The Borrowed Poem

Marriage

2011-02-01T23:13:00.001-08:00

So different, this man

And this woman:

A stream flowing

In a field.

Marriage

William Carlos Williams

caring about something

2011-01-08T11:41:00.000-08:00

No, the jungle wasn't evil. It was indifferent. So, too, was the world. Evil then, must be the negation of something man had added to the world. Ultimately, it was caring about something that made the world liable to evil. Caring. And then the caring gets torn asunder. Everybody dies, but not everybody cares. It occurred to Mellas that he could create the possibility of good or evil through caring. He could nullify the indifferent world. But in doing so, he opened himself up to the pain of watching it get blown away.

Matterhorn - A Novel of the Vietnam War

Karl Marlantes

A Spirit Serves a Small Breakfast, Angel Brings the Desired

2010-08-17T14:59:00.001-07:00

A Spirit Serves a Small Breakfast, Angel Brings the Desired, 1920
Paul Klee

The Green Eiffel Tower

2010-04-08T14:16:00.000-07:00

The Green Eiffel Tower, 1957
Marc Chagall

Sweetie...

2010-04-03T13:25:00.000-07:00

... you can't disappoint me, because, whatever you are is exactly what I want.

Mozart and the Whale

your imagination really is running away with you

2010-03-23T13:45:00.000-07:00

"My dear Maximilien," Valentine said ... "You will not love me for very long. A man who makes such poetry will never be happy, languishing in such a banal passion as ours."

The Count of Monte Cristo
Alexandre Dumas

without really knowing me

2009-12-28T11:48:00.000-08:00

I told Magdalena everything.
I had to. Watching her love me without really knowing me was like watching her love someone else, and the jealousy was killing me.

Beat The Reaper
Josh Bazell

you make it hard on yourself

2009-09-29T14:52:00.000-07:00

Everything comes out the same, no matter whether you make it hard on yourself or not.

Taxi Driver Wisdom

"It is futile," I said

2009-08-27T16:10:00.000-07:00

I saw a man pursuing the horizon;
Round and round they sped.
I was disturbed at this;
I accosted the man.
“It is futile,” I said,
“You can never —”
“You lie,” he cried,
And ran on.

I saw a man pursuing the horizon
Stephen Crane

with unexpected significance

2009-08-05T10:24:00.000-07:00

She lived right around the corner, so we didn't have to walk far... As it was, the walk lasted maybe a minute. Even so, I remember feeling like Wordsworth on the verge of a sublime experience, one of his "spots of time." I was alert and deeply connected to my surroundings, the familiar world seemed to vibrate with unexpected significance. The revelation it brought me wasn't grand or romantic, though - it was just a simple sense of belonging. I'm here, I thought. I'm happy.

Joe College
Tom Perrota

Brave New Voices

2009-04-26T20:06:00.001-07:00

What happens when all you know is pain?

Jasmine Bailey, 18

Mock Orange

2009-03-08T18:39:00.000-07:00

It is not the moon, I tell you.
It is these flowers
lighting the yard.

Mock Orange [excerpt]
Louise Glück

Madmen... they are the real artists

2009-03-05T10:42:00.000-08:00


They say you can jinx a poem
if you talk about it before it is done.
If you let it out too early, they warn,
your poem will fly away,
and this time they are absolutely right.

Take the night I mentioned to you
I wanted to write about the madmen,
as the newspapers so blithely call them,
who attack art, not in reviews,
but with breadknives and hammers
in the quiet museums of Prague and Amsterdam.

Actually, they are the real artists,
you said, spinning the ice in your glass.
The screwdriver is their brush.
The real vandals are the restorers,
you went on, slowly turning me upside-down,
the ones in the white doctor's smocks
who close the wound in the landscape,
and thus ruin the true art of the mad.

I watched my poem fly down to the front
of the bar and hover there
until the next customer walked in--
then I watched it fly out the open door into the night
and sail away, I could only imagine,
over the dark tenements of the city.

All I had wished to say
was that art was also short,
as a razor can teach with a slash or two,
that it only seems long compared to life,
but that night, I drove home alone
with nothing swinging in the cage of my heart
except the faint hope that I might
catch a glimpse of the thing
in the fan of my headlights,
maybe perched on a road sign or a street lamp,
poor unwritten bird, its wings folded,
staring down at me with tiny illuminated eyes.

