Onto a Vast Plain by Rilke

[poppyromanov.livejournal.com]

Onto a Vast Plain
by Rainer Maria Rilke

You are not surprised at the force of the storm—
you have seen it growing.
The trees flee. Their flight
sets the boulevards streaming. And you know:
he whom they flee is the one
you move toward. All your senses
sing him, as you stand at the window.

The weeks stood still in summer.
The trees' blood rose. Now you feel
it wants to sink back
into the source of everything. You thought
you could trust that power
when you plucked the fruit;
now it becomes a riddle again,
and you again a stranger.

Summer was like your house: you knew
where each thing stood.
Now you must go out into your heart
as onto a vast plain. Now
the immense loneliness begins.

The days go numb, the wind
sucks the world from your senses like withered
leaves.

Through the empty branches the sky remains.
It is what you have.
Be earth now, and evensong.
Be the ground lying under that sky.
Be modest now, like a thing
ripened until it is real,
so that he who began it all
can feel you when he reaches for you.

Michael Dickman, Dead Brother Super Hero'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

Dead Brother Super Hero

You don't have to
be afraid
anymore
His super-outfit is made from handfuls of shit and garbage blood and pinned together
by stars

Flying around
the room
like a mosq-
uito

( Drinking all the blood )

Sara Teasdale - Dew

[angelicazefiro.livejournal.com]

Dew

As dew leaves the cobweb lightly
Threaded with stars,
Scattering jewels on the fence
And the pasture bars;
As dawn leaves the dry grass bright
And the tangled weeds
Bearing a rainbow gem
On each of their seeds;
So has your love, my lover,
Fresh as the dawn,
Made me a shining road
To travel on,
Set every common sight
Of tree or stone
Delicately alight
For me alone.

Sara Teasdale

Emily Dickinson - I taste a liquor never brewed

[angelicazefiro.livejournal.com]

I taste a liquor never brewed

I taste a liquor never brewed
From Tankards scooped in Pearl
Not all the Vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an Alcohol!

Inebriate of Air -- am I --
And Debauchee of Dew
Reeling -- thro endless summer days --
From inns of Molten Blue

When "Landlords" turn the drunken Bee
Out of the Foxglove's door
When Butterflies -- renounce their "drams" --
I shall but drink more!

Till Seraphs swing their snowy Hats
And Saints -- to windows run --
To see the little Tippler
Leaning against the -- Sun --

Emily Dickinson

hi

[lungsandsyrup.livejournal.com]

I would love it if you guys share you favorite angry poems, and I mean LIVID, BITTER, FURIOUS angry. Thanks :)

Relax- Ellen Bass

[shadowdancer909.livejournal.com]

Relax
 
Bad things are going to happen.
Your tomatoes will grow a fungus
and your cat will get run over.
Someone will leave the bag with the ice cream
melting in the car and throw
your blue cashmere sweater in the drier.
Your husband will sleep
with a girl your daughter’s age, her breasts spilling
out of her blouse. Or your wife
will remember she’s a lesbian
and leave you for the woman next door. The other cat –
the one you never really liked — will contract a disease
that requires you to pry open its feverish mouth
every four hours for a month.

( Your parents will die. )

Dorothy Walters - A cloth of fine gold

[angelicazefiro.livejournal.com]

A cloth of fine gold

You may think
that first lit flame
was the ultimate blaze,
the holy fire
entered at last.

What do you know of furnaces?
This is a sun that returns
again and again, refining, igniting,
pouring your spirit
through a cloth of delicate gold
until all dross is taken
and you are sweet as
clarified butter
in god's mouth.

Dorothy Walters