1.
If you were the sky and I were the sea.
If you were the sky
Then I'd be the sea
And when you shined bright
It would reflect in me.
When you're at rest
Then I am steady.
If you wanna get rough
I'm always ready.
Past closing at the bars
If you show me the stars
I'll open right up
And cast them out far.
And on the darkest night
If you won't shine a light.
Then I'm silent alongside you
Until you feel right.
We'll meet at the horizon
Where lovers will stare
And wonder with passion
Why they can't meet there.
And you'll share me a kiss
As bright as two suns.
When they meet in the middle
I'll know the days done.
And I can tell that's your way of saying to me.
Goodnight my love.
If you were the sky and I were the sea
Then I'd be the sea
And when you shined bright
It would reflect in me.
When you're at rest
Then I am steady.
If you wanna get rough
I'm always ready.
Past closing at the bars
If you show me the stars
I'll open right up
And cast them out far.
And on the darkest night
If you won't shine a light.
Then I'm silent alongside you
Until you feel right.
We'll meet at the horizon
Where lovers will stare
And wonder with passion
Why they can't meet there.
And you'll share me a kiss
As bright as two suns.
When they meet in the middle
I'll know the days done.
And I can tell that's your way of saying to me.
Goodnight my love.
If you were the sky and I were the sea
2.
Touch me
Touch me,
it doesn't matter where
and it doesnt matter how
I need to know I'm still alive
so someone touch me now
Shake my hand and say hello
or pat me on the back
kiss me on the cheek
that I may feel this sense I lack
slap my face and pull my hair
make me bleed I just don't care
dig your nails into my skin
so I can feed this need within
I've been numb for such a time
that even pain would be sublime
so touch me, touch me now
I don't care where, I don't care how
it doesn't matter where
and it doesnt matter how
I need to know I'm still alive
so someone touch me now
Shake my hand and say hello
or pat me on the back
kiss me on the cheek
that I may feel this sense I lack
slap my face and pull my hair
make me bleed I just don't care
dig your nails into my skin
so I can feed this need within
I've been numb for such a time
that even pain would be sublime
so touch me, touch me now
I don't care where, I don't care how
3.
Hate Poem
Julie Sheehan
I hate you truly. Truly I do.
Everything about me hates everything about you.
The flick of my wrist hates you.
The way I hold my pencil hates you.
The sound made by my tiniest bones were they trapped
in the jaws of a moray eel hates you.
Each corpuscle singing in its capillary hates you.
Everything about me hates everything about you.
The flick of my wrist hates you.
The way I hold my pencil hates you.
The sound made by my tiniest bones were they trapped
in the jaws of a moray eel hates you.
Each corpuscle singing in its capillary hates you.
Look out! Fore! I hate you.
The blue-green jewel of sock lint I’m digging
from under my third toenail, left foot, hates you.
The history of this keychain hates you.
My sigh in the background as you explain relational databases
hates you.
The goldfish of my genius hates you.
My aorta hates you. Also my ancestors.
from under my third toenail, left foot, hates you.
The history of this keychain hates you.
My sigh in the background as you explain relational databases
hates you.
The goldfish of my genius hates you.
My aorta hates you. Also my ancestors.
A closed window is both a closed window and an obvious
symbol of how I hate you.
symbol of how I hate you.
My voice curt as a hairshirt: hate.
My hesitation when you invite me for a drive: hate.
My pleasant “good morning”: hate.
You know how when I’m sleepy I nuzzle my head
under your arm? Hate.
The whites of my target-eyes articulate hate. My wit
practices it.
My breasts relaxing in their holster from morning
to night hate you.
Layers of hate, a parfait.
Hours after our latest row, brandishing the sharp glee of hate,
I dissect you cell by cell, so that I might hate each one
individually and at leisure.
My lungs, duplicitous twins, expand with the utter validity
of my hate, which can never have enough of you,
Breathlessly, like two idealists in a broken submarine.
My hesitation when you invite me for a drive: hate.
My pleasant “good morning”: hate.
You know how when I’m sleepy I nuzzle my head
under your arm? Hate.
The whites of my target-eyes articulate hate. My wit
practices it.
My breasts relaxing in their holster from morning
to night hate you.
Layers of hate, a parfait.
