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Two fundamental literary qualities: supernaturalism and irony.

quote by Charles Baudelaire
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Telephone Conversation

Wednesday, January 23,2008
Week 10: Telephone Conversation by Wole Soyinka

Week 10 Dividing lines: Differences in Class, race, Gender and Ideology

Telephone Conversation
by Wole Soyinka

The price seemed reasonable, location
Indifferent. The landlady swore she lived
Off premises. Nothing remained
But self-confession. 'Madam, ' I warned,
'I hate a wasted journey—I am African.'
Silence. Silenced transmission of
Pressurized good-breeding. Voice, when it came,
Lipstick coated, long gold rolled
Cigarette-holder pipped. Caught I was foully.
'HOW DARK? '... I had not misheard... 'ARE YOU LIGHT
OR VERY DARK? ' Button B, Button A.* Stench
Of rancid breath of public hide-and-speak.
Red booth. Red pillar box. Red double-tiered
Omnibus squelching tar. It was real! Shamed
By ill-mannered silence, surrender
Pushed dumbfounded to beg simplification.
Considerate she was, varying the emphasis-
'ARE YOU DARK? OR VERY LIGHT? ' Revelation came.
'You mean-like plain or milk chocolate? '
Her assent was clinical, crushing in its light
Impersonality. Rapidly, wave-length adjusted,
I chose. 'West African sepia'-and as afterthought,
'Down in my passport.' Silence for spectroscopic
Flight of fancy, till truthfulness clanged her accent
Hard on the mouthpiece. 'WHAT'S THAT? ' conceding
'DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT IS.' 'Like brunette.'
'THAT'S DARK, ISN'T IT? ' 'Not altogether.
Facially, I am brunette, but, madam, you should see
The rest of me. Palm of my hand, soles of my feet
Are a peroxide blond. Friction, caused-

[...] Read more

poem by Tamilarasi Shalu
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Fundamental Humans

Fundamental Christianity
Fundamental Islam
Fundamental Judaism
Fundamental Buddhism
Fundamental?

What happened to fundamental humans?

Why so many God brokers?

Have humans forgotten how to speak directly to God?

Jihad?
Crusade?
Inquisition?
Forced missionary conversion?
Dogma?
Why have so many innocent people died in the name of God?

Fundamental religion has robbed fundamental humans,
of their sovereignty, freedom and connection to God.

An age nears;

When people awaken to inner truth
Establish a personal relationship with Creator
Restore balance within themselves
Restore balance to Mother Earth
Establish a lasting peace

Indigenous people around the world have been right all along;

“We’re all One”

poem by Ray Lucero
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The Irony of Love

Irony is a literary or rhetorical device.
The essayist Henry Watson Fowler wrote:
“any definition of irony
—though hundreds might be given,
and very few of them would be accepted—
must include this,
that the surface meaning
and the underlying meaning of
what is said are not the same.'
He left out that any definition of
Irony must include that it is cruel.

I never understood
The meaning of irony
Or how cruel it can be,
Until you told me,
That though you may love me,
You find it difficult to
Hear the words
“I love you” from me.

You see, some three years ago
You jokingly said
'I love you' to me,
And I begged you
Never to utter those words again.
Not because I did not want to hear them,
But because they were difficult for me.
They carried heart-felt consequences
That I did not want to face.
So, I shut out my heart and followed my head.
And in life filled with so many regrets,
It was the biggest mistake I ever made.

The irony,
After some thousand days have past,
You uttered the same
Imprudent sentiment to me.
This sentiment is the definition of irony –
The surface meaning
And underlying meaning are not the same.
Because although I asked you not to say
“I love you”,
It is all I wanted to hear.

The cruelty,
That now that heaven has at last
Blessed, cursed me with
Clarity of the heart,
And I want to say what I mean

[...] Read more

poem by Hal Caufield
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The Interpretation of Nature and

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Francis Bacon
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Ode to the Great Unknown

'O breathe not his name!'
—Moore.

