• csalisbury
    2.4k
    Before and now seems infinite though encircled by gradual doubts
    Of whatever came over us. Perhaps the old chic was less barren,
    More something be looked forward to, than this
    Morning in the orchards under an unclouded sky,
    This painful freshness of each thing being exactly itself.
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    Perhaps all that is wanted is time.
    People cover us, they are older
    And have lived before. They want no part of us,
    Only to be dying, and over with it.
    Out of step with all that is passing along with them
  • Baden
    10.3k
    @csalisbury Thanks for keeping this going. This is my 10,000th post and if I could distil from that mass of writing as much wisdom as can be found in a few lines of poetry of this level, it would have been worthwhile. :love:
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    :party: :fire: :sparkle: Happy Ten Thousandth! :sparkle: :fire: :party:
    (& glad you're digging the poems)
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    But living with it deep in the midst of things.
    It it is civilization that counts, after all, they seem
    To be saying, and we are as much a part of it as anybody else
    Only we think less about it, even not at all, until some
    Fool comes shouting into the forest at nightfall
  • Baden
    10.3k


    Cheers bro'.
  • fdrake
    3.6k
    Before and now seems infinite though encircled by gradual doubts
    Of whatever came over us. Perhaps the old chic was less barren,
    More something be looked forward to, than this
    Morning in the orchards under an unclouded sky,
    This painful freshness of each thing being exactly itself.
    csalisbury

    That's fucking brutal.
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    News of some thing we know and care little of,
    As the distant castle rejoices to the joyous
    Sound of hooves, releasing rooks straight up into the faultless air
    And meanwhile weighs its shadow ever heavier on the mirroring
    Surface of the river, surrounding the little boat with three figures
    in it.
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    [end of poem]
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    New Poem : Farm
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    A protracted wait that is also night.
    Funny how the white fence posts
    Go on and on, a quiet reproach
    That goes under as day ends
    Though the geometry remains,
    A thing like nudity at the end
    Of a long stretch. "It makes such a difference."
    OK. So is the "really not the same thing at all,"
    Viewed through the wrong end of a telescope
    And holding up that bar.
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    Living with the girl
    Got kicked into the sod of things.
    There was a to-do end of June,
    Comings and goings
    Before the matter is dropped.
    But it stays around, like her faint point
    Of frown, or the dripping leaves
    of pie-plant and hollyhock,
    Also momentary in defeat.
    No one has the last laugh
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    [end of poem]
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    New Poem : Farm II
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    I was thinking
    Now that the flowers are
    forgotten
    A whole new frontier
    Backing around the old one are
    Swamping its former good ideas
    Plowing under the errors to
    In its tin maelstrom : the overloaded
    Ferryboat slowly moves away from the dock
    Are these dog-eared things
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    Weeds what you call them
    These things sitting like mail to be read
    Toward the end of afternoon
    Things the mailman brought
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    I would like to enroll
    In the new course
    At the study center
  • Professor Death
    387
    Why is 'in' capitalized in the title of this thread?
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    A lattice-work crust
    Holes are blobs of darkness
    Has been placed across the road
    You can't walk out too far that way any more
    They say the children are demolishing
    The insides of the woods
    burnt orange
    That it's spectacular
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    But it doesn't
    Take us into the open sea
    Only to the middle of a river
    Fumbling which way to go.
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    [end of poem]
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    New Poem : Farm III
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    Small waves strike
    The dark stones. The wife reads
    The letter. There is nothing irreversible:
    Points to the last sibilants
    Of invading beef and calico.
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    Pretty soon oil has
    Taken up the place of
    The dark around you. It was all
    As told, but anyway it never came out just right:
    A fraction here, a lisp where it didn't matter.
    It has to be presented
    Through a final gap: pear trees and flowers
    An ultimate resinous wall
    Basking in the temperate climate
    Of your identity. Sullen fecundity
    To be watched over.
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    [end of poem]
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    New Poem : Hop o' My Thumb
  • csalisbury
    2.4k
    The grand hotels, dancing girls,
    Urge forward under a veil of "lost illusion"
    The deed to this day or some other day.
    There is no day in the calendar
    The dairy company sent out
    That lets you possess it wildly like
    The body of a dreaming woman in a dream:
    All flop over at the top when seized,
    The stem too slender, the top too loose and heavy,
    Blushing with fine foliage of dreams.
    The motor cars, tinsel hats,
    Supper of cakes, the amorous children
    Take the solitary downward path of dreams
    And are not seen again.
    What is it, Undine?
    The notes can scarcely be heard
    In the hubbub of the flattening storm,
    WIth the third wish unspoken.
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