Hours after our latest row, brandishing the sharp glee of hate,
I dissect you cell by cell, so that I might hate each one
individually and at leisure.
My lungs, duplicitous twins, expand with the utter validity
of my hate, which can never have enough of you,
Breathlessly, like two idealists in a broken submarine.
4.
hell is a lonely place
he was 65, his wife was
66, had
Alzheimer's disease.
he had cancer of the
mouth.
there were
operations, radiation
treatments
which decayed the bones
in his
jaw
which then had to be
wired.
daily he put his wife in
rubber diapers
like a
baby.
unable to drive in his
condition
he had to take a taxi to
the medical
center,
had difficulty speaking,
had to
write the directions
down.
on his last visit
they informed him
there would be another
operation: a bit more
left
cheek and a bit more
tounge.
when he returned
he changed his wife's
diapers
put on the tv
dinners, watched the
evening news
then went to the
bedroom, got the
gun, put it to her
temple, fired.
she fell to the
left, he sat upon the
couch
put the gun into his
mouth, pulled the
trigger.
the shots didn't arouse
the neighbors.
later
the burning tv dinners
did.
somebody arrived, pushed
the door open, saw
it.
soon
the police arrived and
went through their
routine, found
some items:
a closed savings
account and
a checkbook with a
balance of
$1.14
suicide, they
deduced.
in three weeks
there were two
new tenants:
a computer engineer
named
Ross
and his wife
Anatana
who studied
ballet.
they looked like another
upwardly mobile
pair.
5.
Fire
and Ice
BY ROBERT FROST
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
6.
I Met A Genius
I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.
it was the first time I'd
realized
that.
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.
it was the first time I'd
realized
that.
7.
The Romantic Age
This one is entering her teens,
Ripe for sentimental scenes,
Has picked a gangling unripe male,
Sees herself in a bridal veil,
Presses lips and tosses head,
Declares she's not too young to wed,
Informs you pertly you forget
Romeo and Juliet.
Do not argue, do not shout;
Remind her how that one turned out.
8.
By William Blake
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare sieze the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art.
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
9.
Whole
Stop showing
You love me
A little at a time.
Stop saying
You care
Bit by bit.
Stop keeping
Me here
For tiny pieces of time.
Because I need
All of you
Not piece by piece.
I love
All of you
Not just some parts of you.
So love all of me
All the way
All the time.
Or let all of me go
All at once
For good.
You love me
A little at a time.
Stop saying
You care
Bit by bit.
Stop keeping
Me here
For tiny pieces of time.
Because I need
All of you
Not piece by piece.
I love
All of you
Not just some parts of you.
So love all of me
All the way
All the time.
Or let all of me go
All at once
For good.
10.
splash
the illusion is that you are simply
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a
poem.
this is a beggar's knife.
this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching
through Madrid.
this is you on your
death bed.
this is Li Po laughing
underground.
this is not a god-damned
poem.
this is a horse asleep.
a butterfly in
your brain.
this is the devil's
circus.
you are not reading this
on a page.
the page is reading
you.
feel it?
it's like a cobra. it's a hungry eagle circling the room.
this is not a poem. poems are dull,
they make you sleep.
these words force you
to a new
madness.
you have been blessed, you have been pushed into a
blinding area of
light.
the elephant dreams
with you
now.
the curve of space
bends and
laughs.
you can die now.
you can die now as
people were meant to
die:
great,
victorious,
hearing the music,
being the music,
roaring,
roaring,
roaring.
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a
poem.
this is a beggar's knife.
this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching
through Madrid.
this is you on your
death bed.
this is Li Po laughing
underground.
this is not a god-damned
poem.
this is a horse asleep.
a butterfly in
your brain.
this is the devil's
circus.
you are not reading this
on a page.
the page is reading
you.
feel it?
it's like a cobra. it's a hungry eagle circling the room.
this is not a poem. poems are dull,
they make you sleep.
these words force you
to a new
madness.
you have been blessed, you have been pushed into a
blinding area of
light.
the elephant dreams
with you
now.
the curve of space
bends and
laughs.
you can die now.
you can die now as
people were meant to
die:
great,
victorious,
hearing the music,
being the music,
roaring,
roaring,
roaring.
