Things I Haven't Felt - Emily Lloyd

[circleofharmony.livejournal.com]

Most of the poetry I'm reading and liking these days I find in literary magazines and journals. The poets they publish aren't all "known" poets (yet) so I hope it's ok to post them in this community.

Things I Haven’t Felt

Different, after losing my virginity.
Better, after the medicine I took.
Mosquitoes on my skin, before they’ve bitten me.
Profoundly changed, after I read that book.
The call of the wild. The glow of pregnancy.
Guilty, after sleeping with someone’s wife.
High as a kite, high even as a tree.
The peace that passeth understanding. Safe.
God’s presence in the world, and that of the boy
who thought I was his mother at the mall.
How long had he walked beside me without my noticing?
How long had I inadvertently hidden my face?

--Emily Lloyd

"She Tells Her Love While Half Asleep" by Robert Graves

[a-healing-mind.livejournal.com]

She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half-words whispered low:
As Earth stirs in her winter sleep
And puts out grass and flowers
Despite the snow,
Despite the falling snow.

(no subject)

[thegreatxavier.livejournal.com]

"As Love and I" Michael Drayton

As Love and I, late harbor'd in one inn,
With proverbs thus each other entertain:
"In Love there is no lack," thus I begin;
"Fair words make fools," replieth he again;
"Who spares to speak doth spare to speed," quoth I;
"As well," saith he, "too forward as too slow";
"Fortune assists the boldest," I reply;
"A hasty man," quoth he, "ne'er wanted woe";
"Labor is light where Love," quoth I, "doth pay";
Saith he, "Light burden's heavy, if far borne";
Quoth I, "The main lost, cast the bye away";
"You have spun a fair thread," he replies in scorn.
And having thus awhile each other thwarted,
Fools as we met, so fools again we parted.

Civil War by Leigh Stein

[ecdysiasm.livejournal.com]

Civil War
by Leigh Stein

I apologize for getting off on danger, but
I can’t tell you any more
about my transitory fantasies involving the two of us
being consumed by prairie fire, because remember
last time? when I said I wanted to take the bones
of your hands and make them into a heart shaped brooch
for my new tweed jacket?

You totally freaked out
and I was just being romantic.

And I’m sorry that
I spent most of last night trying
to crawl inside the spine of my atlas and
I’m also sorry for eskimo kissing the hell out of
the Mason-Dixon line, but globes make
impossible pillows. Pillows make
impossible pillows. I don’t know what to do any more
but ask you to sever and mail me a limb while
I work on memorizing the topography of too far away.


(from Gangway #35)

(no subject)

[skylinewars.livejournal.com]

Part Two: No Whiskey Bars
by Rod McKuen


May 5

The sky
is the forehead of the morning
passing the sun along the day,
distributing the clouds
that move above us
and ride with us till nightfall.

And your eyes
are the bottom of the day
set on fire by words,
made to move by sighs
and the rustling of the trees.

We'll go to the hills then,
take our time.
Climb until we find one
closest to the sky.

I'll spread a blanket on the ground
and make a picnic of your body.
You'll face the sky and count the clouds
and when the counting stops
I'll take you home again,
down a dozen hills under a hundred skies.

I know the ground is not yet green all over
but trust me.
I'll find the greenest hill of all
and your red dress will be the single flower
that grows against the grass.

Me and the day
we care for you
without the rivalry of common lovers
and we'll be careful as the rain,
gentle as the clouds.

james tate

[sorryduluoz.livejournal.com]

Long term memory

I was sitting in the park feeding pigeons
when a man came over to me and scrutinized my
face right up close. "There's a statue of you
over there," he said. "you should be dead. what
did you do to deserve a statue?" "i've never seen
a statue of me," i said. "there can't be a statue
of me. i've never done anything to deserve a
statue. and i'm definitely not dead." "well,
go look for yourself. it's you alright, there's
no mistaking that," he said. i got up and walked
over to where it was. it was me alright. i looked
like i was gazing off into the distance, or the
future, like those statues of pioneers. it didn't
have my name on it or anything, but it was me.
a lady came up to me and said, "you're looking at
your own statue. isn't that against the law, or
something?" "it should be," i said, "but this is
my first offense. maybe they'll let me off light."
"it's against nature too," she said, "and bad
manners, i think." "i couldn't agree with you
more," i said. "i'm walking away right now, sorry."
i went back to my bench. the man was sitting there.
"maybe you're a war hero. maybe you died in the
war," he said. "never been a soldier," i said.
"maybe you founded this town three hundred years
ago," he said. "well, if i did, i don't remember
it now," i said. "that's a long time ago," he
said, "you coulda forgot." i went back to feeding
the pigeons. oh yes, founding the town. it was
coming back to me now. it was on a wednesday.
a light rain, my horse slowed...

frank o'hara: ave maria

[gh0stmeat.livejournal.com]

Mothers of America

let your kids go to the movies!

get them out of the house so they won't know what you're up to
it's true that fresh air is good for the boy

but what about the soul

that grows in darkness, embossed by silvery images
and when you grow old as grow old you must

they won't hate you

they won't criticize you they won't know

they'll be in some glamorous
country

they first saw on a Saturday afternoon or playing hookey
they may even be grateful to you

for their first sexual experience

which only cost you a quarter

and didn't upset the peaceful home

they will know where candy bars come from

and gratuitous bags of popcorn

as gratuitous as leaving the movie before it's over
with a pleasant stranger whose apartment is in the Heaven on Earth Bldg
near the Williamsburg Bridge

oh mothers you have made the little tykes

so happy because if nobody does pick them up in the movies
they won't know the difference

and if somebody does it'll be sheer gravy

and they'll have been truly entertained either way
instead of hanging around the yard

or up in their room

hating you

prematurely since you won't have done anything horribly mean yet
except keeping them from the darker joys

it's unforgivable the latter

so don't blame me if you won't take this advice

and the family breaks up

and your children grow old and blind in front of a TV set

seeing

movies you wouldn't let them see when they were young

Dirty Valentine - Richard Siken

[aimlesswanderer.livejournal.com]

Dirty Valentine - Richard Siken

there are so many things i'm not allowed to tell you.
i touch myself, i dream.
wearing your clothes or standing in the shower for an hour, pretending
that this skin is your skin, these hands your hands,
these shins, these soapy flanks.
the musicians start the overture while i hide behind the microphone,
trying to match the dubbing
to the big lips shining down from the screen.
we're filming a movie called planet of love-
there's sex of course, and ballroom dancing,
fancy clothes and waterlillies in the pond, and half the night you're
a dependable chap, mounting the stairs in lamplight to the bath, but then
the too white teeth all night,
all over the american sky, too much to bear, this constant fingering,
your hands a river gesture, the birds in flight, the birds still singing
outside the greasy window in the trees.
there's a part in the movie
where you can see right through the acting,
where you can tell that i'm about to burst into tears,
right before i burst into tears
and flee to the slimy moonlit riverbed
canopied with devastated clouds.
we're shooting the scene where i swallow your heart and you make me
spit it up again. i swallow your heart and it crawls
right out of my mouth.
you swallow my heart and flee, but i want it back now, baby. i want it back.
lying on the sofa with my eyes closed, i didn't want to see it this way,
everything eating everything in the end.
we know how the light works,
we know where the sound is coming from.
verse. chorus. verse.
i'm sorry. we know how it works. the world is no longer mysterious.