Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Tuesday

where the wind lieth where the wind dieth

the poem of my life.

Come lie with me and be my love  
Love lie with me  
Lie down with me  
Under the cypress tree  
In the sweet grasses  
Where the wind lieth  
Where the wind dieth  
As night passes  
Come lie with me  
All night with me  
And have enough of kissing me  
And have enough of making love  
And let our two selves speak  
All night under the cypress tree  
Without making love

by fabulous lawrence ferlinghetti. 
i am impatiently waiting for my american lit class to come to the beat poets. ah, to be separate from one's soul generation. my heart aches for late 1950s, early 1960s 

we sing mostly in the mornings


The big old men were sitting on their thrones
rattling their wine-soaked bones. 

t. williams talks to birds

...a poem by Neil de la Flor



Tennessee Williams once visited Manhattan where he celebrated the Broadway success of A Streetcar Named Desire with a leather purse. She called him, 'Len.' That night, Len and the purse sent cocktails to hookers on 42nd street. Girls sipped so-called dirty martinis with white rubber gloves. For the clients' pleasure they sipped quickly.

Quietly, the other day, I found an ad in the Miami Herald that read, Tennessee look alike seeks farm hand for companionship. I left a message wondering if he looked like the State or the playwright, never mind the possibility that Tennessee could be a woman, or a transvestite looking for human liver. Nevertheless, the impossible news headline was true—Dog caught walking owner off bridge. Plummets to death, owner not dog.

Father John once said he got cold spells when he entered the church, or something like that. I told him to wear mittens.

Mittens, he said. Are for boys!

Father, I said. You are a boy.

A glass menagerie, glass menagerie, menagerie of steel, stainless steel, I've stolen my lines from the great Herodotus, or Hercules, I can't remember which was Assyrian. Istanbul is a city with great glass walls, erected with the sweat of tigers, lions, and bears. The mighty walls, like skin of cats, are see through. I see through, you see through. I can't see through, you can't see through. I am done with this cat business, the 9 lives of Nineveh, or 9 Visigoths, or Vishnu nude bathing on porcelain counter tops with margaritas in both hands.

A list will be my final attempt: a horn, clobbered, musk, alabaster, gloat, Los Alamos, credenza, last night, a dry hump, a parakeet.

When the Edict of Nantes was declared null and void girls bought hot pink lipstick. Abolition is freedom if you can't read. Reading is ______! But only if you close your eyes when you do it.

Madness, you say. Madness, I say. Say, do you understand the function of that squiggly line in calculus? The one that looks like it wants to be infinity. That's the function of madness.