent Past! A relic to the present cast, Left on the ever-changing strand Of shifting and unstable sand, Which wastes beneath the steady chime And beating of the waves of Time! Who from its bed of primal rock First wrenched thy dark, unshapely block? Whose hand, of curious skill untaught, […]...
27. The New Poetry Handbook 1 If a man understands a poem, he shall have troubles. 2 If a man lives with a poem, he shall die lonely. 3 If a man lives with two poems, he shall be unfaithful to one. 4 If a man conceives of a poem, he shall have one less child. 5 If a man […]...
28. Poems On The Slave Trade – Sonnet V Did then the bold Slave rear at last the Sword Of Vengeance? drench’d he deep its thirsty blade In the cold bosom of his tyrant lord? Oh! who shall blame him? thro’ the midnight shade Still o’er his tortur’d memory rush’d the thought Of every past delight; his native grove, Friendship’s best joys, and Liberty […]...
29. Poems On The Slave Trade – Sonnet I Hold your mad hands! for ever on your plain Must the gorged vulture clog his beak with blood? For ever must your Nigers tainted flood Roll to the ravenous shark his banquet slain? Hold your mad hands! what daemon prompts to rear The arm of Slaughter? on your savage shore Can hell-sprung Glory claim the […]...
30. Poems On The Slave Trade – Sonnet IV ‘Tis night; the mercenary tyrants sleep As undisturb’d as Justice! but no more The wretched Slave, as on his native shore, Rests on his reedy couch: he wakes to weep! Tho’ thro’ the toil and anguish of the day No tear escap’d him, not one suffering groan Beneath the twisted thong, he weeps alone In […]...
31. Poems On The Slave Trade – Sonnet III Oh he is worn with toil! the big drops run Down his dark cheek; hold hold thy merciless hand, Pale tyrant! for beneath thy hard command O’erwearied Nature sinks. The scorching Sun, As pityless as proud Prosperity, Darts on him his full beams; gasping he lies Arraigning with his looks the patient skies, While that […]...
32. Poems On The Slave Trade – Sonnet II Why dost thou beat thy breast and rend thine hair, And to the deaf sea pour thy frantic cries? Before the gale the laden vessel flies; The Heavens all-favoring smile, the breeze is fair; Hark to the clamors of the exulting crew! Hark how their thunders mock the patient skies! Why dost thou shriek and […]...
33. An Answer To The Rebus, By The Author Of These Poems The poet asks, and Phillis can’t refuse To show th’ obedience of the Infant muse. She knows the Quail of most inviting taste Fed Israel’s army in the dreary waste; And what’s on Britain’s royal standard borne, But the tall, graceful, rampant Unicorn? The Emerald with a vivid verdure glows Among the gems which regal […]...
34. Mossbawn: Two Poems in Dedication 1. Sunlight There was a sunlit absence. The helmeted pump in the yard Heated its iron, Water honeyed In the slung bucket And the sun stood Like a griddle cooling Against the wall Of each long afternoon. So, her hands scuffled Over the bakeboard, The reddening stove Sent its plaque of heat Against her where […]...
35. For Some Poems by Matthew Arnold Sweeping the chords of Hellas with firm hand, He wakes lost echoes from song’s classic shore, And brings their crystal cadence back once more To touch the clouds and sorrows of a land Where God’s truth, cramped and fettered with a band Of iron creeds, he cheers with golden lore Of heroes and the men […]...
36. To Mr. Vaughan, Silurist on His Poems Had I ador’d the multitude, and thence Got an antipathy to wit and sence, And hug’d that fate, in hope the world would grant ‘Twas good affection to be ignorant; Yet the least ray of thy bright fancy seen I had converted, or excuseless been: For each birth of thy muse to after-times Shall expatiate […]...
37. To Stella, Who Collected and Transcribed His Poems As, when a lofty pile is raised, We never hear the workmen praised, Who bring the lime, or place the stones; But all admire Inigo Jones: So, if this pile of scattered rhymes Should be approved in aftertimes; If it both pleases and endures, The merit and the praise are yours. Thou, Stella, wert no […]...
38. Suggested by the Cover of a Volume of Keats's Poems Wild little bird, who chose thee for a sign To put upon the cover of this book? Who heard thee singing in the distance dim, The vague, far greenness of the enshrouding wood, When the damp freshness of the morning earth Was full of pungent sweetness and thy song? Who followed over moss and twisted […]...
39. Sonnet LXII: When First I Ended When first I ended, then I first began, The more I travell’d, further from my rest, Where most I lost, there most of all I wan, Pined with hunger rising from a feast. Methinks I fly, yet want I legs to go, Wise in conceit, in act a very sot, Ravish’d with joy amid a […]...
40. Two south coast poems (a) this morning i came within sound of the sea for a man whose eyes till now were a bed of rock Whose hands were drier than deserts The sea’s voice drove fear up through the valley The tributaries meandering inside me longing for outlet Shrivelled even as their own courses became straight My demand for ocean died now the ocean approached The clouds put […]...