Quotes about mail, page 7
Aside
Mail-day, and over the world in a thousand drag-nets
The bundles of letters are dumped on the docks and beaches,
And all that is dear to the personal conscious reaches
Around us again like filings around iron magnets,
And war stands aside for an hour and looks at our faces
Of total absorption that seem to have lost their places.
O demobilized for a moment, a world is made human,
Returns to a time that is neither the present or then,
But a garland of clippings and wishes of who-knows-when,
A time of its own creation, a thing of acumen
That keeps us, like movies, alive with a purpose, aside
From the play-acting truth of the newsreel in which we have died.
And aside from the candy and pictures and books we receive,
As if we were patients whose speedy recovery were certain,
There is proof of the End and the lights and the bow at the curtain,
After which we shall smile at each other and get up to leave.
[...] Read more
poem by Karl Shapiro
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
While My Wife Is In Japan....Again......[Personal; Retirement
This beautiful day I sit on patio, .... which my wife may enclose.
I hope I'll enjoy the birds as much, and feel wind when it blows.
A little plane in the distance hums; my wife thinks they're crazy.
I've done most of day's exercises; now I'm being 'lazy'.
I've got with me Smart Women, a relationship novel
about some people who dominate and some who may grovel.
A while ago an 'insect' crawled by, the size of a dot of ink.
Then a blue and grey scrub jay came to yonder dish for a drink.
I photographed a second jay with my new binocular-digital camera.
Have you ever tried to find a word that rhymes with camera?
It's 'made in China' and I got it on clearance for about 8 bucks.
At that price, though camera ain't 'perfect', I really can't say it sucks.
Today I planted some sunflower seeds. They came as gift in the mail.
I also planted five cherry pits from gutter; I hope they do not fail.
Using computer I called Japan, to 'Mama's', and spoke to my wife.
[...] Read more
poem by Bri Edwards
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
9904
9904
9904
CharlaXFabels
Ninenintyfour
Autofixation
A Dialog Fabel
Mrs. Smithster: BOSS let me help you clean up your computor today the new auto program disc is arrived in my snail mail box.
BOSS: OK just don't lose any of my contacts on the list the accounts are way too important.
JUNE: to her self: an aside: GET HIM who does he THINK he is giving me that guff so early in the mourning.
BOSS: Poor June is my secretary and eye love her like my sister but she is so dense the bullits bounce off her like she is Superman, or wait no Supergirl mabe.
Narrator Ed.Note: This is the twilight zoned for the next five minutiae you can not understand anything but this fable you have been transported to the twilight zone. This Lady Bosses Secretary one Mrs. June Smithster has been the receiver of a program sent to her inside her snail mail marked as a FIXIT program disc the entire story is now centered around what comes next let's watch what happens…
Charlax the Narrator: June reached into the envelope slowly and opened the disc cover reluctantly she was wondering now just where it had come from it was compelling her to use it she could feel its message somewhere near her left toe and the eye her left eye was twitching like a nervous wrecked her whole face was letting go she had to she had to over and over like a ROBOT compulsion she HAD to place the disc in the BOSSES computor NOW.
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Hice
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
It May Not Seem Fair
She was part
Of what held
This family together
When it didn't want or
Didn't think it needed
To be held
Now she tells me
Of growing up on the ranch
In the early nineteen hundreds
Why their father left
Coming by with money
Putting in a couple days of work
Then heading back out
As the held together
Four young girls and their mother
[...] Read more
poem by Tom J. Mariani
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Beowulf (Episode 22)
BEOWULF spake, bairn of Ecgtheow: --
"Have mind, thou honored offspring of Healfdene
gold-friend of men, now I go on this quest,
sovran wise, what once was said:
if in thy cause it came that I
should lose my life, thou wouldst loyal bide
to me, though fallen, in father's place!
Be guardian, thou, to this group of my thanes,
my warrior-friends, if War should seize me;
and the goodly gifts thou gavest me,
Hrothgar beloved, to Hygelac send!
Geatland's king may ken by the gold,
Hrethel's son see, when he stares at the treasure,
that I got me a friend for goodness famed,
and joyed while I could in my jewel-bestower.
And let Unferth wield this wondrous sword,
earl far-honored, this heirloom precious,
hard of edge: with Hrunting I
seek doom of glory, or Death shall take me."
After these words the Weder-Geat lord
[...] Read more
poem by Anonymous Olde English
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Mouse In My Stomach.....[LONG; Human Body; Animals]
Two months ago, in the mail, I got a company's exciting offer.
I could get a host of diagnostic tests, in exchange for a few coins into their coffer.
Soon to my town was coming a great big mobile-medical van,
in which m body could be subjected to sonograms and x-rays, and even a cat scan.
So I called the toll free number immediately; that is really quick.
They made my appointment for last week, and said 'to that time' I had to stick.
Here at last was their chance to find in me cysts, plaque, clots, and tumors.