11.
the crunch
too much too little
too fat
too thin
or nobody.
too thin
or nobody.
laughter or
tears
tears
haters
lovers
lovers
strangers with faces like
the backs of
thumb tacks
the backs of
thumb tacks
armies running through
streets of blood
waving winebottles
bayoneting and fucking
virgins.
streets of blood
waving winebottles
bayoneting and fucking
virgins.
an old guy in a cheap room
with a photograph of M. Monroe.
with a photograph of M. Monroe.
there is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock
people so tired
mutilated
either by love or no love.
mutilated
either by love or no love.
people just are not good to each other
one on one.
one on one.
the rich are not good to the rich
the poor are not good to the poor.
the poor are not good to the poor.
we are afraid.
our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners
that we can all be
big-ass winners
it hasn't told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.
about the gutters
or the suicides.
or the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone
aching in one place
alone
untouched
unspoken to
unspoken to
watering a plant.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
people are not good to each other.
I suppose they never will be.
I don't ask them to be.
I don't ask them to be.
but sometimes I think about
it.
it.
the beads will swing
the clouds will cloud
and the killer will behead the child
like taking a bite out of an ice cream cone.
the clouds will cloud
and the killer will behead the child
like taking a bite out of an ice cream cone.
too much
too little
too little
too fat
too thin
or nobody
too thin
or nobody
more haters than lovers.
people are not good to each other.
perhaps if they were
our deaths would not be so sad.
perhaps if they were
our deaths would not be so sad.
meanwhile I look at young girls
stems
flowers of chance.
stems
flowers of chance.
there must be a way.
surely there must be a way that we have not yet
thought of.
thought of.
who put this brain inside of me?
it cries
it demands
it says that there is a chance.
it demands
it says that there is a chance.
it will not say
"no."
"no."
12.
On such a night as this
When no moon lights your way to
me,
I wake, my passion blazing,
My breast a fire raging,
exploding flame
While within me my heart chars.
(Tr. Earl Miner)
13.
The flowers withered
Their color faded away
While meaninglessly
I spent my days in the world
And the long rains were falling.
(Tr. Donald Keene)
14.
A thing which fades
With no outward sign
Is the flower
Of the heart of man
In this world!
(Tr. Arthur Waley)
15.
Though I visit him
Ceaselessly
In my dreams,
The sum of all those meetings
Is less than a single waking
glimpse.
(Tr. Helen Craig
McCullough)
16.
In waking daylight,
Then, oh then, it can be
understood;
But when I see you
Shrinking from those hostile eyes
Even in my dreams: that is misery
itself.
(Tr. Earl Miner)
17.
In this bay
There is no seaweed
Doesn't he know it --
The fisherman who persists in
coming
Until his legs grow weary?
(Tr. Helen Craig
McCullough)
18.
More heart-wrenching than
To sear my body with live coals
Against my flesh,
Bidding farewell on Miyakoshima's
shore
As you part for the capital.
(Tr. Sarah M. Strong)
19.
Did he appear,
because I fell asleep
thinking of him?
If only I'd known I was dreaming
I'd never have wakened.
(Tr. Jane Hirshfield
and Aratani Mariko)
20.
The autumn night
is long only in name --
We've done no more
than gaze at each other
and it's already dawn.
(Tr. Hirshfield &
Aratani)
21.
When longing for him
Tortures me beyond endurance,
I reverse my robe --
Garb of night, black as
leopard-flower berries --
And wear it inside out.
(Tr. Helen Craig
McCullough)
22.
Tears that but form gems on sleeves
Must come, I think,
From an insincere heart,
For mine, though I seek to
repress them,
Gush forth in torrents.
(Tr. Helen Craig
McCullough)
23.
Yielding to a love
That knows no limit,
I shall go to him by night --
For the world does not yet
censure
Those who tread the paths of
dreams.
(Tr. Helen Craig
McCullough)
24.
This body
grown fragile, floating,
a reed cut from its roots...
If a stream would ask me
to follow, I'd go, I think.
(Tr. Hirshfield &
Aratami)
25.
Submit to you --
could that be what you are
saying?
the way ripples on the water
submit to an idling wing?
(Tr. Burton Watson)
Wow...
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