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The Tenants Of The Little Box

Throw into the little box
A stone
You'll take out a bird

Throw in your shadow
You'll take out the shirt of happiness

Throw in your father's root
You'll take out the axle of the universe

The little box works for you

Throw into the little box
A mouse
You'll take out a quaking hill

Throw in your head
You'll take out two

The little box works for you

poem by Vasko Popa
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Deck Of Cards

a deck of cards
missing the Jack of Hearts....
a revolver on the table,

one chamber empty...
an old family Bible,
the inscription page torn out...

a broken pane in the window
that the sun never hits.
a bottle of whiskey,

half empty, or half full.
an old rug by the chair,
that the dog slept on.

a grandfather clock,
hand stuck at midnight...
an old truck, broken axle....

[...] Read more

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Who Invented the Wheel?

Who invented the wheel?
It is an F. A. Q.
That is here eversince
The wheel came into view

Were it the Sumerians?
Can anyone say who?
Everybody's asking
Nobody seems to know

Who did first use the wheel?
The same and old query
The answer is around
Though not easy to see
Salamander or spider
Transforms into a ball
And like a wheel he goes
Down of a hill he rolls
A wheel without axle
He doesn't have to crawl

poem by Pacific Hernandez
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He Is The Culprit!

The culprits culminate in the position of registry,
An aimless forfeit complains in the way of the end.
The baboon munches, he flaps his arms and toes,
With a banal complaint, like the battles he fights.
The ordinance delivered by this dangerous dummy
Is an ingoing instinct, a leader’s river of life and rights.
He is an ayatollah of wheels, a man with an axle
To save his sort, the culprit is himself, although a priesthood.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Men Mind No State In Sickness

That flow of gallants which approach
To kiss thy hand from out the coach;
That fleet of lackeys which do run
Before thy swift postilion;
Those strong-hoof'd mules, which we behold
Rein'd in with purple, pearl, and gold,
And shed with silver, prove to be
The drawers of the axle-tree;
Thy wife, thy children, and the state
Of Persian looms and antique plate:
--All these, and more, shall then afford
No joy to thee, their sickly lord.

poem by Robert Herrick
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Compass

Will You be my compass
that always gives true direction,
even when its dark night around me
to help me find direction again
while the thunderbolts fall around me?

If the stars are torn loose
from the heavens
and the moon shines its last rays
and mercy for sin
disappears from You
may I be in Your heart
and read love in Your eyes?

When the sun turns for the last time
around its own axle
and rise scorching,
would You then fold your hand about me
and still keep me under Your protection?

poem by Gert Strydom
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Tinos

First, two roosters vying in the dark
cracked the fragile stillness of the night
then the sparrows deafening demot
spread the rift until a golden light
in rivulets fell and filled the window box
putting weak and timid dreams to rout
then the tuneful axle of a cart
kikiriki-drove the darkness out.
A screen door slammed, a first boat quit the sand
a donkey bawled, a whirling swallow swarm
fifed a fray in heaven's sounding bell
Night ran off, his sandals in his hand
Dawn turned into my waking arm
But that is all of Tinos we can tell.

poem by Morgan Michaels
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Ghosts of Mine

Revenant
Running through the spires like ancient ghosts

Leo
Relinquishing the castles for the poor behind the door

Baal Shem
Name and pipe-procession ripened to adopt

Pierrot
Fill the glass-house circus casting the first stone

Bethlehem
Axle-star that fixes love and frankincense

Jonathan
I die of fraternity I publicize a birth

Asquelon
Traces of the sandblind in the path of semite steps

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poem by Frank Bana
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When we stand on the tops of Things

242

When we stand on the tops of Things—
And like the Trees, look down—
The smoke all cleared away from it—
And Mirrors on the scene—

Just laying light—no soul will wink
Except it have the flaw—
The Sound ones, like the Hills—shall stand—
No Lighting, scares away—

The Perfect, nowhere be afraid—
They bear their dauntless Heads,
Where others, dare not go at Noon,
Protected by their deeds—

The Stars dare shine occasionally
Upon a spotted World—
And Suns, go surer, for their Proof,

[...] Read more

poem by Emily Dickinson
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Hymn to Lucifer

Ware, nor of good nor ill, what aim hath act?
Without its climax, death, what savour hath
Life? an impeccable machine, exact
He paces an inane and pointless path
To glut brute appetites, his sole content
How tedious were he fit to comprehend
Himself! More, this our noble element
Of fire in nature, love in spirit, unkenned
Life hath no spring, no axle, and no end.

His body a bloody-ruby radiant
With noble passion, sun-souled Lucifer
Swept through the dawn colossal, swift aslant
On Eden's imbecile perimeter.
He blessed nonentity with every curse
And spiced with sorrow the dull soul of sense,
Breathed life into the sterile universe,
With Love and Knowledge drove out innocence
The Key of Joy is disobedience.

poem by Aleister Crowley
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