Madmen
Billy Collins

your hand in my hand

2009-03-04T10:16:00.000-08:00

The book I've been reading
rests on my knee. You sleep.

It's beautiful out there -
fields, little lake and winter trees
in February sunlight,
every car park a shining mosaic.

Long, radiant minutes,
your hand in my hand,
still warm, still warm.

On a Train
Wendy Cope

We are one.

2009-03-03T11:08:00.000-08:00

Whenever I say "I" I mean also, "you." And so, together, as one, we shall begin.

Introduction to Spring and All 1923 [excerpt]
William Carlos Williams

a theme that keeps coming up

2009-02-26T19:02:00.000-08:00

You are so beautiful and I am a fool to be in love with you is a theme that keeps coming up in songs and poems. There seems to be no room for variation. I have never heard anyone sing I am so beautiful and you are a fool to be in love with me, even though this notion has surely crossed the minds of women and men alike. You are so beautiful, too bad you are a fool is another one you don't hear. Or, you are a fool to consider me beautiful. That one you will never hear, guaranteed...

Night Club [excerpt]

Billy Collins

The Fall

2009-02-24T07:31:00.000-08:00


There was a man who found two leaves and came
indoors holding them out saying to his parents
that he was a tree.

To which they said then go into the yard and do
not grow in the living room as your roots may
ruin the carpet.

He said I was fooling I am not a tree and he
dropped his leaves.

But his parents said look it is fall.

The Fall
Russell Edson

For A.K. and Treckles.

2009-02-19T11:01:00.000-08:00

...and so the lion fell in love with the lamb.

Twilight
Stephanie Meyer

Graves

2009-02-18T09:41:00.000-08:00

I love you and your great way of forgetting.

Graves [excerpt]
Carl Sandburg

so much depends

2009-02-17T19:05:00.000-08:00

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

The Red Wheelbarrow
William Carlos Williams

End of Winter

2009-02-16T10:16:00.000-08:00

When has my grief ever gotten in the way of your pleasure?

End of Winter [excerpt]
Louise Glück

my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved,

2009-02-14T11:53:00.000-08:00

Good morning, on July 7
Though still in bed, my thoughts go out to you, my Immortal Beloved, now and then joyfully, then sadly, waiting to learn whether or not fate will hear us - I can live only wholly with you or not at all - Yes, I am resolved to wander so long away from you until I can fly to your arms and say that I am really at home with you, and can send my soul enwrapped in you into the land of spirits - Yes, unhappily it must be so - You will be the more contained since you know my fidelity to you. No one else can ever possess my heart - never - never - Oh God, why must one be parted from one whom one so loves. And yet my life in V[ienna] is now a wretched life - Your love makes me at once the happiest and the unhappiest of men - At my age I need a steady, quiet life - can that be so in our connection? My angel, I have just been told that the mailcoach goes every day - therefore I must close at once so that you may receive the letter at once - Be calm, only by a clam consideration of our existence can we achieve our purpose to live together - Be calm - love me - today - yesterday - what tearful longings for you - you - you - my life - my all - farewell. Oh continue to love me - never misjudge the most faithful heart of your beloved.
ever thine
ever mine
ever ours

"Immortal Beloved" Letter
July 7, 1812
Ludwig Van Beethoven

To be loved means

2009-02-14T09:06:00.000-08:00

To be loved means to be consumed in flames. To love is to give light with inexhaustible oil. To be loved is to pass away; to love is to endure.

The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge [excerpt]

Rainer Maria Rilke

one problem

2009-02-13T10:49:00.000-08:00

Too much together, or too much apart:
This is one problem of the human heart.

Thirty-five years of sharing day by day
With so much shared there is no need to say

So many things: we know instinctively
The common words of our proximity.

Not here, you're missed; now here I need to get away,
To make some portion separate in the day...

Together, Apart [excerpt]
Anthony Thwaite

And because it is my heart

2009-02-12T10:34:00.000-08:00

In the desert
I saw a creature, naked, bestial
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, "Is it good, friend?"
"It is bitter — bitter," he answered;
"But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart."