I

Thou Great Unknown!
I do not mean Eternity, nor Death,
That vast incog!
For I suppose thou hast a living breath,
Howbeit we know not from whose lungs 'tis blown,
Thou man of fog!
Parent of many children—child of none!
Nobody's son!
Nobody's daughter—but a parent still!
Still but an ostrich parent of a batch
Of orphan eggs,—left to the world to hatch
Superlative Nil!
A vox and nothing more,—yet not Vauxhall;
A head in papers, yet without a curl!
Not the Invisible Girl!
No hand—but a handwriting on a wall—
A popular nonentity,
Still call'd the same,—without identity!
A lark, heard out of sight,—
A nothing shin'd upon,—invisibly bright,
'Dark with excess of light!'
Constable's literary John-a-nokes—
The real Scottish wizard—and not which,
Nobody—in a niche;
Every one's hoax!
Maybe Sir Walter Scott—
Perhaps not!
Why dost thou so conceal and puzzle curious folks?

II

Thou,—whom the second-sighted never saw,
The Master Fiction of fictitious history!
Chief Nong-tong-paw!
No mister in the world—and yet all mystery!
The 'tricksy spirit' of a Scotch Cock Lane—
A novel Junius puzzling the world's brain—
A man of Magic—yet no talisman!
A man of clair obscure—not he o' the moon!
A star—at noon.
A non-descriptus in a caravan,
A private—of no corps—a northern light
In a dark lantern,—Bogie in a crape—
A figure—but no shape;

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Hood
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Z. Comments

CRYSTAL GLOW

Madhur Veena Comment: Who is she? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ....You write good!

Margaret Alice Comment: Beautiful, it stikes as heartfelt words and touches the heart, beautiful sentiments, sorry, I repeat myself, but I am delighted. Your poem is like the trinkets I collect to adorn my personal space, pure joy to read, wonderful! Only a beautiful mind can harbour such sentiments, you have a beautiful mind. I am glad you have found someone that inspires you to such heights and that you share it with us, you make the world a mroe wonderful place.

Margaret Alice Comment: Within the context set by the previous poem, “Cosmic Probe”, the description of a lover’s adoration for his beloved becomes a universal ode sung to the abstract values of love, joy and hope personified by light, colours, fragrance and beauty, qualities the poet assigns to his beloved, thus elevating her to the status of an uplifting force because she brings all these qualities to his attention. The poet recognises that these personified values brings him fulfilment and chose the image of a love relationship to illustrate how this comes about; thus a love poem becomes the vehicle to convey spiritual epiphany.

FRAGRANT JASMINE

Margaret Alice Comment: Your words seem to be directed to a divine entity, you seem to be addressing your adoration to a divinity, and it is wonderful to read of such sublime sentiments kindled in a human soul. Mankind is always lifted up by their vision and awareness of divinity, thank you for such pure, clear diction and sharing your awareness of the sublime with us, you have uplifted me so much by this vision you have created!

Margaret Alice Comment: The poet’s words seem to be directed to a divine entity, express adoration to a divinity who is the personification of wonderful qualities which awakens a sense of the sublime in the human soul. An uplifting vision and awareness of uplifting qualities of innocence represented by a beautiful person.

I WENT THERE TO BID HER ADIEU

Kente Lucy Comment: wow great writing, what a way to bid farewell

Margaret Alice Comment: Sensory experience is elevated by its symbolical meaning, your description of the scene shows two souls becoming one and your awareness of the importance of tempory experience as a symbol of the eternal duration of love and companionship - were temporary experience only valid for one moment in time, it would be a sad world, but once it is seen as a symbol of eternal things, it becomes enchanting.

I’M INCOMPLETE WITHOUT YOU

Margaret Alice Comment: You elevate the humnan experience of longing for love to a striving for sublimity in uniting with a beloved person, and this poem is stirring, your style of writing is effective, everything flows together perfectly.

