Majestic Haystack

Majestic Haystack

by Marianne Moore

Majestic Haystack, Empress of my life,

       Your ample waist

Just fits the gown I fancy for my wife,

       And suits my taste;

Yet there you stand, flatfooted, square and deep,

An unresponsive elephantine heap,

Coquetting with the stars while I’m asleep—

       O cruel stack—

Coy, silent monster, matron of the fields,

        I sing to you;

And all the fondest love that summer yields

        I bring to you

Yet there you squat, immense in your disdain,

Heedless of all the tears of streaming rain

All eyes drip over you—your breathless swain;

        O stony stack!

Stupendous maiden, sweetest when oblong,

        Does inner flame

Now smolder in thy soul to hear my song

        Repeat thy name?

Or does thy huge and ponderous heart object

To the advances of my passion and reject

My love because it’s airy and elect?

        O wily stack!

 ~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

You’ve spurned my love as though I were a worm,

But next September when I see thy form

I’ll woo her with an equinoctial storm

        I have that knack!




Midsummer, Tobago

Midsummer, Tobago

by Derek Walcott

Broad sun-stoned beaches.

 ~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

White heat.
A green river.

 ~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

A bridge,
scorched yellow palms

 ~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

from the summer-sleeping house
drowsing through August.

 ~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

Days I have held,
days I have lost,

 ~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

days that outgrow, like daughters,
my harbouring arms.

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The World Is A Beautiful Place

The World Is A Beautiful Place 

by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t mind happiness
not always being
so very much fun
if you don’t mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don’t sing
all the time

 ~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t mind some people dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn’t half bad
if it isn’t you

~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

Oh the world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t much mind
a few dead minds
in the higher places
or a bomb or two
now and then
in your upturned faces
or such other improprieties
as our Name Brand society
is prey to
with its men of distinction
and its men of extinction
and its priests
and other patrolmen

~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

and its various segregations
and congressional investigations
and other constipations
that our fool flesh
is heir to

~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~

Yes the world is the best place of all
for a lot of such things as
making the fun scene
and making the love scene
and making the sad scene
and singing low songs and having inspirations
and walking around
looking at everything
and smelling flowers
and goosing statues
and even thinking
and kissing people and
making babies and wearing pants
and waving hats and
and going swimming in rivers
on picnics
in the middle of the summer
and just generally
‘living it up’
but then right in the middle of it
comes the smiling

~ ❇ ✾ ❈ ✾ ❇ ~


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Summer (a love poem)

Summer    (a love poem)

by Frank Lima

I wanted to be sure this was our island

so we could walk between the long stars by the sea

though your hips are slight and caught in the air

like a moth at the end of a river around my arms

I am unable to understand the sun your dizzy spells

when you form a hand around me on the sand

~ ✥ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✥ ~

I offer you my terrible sanity

the eternal voice that keeps me from reaching you

though we are close to each other every autumn

I feel the desperation of a giant freezing in cement

when I touch the door you’re pressed against

the color of your letter that reminds me of flamingos

~ ✥ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✥ ~

isn’t that what you mean?

the pleasure of hands and

lips wetter than the ocean

or the brilliant pain of

breathless teeth in a

turbulent dream on a roof

while I thought of nothing

else except you against

the sky as I unfolded you

like my very life a liquid

signal of enormous love we

invented like a comet that

splits the air between us!

~ ✥ ✧ ✦ ✧ ✥ ~

the earth looks shiny wrapped in steam and ermine

tired of us perspiring at every chance on the floor

below I bring you an ash tray out of love for the

ice palace because it is the end of summer the end

of the sun because you are in season like a blue

rug you are my favorite violin when you sit and

peel my eyes with your great surfaces seem intimate

when we merely touch the thread of life and kiss