In the Desert
Stephen Crane

-where -You -are

2009-02-11T10:38:00.000-08:00

A-
round
my neck
an amu-
let
Be-
tween
my eyes
a star
A
ring
in my
nose
and a
gold
chain
to
Keep me
where
You
are

A-
Samuel Menashe

For A.K.

2009-02-11T09:06:00.000-08:00

98 F. Supp 203

Besides,

2009-01-31T00:32:00.000-08:00

if I got rid of my demons, I'd lose my angels.

Conversations With Tennessee Williams [excerpt]
Tennessee Williams & Albert J. Devlin

I wanted to want something

2008-12-24T12:37:00.001-08:00

I wanted to want something as much as people wanted these plants, but it isn't part of my constitution. I think people my age are embarrassed by too much enthusiasm and believe that too much passion about anything is naive. I suppose I do have one un-embarrassing passion- I want to know what it feels like to care about something passionately.

The Orchid Thief
Susan Orlean

I don't know any other way

2008-12-04T10:46:00.000-08:00

I love you without knowing how, when, or from where,
I love you directly without problems or pride:
I love you like this because I don't know any other way
to love...

One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII [excerpt]
Pablo Neruda

How It Ends

2008-11-20T22:47:00.000-08:00

You already know how this will end.

How It Ends

DeVotchKa

here.

2008-11-18T22:46:00.000-08:00

It's a thin line 'tween heaven and here.

-Bubbles

borrowed for SEW

2008-11-09T20:21:00.000-08:00

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

S'io credesse che mia risposta fosse

A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question . . .
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair--
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin--
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:--
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all--
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all--
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
. . . . .
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? . . .

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep . . . tired . . . or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,
I am no prophet--and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"--
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the
floor--
And this, and so much more?--
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

. . . . .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous--
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old . . .I grow old . . .
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

T.S. Eliot

in our inexplicable ways

2008-11-06T00:56:00.000-08:00

On a summer morning

I sat down

on a hillside

to think about God -

a worthy pastime.

Near me, I saw a single cricket;

it was moving the grains of

the hillside this way and that way.

How great was its energy,

how humble its effort.

Let us hope

it will always be like this,

each of us going on

in our inexplicable ways

building the universe.

Song of the Builders

Mary Oliver

The Panic Bird

2008-11-05T11:29:00.000-08:00

just flew inside my chest. Some

days it lights inside my brain,

but today it's in my bonehouse,

rattling ribs like a birdcage.

If I saw it coming, I'd fend it

off with machete or baseball bat.

Or grab its scrawny hackled neck,

wring it like a wet dish rag.

But it approaches from behind.

Too late I sense it at my back --

carrion, garbage, excrement.

Once inside me it preens, roosts,

vulture on a public utility pole.

Next it flaps, it cries, it gares,

it rages, it struts, it thrusts

its clacking beak into my liver,

my guts, my heart, rips off strips.

I fill with black blood, black bile.

This may last minutes or days.

Then it lifts sickle-shaped wings,

rises, is gone, leaving a residue --

foul breath, droppings, molted midnight

feathers. And life continues.

And then I'm prey to panic again.

The Panic Bird

Robert Phillips

perfect in every moment of its existence

2008-10-22T11:11:00.000-07:00

There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence... Its nature is satisfied and it satisfies nature in all moments alike.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

her eyes

2008-10-07T09:42:00.000-07:00

her eyes were the color of faraway love

Fable of the Mermaid and the Drunks [excerpt]

Pablo Neruda

Art is a wicked thing.

2008-09-28T21:20:00.001-07:00

Art is a wicked thing. It is what we are.

Georgia O'Keefe

The Ivy Crown

2008-08-16T00:21:00.000-07:00

The whole process is a lie,

unless,

crowned by excess,

it break forcefully,

one way or another,

from its confinement-

or find a deeper well.

Antony and Cleopatra

were right;

they have shown

the way. I love you

or I do not live

at all.

Daffodil time

is past. This is

summer, summer!

the heart says,

and not even the full of it.

No doubts

are permitted –

though they will come

and may

before our time

overwhelm us.

We are only mortal

but being mortal

can defy our fate.