Margaret Alice Comment:

'To a resplendent glow of celestial flow
And two split halves unite never to part.'

Reading your fluent poems is a delight, I have to tear myself away and return to the life of a drudge, but what a treasure trove of jewels you made for the weary soul who needs to contemplate higher ideals from time to time!

IN CELESTIAL WINGS

Margaret Alice Comment: When you describe how you are strengthened by your loved one, it is clear that your inner flame is so strong that you need not fear growing old, your spirit seems to become stronger, you manage to convey this impression by your striking poetry. It is a privilege to read your work.

Obed Dela Cruz Comment: wow.... i remembered will shakespeare.... nice poem!

Margaret Alice Comment: The poet has transcended the barriers of time and space by becoming an image of his beloved and being able to find peace in the joy he confers to his beloved.

'You transcend my limits, transcend my soul, I forget my distress in your thoughts And discover my peace in your joy, For, I’m mere image of you, my beloved.'

Margaret Alice Comment: You are my peace and solace, I know, I am, yours too; A mere flash of your thoughts Enlivens my tired soul And fills me with light, peace and solace, A giant in new world, I become, I rise to divine heights in celestial wings. How I desire to reciprocate To fill you with light and inner strength raise you to divine heights; I must cross over nd hold you in arms, light up your soul, Fill you with strength from my inner core, Wipe away your tears burst out in pure joy How I yearn to instill hope and confidence in you we never part And we shall wait, till time comes right. the flame in my soul always seeks you, you transcend my limits, transcend my soul, I forget my distress in your thoughts And discover my peace in your joy, For, I’m mere image of you, my beloved.

RAGING FIRE

[...] Read more

poem by Praveen Kumar
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Most Of The So Called Literary Experts

Most of the so called literary experts are dismissive of rhyme
They say 'tis the poetry of a long gone time
Yet the poets that they laud the poems they do write
Cannot be put to music and are hard to read and recite
The rhymer of today is not looked on as a poet
Or is not seen as one worthy of literary note
By the so called literary experts with literary degrees
Though their judgement on what is or is not poetry not everyone does please
They never will convince the old style rhyme buff
To him or her well written rhyme is not throw away stuff
In well written rhyme are the words to a song
And good rhyming poetry to music belong
Yet the degreed literary experts who on poetry like to have their say
Dismiss rhyming poets and their poetry as of yesterday.

poem by Francis Duggan
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0017 The ironic, the sarcastic, the sardonic...

These weapons of literary abuse
so prevalent in the 17th and 18th century days
of literary gents in coffee-houses
have fallen into desuetude
these amicable days

but for the sake of Eng. Lit. studies
it might be useful
to run them through:

they have Greek roots
which we should know; it keeps them tidy
in the first-aid box of the literary mind:

there’s irony: that’s from the Greek
meaning ‘simulated innocence’;
in practice, saying the opposite
of what you mean; the Greeks
used it in tragedy – the man who says all’s fine and dandy
as the black cloud of disaster gathers;
we use it more for humour; as in
‘ you’re a right barrel of laughs, Mona..’

then there’s sarcasm: in Greek, wow,
to tear the flesh; gnash the teeth,
or simply to speak bitterly;
using irony (as above) , to express contempt:
‘that meant to be funny, then…? ’

and the sardonic: Homer used it
to describe bitter, mocking laughter,
which for undisclosed reasons
was associated with the people of Sardinia..

