English poetry

Poems in English

Dream Song 85: Op. posth. no. 8

Flak. An eventful thought came to me,
Who squirm in my hole. How will the matter end?
Who’s king these nights?
What happened to. . . day? Are ships abroad?
I would like to but may not entertain a friend.
Save me from ghastly frights,

Triune! My wood or word seems to be rotting.
I daresay I’m collapsing. Worms are at hand.
No, all that froze,
I mean the blood. ‘O get up & go in’
Somewhere once I heard. Nowadays I doze.
It’s cold here.

The cold is ultimating. The cold is cold.
I am—I should be held together by—
But I am breaking up
And Henry now has come to a full stop—
Vanisht his vision, if there was, & fold
Him over himself quietly.

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Poem Dream Song 85: Op. posth. no. 8 - John Berryman