#reading poem

[sweetelis]

" Sooo what do you think of my new poem?"

[godzilla-reads]

[ No one grumbles among the oyster clans,

And lobsters play their bone guitars all summer.

Only we, with our opposable thumbs, want

Heaven to be, and God to come, again.

There is no end to our grumbling; we want

Comfortable earth and sumptuous Heaven.

But the heron standing on one leg in the bog

Drinks his dark rum all day, and is content. ]

—Wanting Sumptuous Heavens by Robert Bly

[thanatophobia-thoughts]

Woke up this morning with a terrific urge to lie in bed all day and read. Fought against it for a minute. Then looked out the window at the rain. And gave over. Put myself entirely in the keep of this rainy morning. Would I live my life over again? Make the same unforgiveable mistakes? Yes, given half a chance. Yes.

Raymond Carver

[theescap3d]

We whisper together Are quiet and meaningless As wind in dry grass Or rats' feet over broken glass In our dry cellar Shape without form, shade without color, Paralyzed force, gesture without motion

The Hollow Men

[godzilla-reads]

100 Days of Poetry: Day 9

Love Is by Nikki Giovanni

Some people forget that love is

tucking you in and kissing you "Good night"

no matter how young or old you are

Some people don't remember that love is

listening and laughing and asking questions

no matter what your age

Few recognize that love is

commitment

responsibility

no fun at all

unless

Love is

You and me

[godzilla-reads]

100 Days of Poetry: Day 36

The Flowers of Scotland by James Hogg 

What are the flowers of Scotland,

All others that excel-

The lovely flowers of Scotland,

All others that excel?

The thistle’s purple bonnet,

The bonny heather-bell,

O, they’re the flowers of Scotland,

All others that excel!

Though England eyes her roses

With pride she’ll ne’er forgo,

The rose has oft been trodden

By foot of haughty foe;

But the thistle in her bonnet blue

Still nods outow’r the fell,

And dares the proudest foeman 

To tread the heather-bell.

For the wee bit leaf o’ Ireland,

Alack and well a’day!

For ilka hand is free to pu’

An’ steal the gem away.

But the thistle in her bonnet blue

Still bobs aboon them a’;

At her the bravest darena blink,

Or gi’ his mou’ a thraw. 

Up wi’ the flowers of Scotland,

The emblem o’ the free,

Their guardians for a thousand years,

Their guardians still we’ll be.

A foe had better brave the deil

Within his reeky cell,

Than our thistle’s purple bonnet,

Or bonny heather-bell. 

[nadadalamsenyap]