Imagine, perhaps, a tinful
of no-head-to-no-tail sardines
able to read their label..

poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Prisoner

A misfit who is old before his time
Poverty has turned him to crime
Boredom gives him too much time to think
He pours another drink.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
He wonders why his landscape looks so strange
Burger bars are home on the range
An empty bottle falling from his hand
He does'nt understand.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
A cork unlocks the door to other lands
Of battles won and destinies in hand
A half-remembered state of liquid dreams
Where things aren't what they seem.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
A naked savage dressed in shirt and jeans
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.
(chorus)
A burning, bitter taste of irony
A prisoner in the land of the free.

song performed by Ub40
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Live Or Die

Take one breath
One fundamental sign of life
Dont look back, dont analyze
The tears that you cry
Only the strong survive
The silent sacrifice
And i, I will be your heart of steel
But power has a price
Aint it time that you believe in someone
Aint it wrong to let the years go by
Standing face to face forever
Live or die
(chorus)
Hold me like a child
Im not alive until you do
What you hold in your hand is a miracle
And its dead if I dont have you
Hold me like a child
Swear you never let go
Youre the eye of the storm
The reason I laugh or cry
Live or die
I will stay with you
Take one breath
One fundamental sign of life
No bad blood
No pain can make you draw the knife
We got a world of trouble
But I will never change
And even if we fall tomorrow
We will rise again
Now is the time we show each other
These are the words I kept inside
Standing face to face forever
Live of die
(chorus)
Live or die
I will stay, with you
Take one breath
One fundamental sign of life
Dont look back
We love each other live or die
Hold me like a child
Im not alive until you do
Live or die
I will stay with you
Take one breath
One fundamental sign of life
Dont look back
We love each other live or die

[...] Read more

song performed by Bee Gees
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Edgar Allan Poe

An American literary icon but what caused his death none seem to know
He was more than a man of words the great Edgar Allan Poe
He died when in his forties his best writing years of him ahead
His fame has attained greatness and he is widely read.

Most writers in their forties have scarcely reached their writing prime
His marvellous poem 'The Raven' has not faded out in time
A writer for all ages and one of literary note
And many who love literature have him as their favourite poet.

In life he was quite famous in death greatness he did attain
As an immortal literary gem 'The Raven' does remain
In the English speaking Countries of the World from North to Southern shore
His writings remain popular and his readers now far more

Than he had in his lifetime his genius is living on
Whilst millions of his contemporaries to obscurity have gone
Despite the passing of time his literary legend grow
Though in his too brief life span few him did wish to know.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Speranza's Son

His poems and plays are literary gems his quotes popular today
A genius and a great poet with words he had a way
Incarcerated in Reading Jail he lived at a time
When for a man to love another man was looked on as a crime.

His mother was a great poet Speranza was her name
In the Dublin literary circles of her time she was one who knew fame
She gave to the World Oscar Wilde the truly enlightened one
What woman would not feel proud to give birth to such a son.

His father the antiquarian and gifted writer became famed far and wide
And as an expert on human diseases his worth could not be denied
But nowadays he is better known as Oscar's father the wit and literary great
A legend for the ages and one to celebrate.

The Importance of Being Earnest, The Ballad of Reading Jail
and Lady Windermere's Fan
From the pen of Speranza's son the renowned literary man
And though he died as a pauper in Paris from Dublin far away
Through his humorous quotes and insightful writings his legend lives today.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Irony And Unthinkability

Just like football helmets that create
illusions of invulnerability
irony can’t truly mitigate
the trauma of unthinkability.

Lacking helmets football would not be
the game it is, but they do not protect
the wearer any more than irony
protects politically the incorrect.

The trauma that’s inflicted when a skull
is fractured is no less than the concussion
that’s suffered by those people who are dull,
but miss the irony of a discussion.

Inspired by an article in the WSJ on November 11,2009 (Is It Time to Retire the Football Helmet? New Research Says Small Hits Do Major Damage—and There's Not Much Headgear Can Do About It, by Reed Albergotti and Shirley S. Wang) :

