We ate the Golden fruit
(now we live forever)
Dreams of rivers flow by
Soles of my boots know
which way to go
Just gonna ride for a while now
ride on down the line
Write about a hero that
gets to fight another
day
Infinite treasures of your eyes
haunted by avatars that never
go away
wish for something brighter
(caves of thought-warmth
paintings on the wall create
our now)
we are the heaven that is spoken
of)
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Dr. William Bukshott
Forgive me for
not living some kind of
shite fabricated life
Laid out in grade-school
reproducing is not in and of itself
an accomplishment
Dogs reproduce
worms replicate
amoebae split themselves in half
~19th century M.D., poet and recluse.
not living some kind of
shite fabricated life
Laid out in grade-school
reproducing is not in and of itself
an accomplishment
Dogs reproduce
worms replicate
amoebae split themselves in half
~19th century M.D., poet and recluse.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Monday, March 25, 2013
Friday, March 22, 2013
Thursday, March 21, 2013
IN LIVING ALL THESE LIVES
In living all these lives
(richness of spaces
homes
meals
handshakes
hugs
laughter
eyes)
We rode through the tragic times
rubber meets asphalt we're
so American that we're always
on the highway
Visceral movement of machines
(your soul inside my soul
is locked in a place (freely, floating steely
freedom of something that cannot be given or
taken) that is not a place)
Opus of the Highway
say goodbye to the death-times
give me a few more life-times
Let us swimmingly glide
through the morning colored tides
into the motor-night
(into the oily succinctness of it all
into the fatal flaws of synchronicity)
(richness of spaces
homes
meals
handshakes
hugs
laughter
eyes)
We rode through the tragic times
rubber meets asphalt we're
so American that we're always
on the highway
Visceral movement of machines
(your soul inside my soul
is locked in a place (freely, floating steely
freedom of something that cannot be given or
taken) that is not a place)
Opus of the Highway
say goodbye to the death-times
give me a few more life-times
Let us swimmingly glide
through the morning colored tides
into the motor-night
(into the oily succinctness of it all
into the fatal flaws of synchronicity)
I knew when I said
I love you
that I was inventing a new alphabet
for a city where no one could read
that I was saying my poems
in an empty theater
and pouring my wine
for those who could not
taste it.
~Nizar Qabbani
It's the birthday of poet Nizar Qabbani (books by this author), born in Damascus, Syria (1923). His mother, who was illiterate, sold her jewelry to raise money to publish his first anthology, Childhood of a Bosom (1948), and he went on to become the most popular Arab poet and to publish more than 20 books of poetry. Much of his poetry was influenced by the tragic deaths of two women he loved. When he was 15, his older sister committed suicide rather than be forced into marriage with a man she did not love, and he turned his attention to the situation of Arab women. He wrote romantic, sensual poems and poetry demonstrating the need for sexual equality and women's rights. Many years later, in 1981, his second wife, an Iraqi woman, died during the Lebanese Civil War when the Iraqi Embassy was bombed. Qabbani was grief-stricken and frustrated with the political and cultural climate of the Arab world, and he lived in Europe for the rest of his life.
I love you
that I was inventing a new alphabet
for a city where no one could read
that I was saying my poems
in an empty theater
and pouring my wine
for those who could not
taste it.
~Nizar Qabbani
It's the birthday of poet Nizar Qabbani (books by this author), born in Damascus, Syria (1923). His mother, who was illiterate, sold her jewelry to raise money to publish his first anthology, Childhood of a Bosom (1948), and he went on to become the most popular Arab poet and to publish more than 20 books of poetry. Much of his poetry was influenced by the tragic deaths of two women he loved. When he was 15, his older sister committed suicide rather than be forced into marriage with a man she did not love, and he turned his attention to the situation of Arab women. He wrote romantic, sensual poems and poetry demonstrating the need for sexual equality and women's rights. Many years later, in 1981, his second wife, an Iraqi woman, died during the Lebanese Civil War when the Iraqi Embassy was bombed. Qabbani was grief-stricken and frustrated with the political and cultural climate of the Arab world, and he lived in Europe for the rest of his life.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Monday, March 18, 2013
Sunday, March 17, 2013
The second I saw your eyes
I recognized heaven instantly
Even death would not wait
That sweetness was such that
Wish we'd destroyed everything
Into the eye of the storm
At least tried to fly
We should have taken our chances
Brief kiss in paradise
Knowing it will end abruptly
and delicious
It makes life brutal
Hail to the death times
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Friday, March 15, 2013
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
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