prose poem.

[meandyouyouyou.livejournal.com]

Goodtime Jesus

Jesus got up one day a little later than usual. He had been dreaming so deep there was nothing left in his head. What was it? A nightmare, dead bodies walking all around him, eyes rolled back, skin falling off. But he wasn't afraid of that. It was a beautiful day. How 'bout some coffee? Don't mind if I do. Take a little ride on my donkey, I love that donkey. Hell, I love everybody.

- James Tate

"Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" by Thomas Gray

[bennmorland.livejournal.com]

Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard
Thomas Gray (1716/12/26—1771/07/30: b. Cornhill, London, England; d. Cambridge, Cambridgeshire, England)

The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow’r
The mopeing owl does to the moon complain
Of such, as wand’ring near her secret bow’r.
Molest her ancient solitary reign.

( Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree’s shade, )

Theme: Loss

[bennmorland.livejournal.com]

This post has been edited, per the community guidelines.

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