We may

by an outside chance

even win! We do not

look to see

jonquils and violets

come again

but there are,

still,

the roses!

Romance has no part in it.

The business of love is

cruelty which,

by our wills,

we transform

to live together.
It has its seasons,

for and against,

whatever the heart

fumbles in the dark

to assert

toward the end of May.

Just as the nature of briars

is to tear flesh,

I have proceeded

through them.

Keep

the briars out,

they say.

You cannot live

and keep free of

briars.

Children pick flowers.

Let them.

Though having them

in hand

they have no further use for them

but leave them crumpled

at the curb’s edge.

At our age the imagination

across the sorry facts

lifts us

to make roses

stand before thorns.

Sure

love is cruel

and selfish

and totally obtuse-

at least, blinded by the light,

young love is.

But we are older,

I to love

and you to be loved,

we have,

no matter how,

by our wills survived

to keep

the jeweled prize

always

at our finger tips.

We will it so

and so it is

past all accident.

The Ivy Crown

William Carlos Williams

where nothing much happens now

2008-08-15T12:27:00.000-07:00

When I remember your love,

I weep, and when I hear people

talking of you,

something in my chest,

where nothing much happens now,

moves as in sleep.

Send The Chaperones Away [excerpt]

Rumi

Just a day like any other, the sun not even shining,

2008-07-13T20:16:00.000-07:00

You were into your Black Period,
as you called it, saying,
If Picasso could have a Blue one,
then why can't I have black?
You said it made dressing easy for you:
black shoes, black stockings, black dress,
black shawl, eye shadow, and your hair dyed black.

You said it made shopping easy.
You said you never tired of asking,
Do you have it in black?
You were always ready for funerals.
You said you'd never get married,
but if you did you'd already picked out
the color of your dress.

At first I couldn't believe my eyes:
a red streak in your hair,
gold earrings,
socks peeking out from your black skirt
that might be, just might be, red.
And that jacket, a deep blue, perhaps?

Next time there was yellow.
Just a day like any other, the sun not even shining,
not even spring, but your tee-shirt
canary yellow, gaudy as an egg yolk
splashed across a black iron pan.

You said it just happened.
You said you couldn't explain it.
But it was, you said, like
waking at midnight,
opening the curtains
and finding nothing but light.

Yellow
Brian Daldorph - The University of Kansas

Il Pleut

2008-06-24T10:45:00.000-07:00

It’s Raining

It’s raining women’s voices as if they had died even in

memory

And it’s raining you as well marvellous encounters of my

life O little

drops

Those rearing clouds begin to neigh a whole universe of

auricular cities

Listen if it rains while regret and disdain weep to an

ancient music

Listen to the bonds fall off which hold you above and

below

Il Pleut

Guillaume Apollinaire

She was gone

2008-06-21T12:34:00.000-07:00

She was gone and the coldness of it was her final gift.

The Road
Cormac McCarthy

She knew her beauty’s power.

2008-06-19T09:17:00.000-07:00

The goddess threw her snow-white arms around him
as he held back, caressing him here and there,
and suddenly he caught fire — the same old story,
the flame he knew by heart went running through him,
melting him to the marrow of his bones…
...she knew her beauty’s power.

The Aeneid [excerpt]
Virgil

Do You Have Any Advice For Those of Us Just Starting Out?

2008-05-02T10:14:00.000-07:00

Give up sitting dutifully at your desk. Leave
your house or apartment. Go out into the world.

It's all right to carry a notebook but a cheap
one is best, with pages the color of weak tea
and on the front a kitten or a space ship.

Avoid any enclosed space where more than
three people are wearing turtlenecks. Beware
any snow-covered chalet with deer tracks
across the muffled tennis courts.

Not surprisingly, libraries are a good place to write.
And the perfect place in a library is near an aisle
where a child a year or two old is playing as his
mother browses the ranks of the dead.

Often he will pull books from the bottom shelf.
The title, the author's name, the brooding photo
on the flap mean nothing. Red book on black, gray
book on brown, he builds a tower. And the higher
it gets, the wider he grins.

You who asked for advice, listen: When the tower
falls, be like that child. Laugh so loud everybody
in the world frowns and says, "Shhhh."

