oops

[finlayma84.livejournal.com]

It has been brought to my attention that the poem I posted was posted only a few days ago. Now I wouldn't want to be accused of being a copycat, so how about a little Cummings?

the moon is hiding in
her hair.
The
lily
of heaven
full of all dreams,
draws down.

cover her briefness in singing
close her with intricate faint birds
by daisies and twilights
Deepen her,

Recite
upon her
flesh
the rain's

pearls singly-whispering.

Love love LOVE this girl....

[jadedpoet84.livejournal.com]

Mirrors



Am I still a woman with one breast gone?
Hanging around one man too long
legs give in to knees I can't locate
Was it my spirit I ate when I cooked you dinner?
I try angles still the mirror is always square
Stare cross-eyed so sometimes I see two of me

Laughing at myself
crying for no one else

I am looking for the man in me
trying to figure out why the second syllable
was attached to my womb and

Today my body has no room for visitors, freeloaders or lovers
my frame holds fingerprints from being moved hanged on nails
displayed on white walls for decoration
I see you looking in me trying to find sanity in vanity
while combing through your hair
I break into pieces just to fuck with you
so you will think of me for seven more years
even if you're not good looking

Today I pressed my one breast against the glass/cut off one arm
bit off my one good bottom lip and
kissed myself the way you did
when I was considered a woman
bearer of children and water

My blood no longer colors the moon
No sperm will find a name
and I notice how woman it must be
to feel
Just like a man




Jessica Care Moore

some henry reed

[lunar-endeavor.livejournal.com]

It's not "Iseult La Belle", but I've always found this one so charming. Happy weekend.

"Little Bird, My Little Dove"
Henry Reed

Little bird, my little dove,
Little dove, as white as snow:
See, I have you in my hands,
And I shall not let you go.
And I shall not let you go.
And I shall not let you go.

(no subject)

[undertoe.livejournal.com]

Hey, I'm new. Here's a taste of my work.

dormant hearts of the railway by sir nicholas schram

          t
            r
         a 
            i
          n
glides   along
           r
           a
           i 
           l
           s
and i sit in the corner, pallid or pale:
                                                                (my private box)
watching the world f  l  y      b  y

i see women
       lieing women
weeping their’s woes
		at each
		   STOP
   as their broken toys march aboard

i see trees
       rotting trees
whispering secrets
		with Death’s
		   breath
   as yellowing grandeur cascades from their faces

and i sigh
as each rose goes by
	for they are never mine;
	no such beauty for FiltHy
	      swine

but i hope
that my stop will soon be
and just for once
the doves will sing
for me

(no subject)

[mizraim.livejournal.com]

Ambulances

Closed like confessionals, they thread
Loud noons of cities, giving back
None of the glances they absorb.
Light glossy grey, arms on a plaque,
They come to rest at any kerb:
All streets in time are visited.

Then children strewn on steps or road,
Or women coming from the shops
Past smells of different dinners, see
A wild white face that overtops
Red stretcher-blankets momently
As it is carried in and stowed,

And sense the solving emptiness
That lies just under all we do,
And for a second get it whole,
So permanent and blank and true.
The fastened doors recede. Poor soul,
They whisper at their own distress;

For borne away in deadened air
May go the sudden shut of loss
Round something nearly at an end,
And what cohered in it across
The years, the unique random blend
Of families and fashions, there

At last begin to loosen. Far
From the exchange of love to lie
Unreachable insided a room
The trafic parts to let go by
Brings closer what is left to come,
And dulls to distance all we are.

- Philip Larkin

Dream Song 171

[gl-oriana.livejournal.com]

Go, ill-sped book, and whisper to her or
storm out the message for her only ear
that she is beautiful.
Mention sunsets, be not silent of her eyes
and mouth and other prospects, praise her size,
say her figure is full.

Say her small figure is heavenly & full,
so as stunned Henry yatters like a fool
& maketh little sense.
Say she is soft in speech, stately in walking,
modest at gatherings, and in every thing
declare her excellence.

And forget not, when the rest is wholly done
and all of her splendors opened, one by one,
to add that she likes Henry,
for reasons unknown, and fate has bound them fast
one to another in linkages that last
and that are fair to see.

John Berryman

Richard Brautigan

[ian-gazarek.livejournal.com]

"Boo, Forever"

Spinning like a ghost
on the bottom of a
  top
I'm haunted by all
the space that I
will live without
  you.