Rives, "Dirty Talk"

[kinfae.livejournal.com]

Seems pretty simple
You wanna get your teeth cleaned for free?
Date a dentist.
New addition on the house?
You should screw an architect.
But if you need someone to talk dirty to you in bed
… you better fuck a poet.
Because the average civilian is gonna hit you with something like, “whoa .. whoa .. We are really having sex!” Right?
Whereas a poet might phrase that a little more like,
“Lover much missed, my where, my why, my how,
I wanna do you like all three Dudes in Blue Man Group
cuz that’s what color my balls are right now.”
See no, right? Sexy!
But clearly, that is just a hypothetical. Like me, when I’m actually in the saddle
I’m straight freestyling. In fact afterwards, even, when I review the video tape,
honestly, I can’t make out half the crap I’m saying!
And hey, I know that you don’t always want the dirty talk.
That is great!
Fuck a mime!
Yeah. Have a knock out time.
But that creep is gonna spend the whole date in an imaginary box
And he’s never gonna make it to your money spot.
And you'll call me when you NEED the dirty talk.
And that does not make you nasty, baby.
That makes ME nasty, baby.
And clearly, I’m okay with that!
And so are most poets, which is the point! Know thyself.
If you can’t stand firemen, don’t light fires.
Can’t handle a sofa in your swimming pool? Never rent your house out to rock stars.
And if after tonight, after seeing what a dope-ass line of poets can Do, do, do to a mic
if you still cannot fathom The Imagery
And Ecstasy Of eons or ions
spun into speech from your actual spasms By a soul, in a room
with an immortal mouth gnashing loudly
For true love over loneliness.
And moaning to the moon, the moon I said the ever-loving moon
so that all the neighbors know it
If you can’t fathom that … Don’t fuck a poet.

Love Songs

[clevermynnie.livejournal.com]

I have remembered beauty in the night,
Against black silences I waked to see
A shower of sunlight over Italy
And green Ravello dreaming on her height;
I have remembered music in the dark,
The clean swift brightness of a fugue of Bach's,
And running water singing on the rocks
When once in English woods I heard a lark.

But all remembered beauty is no more
Than a vague prelude to the thought of you --
You are the rarest soul I ever knew,
Lover of beauty, knightliest and best;
My thoughts seek you as waves that seek the shore,
And when I think of you, I am at rest.

--Sara Teasdale

robert frost

[peccare.livejournal.com]

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

(no subject)

[claymedeiros.livejournal.com]

The Windhover:

To Christ our Lord

I caught the morning morning’s minion, king-
dom of daylight’s dauphin, dapple-dawn-drawn Falcon, in his
riding
of the rolling level underneath him steady air and striding
High there, how he rung upon the rein of a wimpling wing
In his ecstasy! then off, off forth on swing,
As a skate’s heel sweeps smooth on a blow-bend : the hurl and
Gliding
Rebuffed the big wind. My heart in hiding
Stirred for a bird,--the achieve of the mastery of the thing!

Brute beauty and valour and act, oh, air, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND the fire that breaks from thee then, a billion
Times told lovelier, more dangerous, O my chevalier!

No wonder of it: sheer plod makes plough down sillion
Shine and blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,
Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermillion.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

Love Songs, Mina Loy (1914-17)

[elegia.livejournal.com]

I

Spawn of fantasies

Sifting the appraisable

Pig Cupid his rosy snout

Rooting erotic garbage

"Once upon a time"

Pulls a weed white star-topped

Among wild oats sown in mucous membrane

I would an eye in a Bengal light

Eternity in a sky-rocket

Constellations in an ocean

Whose rivers run no fresher

Than a trickle of saliva

 

These are suspect places

 

I must live in my lantern

Trimming subliminal flicker

Virginal to the bellows

Of experience

Colored glass.

 

II

At your mercy

Our Universe

Is only

A colorless onion

You derobe

Sheath by sheath

Remaining

A disheartening odour

About your nervy hands

 

III

Night

Heavy with shut-flower's nightmares

---------------------------------------------

Noon

Curled to the solitaire

Core of the

Sun

 

( Songs IV - X )