Then start again.

Do You Have Any Advice For Those of Us Just Starting Out?
Ron Koertge

so Edgar didn't rush off

2008-04-30T10:42:00.001-07:00

If age teaches you anything, then one of the lessons is certainly not to hurry if you're already late...

Day Watch
Sergei Lukyanenko

I dont belong here.

2008-04-29T00:05:00.000-07:00

I want you to notice
When I'm not around

Creep
Radiohead

welcome baby peters!

2008-04-28T13:48:00.000-07:00

What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;

Romeo and Juliet
Act II Scene 2

In the end,

2008-04-23T12:31:00.000-07:00

In the end, it wasn’t death that surprised her but the stubbornness of life.

The Virgin Suicides
Jeffrey Eugenides

fall in love with the sadness of another

2008-04-22T11:14:00.000-07:00

The Wind is ghosting around the house tonight
and as I lean against the door of sleep
I begin to think about the first person to dream,
how quiet he must have seemed the next morning

as the others stood around the fire
draped in the skins of animals
talking to each other only in vowels,
for this was long before the invention of consonants.

He might have gone off by himself to sit
on a rock and look into the mist of a lake
as he tried to tell himself what had happened,
how he had gone somewhere without going,

how he had put his arms around the neck
of a beast that the others could touch
only after they had killed it with stones,
how he felt its breath on his bare neck.

Then again, the first dream could have come
to a woman, though she would behave,
I suppose, much the same way,
moving off by herself to be alone near water,

except that the curve of her young shoulders
and the tilt of her downcast head
would make her appear to be terribly alone,
and if you were there to notice this,

you might have gone down as the first person
to ever fall in love with the sadness of another

The First Dream
Billy Collins

a second chance

2008-04-09T07:33:00.001-07:00

She closed the door behind him but he didn't hear it lock.

Cold Pursuit

T. Jefferson Parker

Tegan Olivia 8lbs 13oz

2008-03-21T12:42:00.001-07:00

Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.

Elizabeth Stone

Before She Died

2008-03-20T18:04:00.000-07:00

When I look at the sky now, I look at it for you.
As if with enough attention, I could take it in for you.

Before She Died [excerpt]
Karen Chase

the vehicle that drove my spirit forward

2008-03-19T10:24:00.000-07:00

...my father used to say, "If you are alive, there is hope for a better day and something good to happen. If there is nothing good left in the destiny of a person, he or she will die." I thought about these words during my journey, and they kept me moving even when I didn't know where I was going.

A Long Way Gone
Ishmael Beah

technology vs simplicity

2008-03-18T10:27:00.000-07:00

borrowed from the woman in the elevator:

"Sometimes, instant is too soon."

So you could be with me?

2008-03-05T09:04:00.000-08:00

And then later in the darkness: Can I ask you something?
Yes. Of course you can.
What would you do if I died?
If you died I would want to die too.
So you could be with me?
Yes. So I could be with you.
Okay.

The Road
Cormac McCarthy

Introduction To Poetry

2008-03-03T11:43:00.000-08:00

I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.

But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.

Introduction to Poetry
Billy Collins

Nicole's new tat.

2008-02-28T16:34:00.000-08:00

invoke your angels

interior rules

2008-02-15T09:42:00.000-08:00

...for a moment I thought I loved her. But I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires...

The Great Gatsby
F. Scott Fitzgerald

hopelessly I should add

2008-02-14T13:19:00.000-08:00

All at once we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other; hopelessly I should add, because that frenzy of mutual possession might have been assuaged only by our actually imbibing and assimilating every particle of each other's soul and flesh...

Lolita
Vladimir Nabokov

California Syrah

2008-01-28T13:29:00.001-08:00

It felt good to step into darkness. Even the sunshine was getting to me. The bartender stared at my forehead with the sunken eyes of a defrocked priest. I reached up and winced. My hand came away red with blood. I asked for a towel and a drink but not in that order. The towel came first. Some days nothing goes right.

Speakeasy
Red Car Wine

a woman's name?

2008-01-26T10:48:00.000-08:00

A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.

Sacred Emily [excerpt]
Gertrude Stein

I love the recklessness of faith.

2008-01-23T09:58:00.000-08:00

First you leap and then you grow wings.