This football season, the debate about head injuries has reached a critical mass. Startling research has been unveiled. Maudlin headlines have been written. Congress called a hearing on the subject last month. As obvious as the problem may seem (wait, you mean football is dangerous?) , continuing revelations about the troubling mental declines of some retired players—and the ongoing parade of concussions during games—have created a sense of inevitability. Pretty soon, something will have to be done. But before the debate goes any further, there's a fundamental question that needs to be investigated. Why do football players wear helmets in the first place? And more important, could the helmets be part of the problem? 'Some people have advocated for years to take the helmet off, take the face mask off. That'll change the game dramatically, ' says Fred Mueller, a University of North Carolina professor who studies head injuries. 'Maybe that's better than brain damage.'
The first hard-shell helmets, which became popular in the 1940s, weren't designed to prevent concussions but to prevent players in that rough-and-tumble era from suffering catastrophic injuries like fractured skulls. But while these helmets reduced the chances of death on the field, they also created a sense of invulnerability that encouraged players to collide more forcefully and more often. 'Almost every single play, you're going to get hit in the head, ' says Miami Dolphins offensive tackle Jake Long. What nobody knew at the time is that these small collisions may be just as damaging. The growing body of research on former football players suggests that brain damage isn't necessarily the result of any one trauma, but the accumulation of thousands of seemingly innocuous blows to the head…
Nonetheless, the strongest argument for the helmet may turn out to be an economic one. The NFL is shaped around the notion that players can run into each other at high speeds without consequence. It's the same sort of idea that has made Nascar the nation's most popular form of motorsport. And beyond all this, there's the very real question of whether the prospect of serious mental impairment later in life will ever discourage people from playing the game—let alone watching. 'Without the helmet, they wouldn't hit their head in stupid plays, ' says P. David Halstead, technical director for the Nocsae, the group that sets helmet-safety standards. But without helmets, the game 'wouldn't be football, ' he says.

11/11/09

poem by Gershon Hepner
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Real art is without irony. Irony distances the author from his material. Irony is a product of something. It's not the reason for doing something. Irony is a cheap shot.

quote by Robert Altman
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Justify

To add justice,
I did not scream nor cry,
I instead called,
“Irony.”
Yes,
Irony.
The strange noun that bites and slaps when least expected.
So, to justify,
I called Irony.
I would like it to be shown, to the court at least, that I did nothing wrong,
nor nothing right.
I called his name,
when he was gone from sight.
I whispered my wisdom,
to a deaf and blind old fool,
I gave my only love,
To one who would never love at all.
So,
To justify,
I believe I did not lose,
I just didn't win.
That is often the case with irony.

poem by Kaitey Cat
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Withitness

Some people love the experimental in poetry
Poetry, in the experimental, love some people
Love poetry, experimental people. Some
Lovesome

Challenging all preconceptions
Preconceptions all challenging…
Preconceptions challenging all
All-challenging

Playing with outmoded language
Language playing outmoded
With playing language
Language-playing

But with an implicit social critique
Critique but social
An implicit but
Critique-implicit

In the spirit of post modern irony
Irony modern in spirit
Spirit in modern
Post-irony

Look Ma I can stand on my head
Stand Ma on head
Stand on my Ma I can
Can-head

All-challenging language-playing
Post-irony
Critique-implic it
Lovesome?

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Irony of Things

It is an irony to believe that Ayothya
Is the birth place of Rama, as by the time
When Rama lived around 1450 B.C.,
Aryans never crossed Punjab or beyond.

It is an irony to say that Mathura
Is the birth place of Krishna, as by the time
When Krishna lived around 900 B.C.,
Aryans never reached up to Mathura.

It is an irony to establish that Durga,
A Dravidian origin, fostered later by Aryans,
Is the destroyer of Sura padman,
An asura, a co-dravidian, among Dravidians.

It is an irony that the very Dravidian
Movement has landed in the hand of a Brahmin
And then at a hand who too had mortgaged the interest
To Aryan for sake of his dynasty.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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L'Héautontimorouménos (The Man Who Tortures Himself)

L'Héautontimorouménos
Je te frapperai sans colère
Et sans haine, comme un boucher,
Comme Moïse le rocher
Et je ferai de ta paupière,

Pour abreuver mon Saharah
Jaillir les eaux de la souffrance.
Mon désir gonflé d'espérance
Sur tes pleurs salés nagera

Comme un vaisseau qui prend le large,
Et dans mon coeur qu'ils soûleront
Tes chers sanglots retentiront
Comme un tambour qui bat la charge!
Ne suis-je pas un faux accord
Dans la divine symphonie,
Grâce à la vorace Ironie
Qui me secoue et qui me mord
Elle est dans ma voix, la criarde!
C'est tout mon sang ce poison noir!
Je suis le sinistre miroir
Où la mégère se regarde.