I'd heard some negative things about the company, but I'm SURE they were just rumors.
The tests all seemed painless, even comfortable, as if there was nothing being done.
A pretty nurse (all the 'patients' were men) served coffee and donuts between each test. It was really sort of fun.
This afternoon, by first class mail, I received my results from their expert doc.
What I read, two pages long (single-spaced0 sent me into shock.
I have a little mouse in my stomach, exhaling between each stomach squeeze,
just sitting there expectantly, waiting for some bits of cheese.
And that's not all!
From head to toes my body is inhabited by various creatures young and old.
[...] Read more
poem by Bri Edwards
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Poetic Thoughts
Pure poets think poetic thoughts,
and never write them down,
subjecting them to poet courts
to bury with a frown,
but I write nearly all of mine
in verses all the world
can read, and do not wilt or whine
when some abuse is hurled,
because the purpose of my writing
poetic thoughts is not
to be regarded as exciting,
sensitive and hot,
but to engage with my own mind,
and what is overheard
are shades of thoughts I leave behind
to bury, word by word.
Dana Goodyear writes in the New Yorker (“The Moneyed Muse: What can two hundred million dollars do for poetry? ” February 19 and 26,2007) , about Ruth Lilly’s two hundred million dollar bequest to Poetry, and the problems facing the boar in its quest to promote poetry to the general audience rather than to people within the poetic academy:
The Wayfarers’ Club, a century-old organization that John Barr joined when he moved to Chicago, meets in a formidable stone building with a large awning across from the Art Institute. The Wayfarers’ membership typically includes the presidents of both the University of Chicago and Northwestern, the director of the Art Institute, business leaders, and, in the past, according to David Hilliard, the club’s secretary and treasurer, “real moguls.” The smell of cigar smoke lingers in the halls. On a foggy, chilly night late last year, Barr was scheduled to make a twenty-minute PowerPoint presentation about the foundation and the Lilly gift. Hilliard’s wife, Celia, a Chicago historian, has been on the board of Poetry for nearly thirty years and is on the committee to select an architect for the new building. “The magazine was always a very important anchor for poetry in Chicago—with Carl Sandburg and the hog butchers and all that, and Gwendolyn Brooks and Bronzeville, ” she said. “It was a headquarters for poets, even if they didn’t come from Chicago. There used to be a little restaurant called Le Petit Gourmet, on Michigan Avenue. Harriet Monroe would have readings, with Sandburg playing his guitar.”
A server hit a glockenspiel to signal that dinner was prepared, and the Wayfarers and their guests adjourned to a panelled room with casement windows and heavy upholstered valances. Barr arrived in a crisp white shirt, navy blazer, and striped tie, and sat at a table with Penny—petite, blond, coral lipstick, gold watch—the Hilliards, and a couple of other board members and foundation employees. Conversation turned to the controversy over Barr’s essay. Celia politely said that she still hadn’t read the latest letters to the editor. “Make sure you’re sitting down, ” John said. “We got a lot of mail—it was one of the higher mail-drawers yet.”
[...] Read more
poem by Gershon Hepner
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Moeurs Contemporaines
I
Mr. Styrax 1
Mr. Hecatomb Styrax, the owner of a large estate and of large muscles,
A 'blue' and a climber of mountains, has married at the age of 28,
He being at that age a virgin,
The term Virgo' being made male in mediaeval latinity;
His ineptitudes
Have driven his wife from one religious excess to another.
She has abandoned the vicar
For he was lacking in vehemence;
She is now the high-priestess
Of a modern and ethical cult,
And even now Mr. Styrax
Does not believe in asthetics.
2
His brother has taken to gipsies,
But the son-in-law of Mr. H. Styrax
Objects to perfumed cigarettes.
[...] Read more
poem by Ezra Pound
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
What is Christmas without You?
What is Christmas without you, my love
The snow is there, the stars too
Winter has set in
The night is very, very blue.
Frosty, breezy, cold
Need the warmth of your love, my love
To thaw me down
And feel cosy at home.
I am like the icy stone
Who waits and waits and waits
On the deserted roads of lonely nights
For you to find me and pick me up
And cradle me in your arms
Trace me down with your fingers
And embrace me in your warmth, my love.
What is Christmas without you?
Have the phone on hand,
My e-mail too
[...] Read more
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Watchman
I
Through jewelled windows in the walls
The tender daylight smiles;
Majestic music swells and falls
Adown the stately aisles;
Shadows of carven roof and rood,
Of stony saints and angels, brood
Above the altar-glow;
They cannot dim the shining face
Of one conspicuous in his place
Amid the forms below.
He that was once my little boy,
With merry voice and look,
My babe, that quarrelled with his toy
And tore his hated book;
But yesterday a laughing lad,
In his dear worldly garments clad,
Talking of college wins,
[...] Read more
poem by Ada Cambridge
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!