Credo
William Sloane Coffin

Clare:

2008-01-21T01:08:00.000-08:00

Everything seems simple until you think about it.

The Time Traveler's Wife
Audrey Niffenegger

in themselves

2008-01-18T16:09:00.000-08:00

Detachment is a rare virtue, and very few people find it lovable, either in themselves or others.

Gaudy Night
Dorothy Sayers

facts

2008-01-17T00:11:00.000-08:00

Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored.

Carl W. Buechner

With a flush on its petal tips;

2008-01-15T00:05:00.000-08:00

The red rose whispers of passion,
  And the white rose breathes of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon,
  And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rosebud
  With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
  Has a kiss of desire on the lips

A White Rose
John Boyle O'Reilly

Moonlight Sonata

2008-01-13T15:55:00.000-08:00

The less we say about it the better

2008-01-11T15:43:00.000-08:00

Home – is where I want to be
But I guess I'm already there
I come home – she lifted up her wings
Guess that this must be the place
I can't tell one from another
Did I find you, or you find me?
There was a time before we were born
If someone asks, this where I'll be… where I'll be

This Must Be The Place [excerpt]
Talking Heads

I have

2008-01-10T10:31:00.000-08:00

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-by;
And further still at an unearthly height
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.

Acquainted With the Night
Robert Frost

I was like Shutupandreadit

2008-01-09T01:25:00.000-08:00

I was like Read this poem
He was like You must be joking
I was like Pleeease
He was like Fancy a drink?

I was like Get lost
He was like I really like you
I was like Read this poem then
He was like Do I have to?

I was like Yes
He was like Omigod she means it
I was like Shutupandreadit
He was like Gimme the poem

I was like Did you like it?
He was like What was that about?
I was like What did you think?
He was like It was like, like . . .

I was like That's the point
He was shocked, like.

Like
Helena Nelson

leave them.

2008-01-08T00:51:00.000-08:00

As soon as you meet someone, you know the reasons why you will leave them.

Taxi Driver Wisdom

why?

2008-01-07T16:12:00.000-08:00

I hadn't so much forgot as I couldn't bring myself to remember.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings
Maya Angelou

aka Alexander Supertramp

2008-01-06T16:10:00.000-08:00

Happiness only real when shared.

Christopher McCandless

it's not about you.

2008-01-05T09:02:00.000-08:00

I've got reservations
about so many things
but not about you

Reservations [excerpt]
Wilco

outside. now.

2008-01-04T10:49:00.000-08:00

The air smelled like rain waiting to happen.

From the Corner of His Eye
Dean Koontz

slowly with you,

2007-12-31T10:22:00.000-08:00

If there is only enough time in the final
minutes of the twentieth century for one last dance
I would like to be dancing it slowly with you,
...
There will be no time to order another drink
or worry about what was never said,

Dancing Toward Bethlehem [excerpts]
Billy Collins

Won't you

2007-12-30T10:32:00.000-08:00

Won't you come into the garden?
I would like my roses to see you.

Richard Sheridan

always

2007-12-29T10:42:00.000-08:00

There is always room for beauty

The Poetry of Earth [excerpt]
Florence Earl Coates

I Ask You

2007-12-23T10:05:00.000-08:00

What scene would I want to be enveloped in
more than this one,

I Ask You [excerpt]
Billy Collins

First Anniversary of The BP

2007-12-21T21:54:00.000-08:00

Be patient that I address you in a poem,
there is no other
fit medium.

To Daphne and Virginia [excerpt]
William Carlos Williams

At a Window

2007-12-20T08:45:00.000-08:00

Give me hunger,
O you gods that sit and give
The world its orders.
Give me hunger, pain and want,
Shut me out with shame and failure
From your doors of gold and fame,
Give me your shabbiest, weariest hunger!

But leave me a little love,
A voice to speak to me in the day end,
A hand to touch me in the dark room
Breaking the long loneliness.
In the dusk of day-shapes
Blurring the sunset,
One little wandering, western star
Thrust out from the changing shores of shadow.
Let me go to the window,
Watch there the day-shapes of dusk
And wait and know the coming
Of a little love.

