Philip Larkin, 'An Arundel Tomb'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

An Arundel Tomb

Side by side, their faces blurred,
The earl and countess lie in stone,
Their proper habits vaguely shown
As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,
And that faint hint of the absurd–
The little dogs under their feet.

Such plainess of the pre-baroque
Hardly involves the eye, until
It meets his left hand gauntlet, still
Clasped empty in the other; and
One sees, with sharp tender shock,
His hand withdrawn, holding her hand.

( They would not think to lie so long. )

by Philip Larkin

Kitchen Helper | Charles Simic

[alwaysashipper.livejournal.com]

I'm your chopping board,
Your frying pan
And the knife you mince
The onions
And cut your finger with.

In the garden the leaves
Are flying about
Like small game birds.
With raised glasses
Your drunken guests
Are playing at Last Supper,
Holding the table
And hollering,
The sky is falling.

Clever cook, let me
Steal your glasses for a moment
To peek into the pot
Where the cause of their happiness
Is bubbling over
With many secret ingredients
And seasonings
Only you know the names of.