Je suis la plaie et le couteau!
Je suis le soufflet et la joue!
Je suis les membres et la roue,
Et la victime et le bourreau!

Je suis de mon coeur le vampire,
— Un de ces grands abandonnés
Au rire éternel condamnés
Et qui ne peuvent plus sourire!

The Man Who Tortures Himself

I shall strike you without anger
And without hate, like a butcher,
As Moses struck the rock!
And from your eyelids I shall make

The waters of suffering gush forth
To inundate my Sahara.
My desire swollen with hope
Will float upon your salty tears

Like a vessel which puts to sea,
And in my heart that they'll make drunk
Your beloved sobs will resound
Like a drum beating the charge!

[...] Read more

poem by Charles Baudelaire
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In Days to Come

IN DAYS TO COME

In days to come when, dumb, I’ll strum no more
rhymed witness to timed world where butterflies
still dance rare marbled patterns through fair skies -
when I’ll have sunk to rest unblessed before
enchantment fades – who’ll feel one penny poor?
Most, wor[l]dy-wise, ignore one poor demise,
for life continues as before - here lies
our irony, reflections poet pours
in [l]ink think themes on pixel pages’ scores
fade with ambitions one can’t realize,
when hopes unmet forget joy’s first surprise.
Self is both root and cause of fatal flaws.

My memory, wax candle w[e]aned from flame,
may shadow search vain answers to Life’s game.

20 May 2005 revised 16 November 2006 and 25 March 2009
robi03_1257_robi03_0000 SXX_DIZ

for previous versions see below variant of Unjaded Sparkle 6 July 1991

In Days to Come

In days to come when, dumb, I’ll bear no more
to Time rhymed witness, world where butterflies
still dance rare marbled patterns through fair skies -
when I’ll have sunk to rest twice blessed before
enchantment fades – who’ll feel one penny poor?
Most, wor[l]dy-wise, ignore one poor demise,
for life continues as before - here lies
our irony, reflections one would pour
in [l]ink think themes on pixel pages’ score
fade with ambitions one can’t realize,
when hopes unmet forget joy’s first surprise.
Within oneself is found the fatal flaw.

My memory - wax candle w[e]aned from flame,
while others, vain, search answers to Life’s game.

20 May 2005 and 16 November 2006 revised 23 November 2008
- for previous versions see below

In Days to Come

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Song: Spell Out The Blues

There's no-one who's better,
Better than you!
No ruthless go-getter,
With the dumb luck of youth.
There's no-one who's better,
Better than you!
A fashion trend setter,
Who's never uncouth.

My life's such a clutter,
But what can I do?
I've pulled down the shutters,
And choked off the view.
The world is a gutter,
A foul smelling brew.
And my writings still stutter,
To spell out the blues.
Spell out the blues!
They spell out the blues!
All the words that I splutter,
Spell out the blues!

There's no-one who's better,
Better than you!
I'm your prisoner in fetters,
Though you're never cruel.
There's no-one that's better,
Better than you!
No grudge or vendetta,
To play me the fool.

There's no-one who's better,
Better than you!
I am dry cheddar,
While you are just smooth.
There's no-one that's better,
Better than you!
You sent me those letters,
So I'd walk in your shoes.
Walk in your shoes!
Walk in your shoes!
I'd pound out the leather,
And walk in your shoes.

My fragile self shatters,
Yet you flatter me.
My attention is scattered,
I fall to my knee.
How can it matter,
If satyr I be?

[...] Read more

poem by David SmithWhite
Added by Poetry Lover
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