At a Window
Carl Sandburg

2007-12-19T00:01:00.000-08:00

Come back to me.

Apocalypto

speaks to me

2007-12-18T10:31:00.000-08:00

…a profusion
of pink roses bending ragged in the rain –
speaks to me of all gentleness and its
enduring.

To All Gentleness [excerpt]
William Carlos Williams

on jealousy

2007-12-17T09:55:00.000-08:00

You see in other people what you want for yourself.

-Taxi Driver Wisdom

a pillow for my soul.

2007-12-13T10:45:00.000-08:00

Your face is my palace,
your eyes – blue, near –
a pillow for my soul.

In the Palace of Your Face [excerpt]
Abraham Joshua Heschel

and I realize... Life is good.

2007-12-12T09:36:00.000-08:00

Borrowed from a friend :)

I watch the water churn from the cold wind blowing out there and it soothes. There's a rainbow lurking out there (I saw it on the walk over) and knowing that makes me smile. Its calming and beautiful and as I sip my latte nodding along with the snow patrol that's blasting through my headphones I'm at peace within myself. Even if the feeling is fleeting, I own it right now... In this moment.

I am lying

2007-12-11T00:32:00.000-08:00

I am lying because I loved you love you and because, my darling, a lie can be closer to the truth.

The Daydreaming Boy
Michelle Ahoroman Marcom

Nobody loves no one

2007-12-10T09:26:00.000-08:00

World was on fire
No one could save me but you
Strange what desire will make foolish people do
I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you
I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

No I don't wanna fall in love
No I don't wanna fall in love
With you
With you

Nobody loves no one

Wicked Game [excerpt]
Chris Isaak

Bliss!

2007-12-07T14:59:00.000-08:00

Bliss! A merry flag on the arctic wilderness of my calendar. One must make an effort when one receives an invitation. The art of it is seeming not to.

Notes on a Scandal

New York

2007-12-06T00:12:00.000-08:00

I began to like New York, the racy, adventurous feel of it at night, and the satisfaction that the constant flicker of men and women and machines gives to the restless eye.

The Great Gatsby
F. Scott Fitzgerald

Water Serpent II

2007-12-05T10:21:00.000-08:00

Gustav Klimt 1907

Whatever happens.

2007-12-04T00:13:00.000-08:00

I will find you. No matter how long it takes. No matter how far. I will find you.

he smiles a real smile

2007-12-03T09:01:00.000-08:00

and the sun crashes into the barcar like a
bull and the bartender sees that
I am feeling good
he smiles a real smile and
asks –
“How’s it going?”

On the Train to Del Mar [excerpt]
Charles Bukowski

You’ll see.

2007-11-30T01:21:00.000-08:00

In my dreams, I’ll catch you.
Into my arms I’ll catch you.
Do you mind if I’ll always love you.

Heaven’s Gonna Burn Your Eyes
Thievery Corporation

There is no end to things in the heart.

2007-11-29T07:21:00.000-08:00

There is no end to things in the heart. Somebody once told me that. She said it came from a poem she believed in. She understood it to mean that if you took something to heart, really brought it inside those red velvet folds, then it would always be there for you. No matter what happened, it would be there waiting. She said this could mean a person, a place, a dream. A mission. Anything sacred. She told me that it is all connected in those secret folds. Always. It is part of the same and will always be there, carrying the same beat as your heart.

Lost Light [excerpt]
Michael Connelly

it's just an honor to be nominated

2007-11-28T09:02:00.000-08:00

I don't play hard to get. I am hard to get.

-Rabbit

Observe...Notice..Catch

2007-11-27T10:26:00.000-08:00

Observe what’s vivid.
Notice what you notice.
Catch yourself thinking.

Cosmopolitan Greetings [excerpt]
Allen Ginsberg

difficult because of its simplicity

2007-11-25T02:50:00.000-08:00

Fate loves to invent designs and patterns. Its difficulty lies in complexity. But life itself is difficult because of its simplicity. It has just a few elements, of a grandeur we can never fathom.

Rainer Maria Rilke
The Notebooks of Malte Laurids Brigge

in another city.

2007-11-23T00:02:00.000-08:00

Happiness is having a large, loving, caring, close-knit family in another city.

-George Burns