A' 49 Merc - Kurt Brown

[aimlesswanderer.livejournal.com]

A' 49 Merc
        -- Kurt Brown

Some one dumped it here one night, locked
the wheel and watched it tumble into goldenrod and tansy,
ragweed grown over one door flung outward
in disgust. They did a good job, too: fenders split, windshield
veined with intricate pattern of cracks
and fretwork.They felt perhaps a rare satisfaction
as the chassis crunched against rock and the rear window
buckled with its small view of the past. But the tires
are gone, and a shattered tail light shields a swarm
hornets making home of the wreckage. How much
is enough? Years add up, placing one small burden on another
until the back yaws, shouler slump. Whoever it was
stood here as the hood plunged over and some branches snapped
a smell of gasoline suffusing the air, reminding us
of the exact moment of capitulation when the life
we planned can no longer be pinpointed on any map
and the way we had of getting there knocks and rattles to a halt
above a dark ravine and we go off relieved-
no, happy to be rid of the weight of all that effort and desire.

from " More Things in Heaven and Earth"

Algernon Charles Swinburne - Love & Sleep

[behindthechalet.livejournal.com]

Lying asleep between the strokes of night
I saw my love lean over my sad bed,
Pale as the duskiest lily's leaf or head,
Smooth-skinned and dark, with bare throat made to bite,
Too wan for blushing and too warm for white,
But perfect-coloured without white or red.
And her lips opened amorously, and said -
I wist not what, saving one word - Delight.
And all her face was honey to my mouth,
And all her body pasture to mine eyes;
The long lithe arms and hotter hands than fire,
The quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south,
The bright light feet, the splendid supple thighs
And glittering eyelids of my soul's desire.

(no subject)

[madamevoilanska.livejournal.com]

Eating rashers and beans
In Woolworth's cafeteria,
Thinking of three-speed gears
Or perhaps of James Stewart
(Certainly not of you,
Rusticated for Lent
In the drizzle and pasture
Of County Carlow's farmland),
I saw you at the counter,
Sliding your tray along,
Not in your dark green gymslip
But a cable-stitch jumper
And not too modest skirt.

Laid-back today, ironic,
I live with unsurprises,
But then my heart, no, diaphragm,
Was jolted from below
As if a whale had surfaced
In waters off Cape Clear,
Showed its encrusted flanks
And slowly resubmerged
Into a flux of foam--
Undreamt-of elemental
Making its presence felt.

I was unseen, invisible,
Anything to avert
The artificial lightning
And removal of bandages.
Time enough for the first steps
On stiff legs in the laboratory.

-"Age Twelve," Fergus Allen


And a question. Is it ever amazing to anyone else here that we can understand poetry in the English language? I know people who are native speakers of other languages have the same thing with those languages, but it's astounding to me sometimes what I can understand in my own language that would be incomprehensible to a non-native speaker. I don't know. Sorry for being so nebulous. :)