Handy Guide, by Dean Young

[porphyre.livejournal.com]

There is an old tradition that women are allowed and encouraged to ask men to marry them on Leap Day, and the man is required to say yes. If he doesn't say yes, he has to present the woman with a silk dress and a kiss, so I proposed to a friend today and this is what he sent in reply.


Handy Guide
By Dean Young


Avoid adjectives of scale.
Dandelion broth instead of duck soup.
Don’t even think you’ve seen a meadow, ever.
The minor adjustments in our equations
still indicate the universe is insane,
when it laughs a silk dress comes out its mouth
but we never put it on. Put it on.
Cry often and while asleep.
If it’s raw, forge it in fire.
That’s not a mountain, that’s crumble.
If it’s fire, swallow.
The heart of a scarecrow isn’t geometrical.
That’s not a diamond, it’s salt.
That’s not the sky but it’s not your fault.
My dragon may be your neurotoxin.
Your electrocardiogram may be my fortune cookie.
Once an angel has made an annunciation,
it’s impossible to tell him he has the wrong address.
Moonlight has its own befuddlements.
The rest of us can wear the wolf mask if we want
or look like reflections wandered off.
Eventually armor, eventually sunk.
You wanted love and expected what?
A parachute? Morphine? A gold sticker star?
The moment you were born—
you have to trust others because you weren’t there.
Ditto death.
The strongest gift I was ever given
was made of twigs.
It didn’t matter which way it broke.

(no subject)

[winks.livejournal.com]

I am looking for a poem written about the poet’s wife’s floral dress. I think it is described as having huge purple or blue flowers, it may or may not be ripped up for dusters or a tablecloth by the end. Sorry to be so vague, hopefully someone out there knows what I am talking about.

Short Poem for your time: 

( The Emperor - Matthew Rohrer )

Thanks!

A Quoi Bon Dire

[suddenlynita.livejournal.com]

A Quoi Bon Dire ~Charlotte Mew

Seventeen years ago you said
Something that sounded like Good-bye;
And everybody thinks that you are dead,
But I.

So I, as I grow stiff and cold
To this and that say Good-bye too;
And everybody sees that I am old
But you.

And one fine morning in a sunny lane
Some boy and girl will meet and kiss and swear
That nobody can love their way again
While over there
You will have smiled, I shall have tossed your hair.