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For Bartleby The Scrivener

"Every time we get a big gale around here
some people just refuse to batten down."

we estimate that

ice skating into a sixty
mile an hour wind, fully exerting
the legs and swinging arms

you will be pushed backward
an inch every twenty minutes.

in a few days, depending on
the size of the lake,
the backs of your skates
will touch land.

you will then fall on your ass
and be blown into the forest.

[...] Read more

poem by Billy Collins
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Whispering Breeze

A soft, whispering breeze, stirs the leaves on the trees,
And then suddenly, a gust, lifts the dry settled dust,
Things start moving about, and now there's no doubt,
That a storm's on the way, coming in from the bay.

So it's shutters up folks, there's no time now, for jokes,
Batten down all things loose, and bring in the old goose,
Or she'll screech out in fright. Now hold her quite tight.
There, the rain has begun, and the winds having fun.

It'll hang around for a bit, so we'll just wait and sit,
Until all's calm once again, with the going of the rain,
Clouds will part, sun will peep, and the foliage weep,
And a soft, whispering breeze, will stir the leaves on the trees.

poem by Ernestine Northover
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It is the responsibility of the sender to make sure the receiver understands the message.

quote by Joseph Batten
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When his nomination comes before the United States Senate, Timothy Batten can count on my strong support... He is the right person for the job.

quote by Saxby Chambliss
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Weather Hurricane Storms With Good Friends

dark summer storm clouds encase dark horizons
dark summer storm clouds close lost horizons
season of summer storms sweeps in across seas
rains come storms come closing tourist beaches
cold rain hurricane storms threaten new floods
batten down windows close shut tight exit doors
good time to weather storms with life true friends

poem by Terence George Craddock
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October

It seems that each day this world is more unscrupulous than sober
I want to hide behind my Halloween mask in this scary October
The rich are richer and the middle class knows not what’s in store
Their only certainty is that they will join the class known as poor

The weather’s turning cooler and the governments much colder
The year still has its holidays though much fewer for the older
Through this maze of uncertainty, confusion and unrest
All I can do is batten down the hatches, smile and do my best

poem by Gregory Huyette
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The Dancers: (During A Great Battle, 1916)

The floors are slippery with blood:
The world gyrates too. God is good
That while His wind blows out the light
For those who hourly die for is –
We still can dance each night.

The music has grown numb with death –
But we will suck their dying breath,
The whispered name they breathed to chance,
To swell our music, make it loud
That we may dance, - may dance.

We are the dull blind carrion-fly
That dance and batten. Though God die
Mad from the horror of the light –
The light is mad, too, flecked with blood, -
We dance, we dance, each night.

poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
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4th July 1882, Malines. Midnight

Belgian, with cumbrous tread and iron boots,
Who in the murky middle of the night,
Designing to renew the foul pursuits
In which thy life is passed, ill-favoured wight,
And wishing on the platform to alight
Where thou couldst mingle with thy fellow brutes,
Didst walk the carriage floor (a leprous sight),
As o'er the sky some baleful meteor shoots:
Upon my slippered foot thou didst descend,
Didst rouse me from my slumbers mad with pain,
And laughedst loud for several minutes' space.
Oh may'st thou suffer tortures without end:
May fiends with glowing pincers rend thy brain,
And beetles batten on thy blackened face!

poem by James Kenneth Stephen
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The Whistling Girl

Back of my back, they talk of me,
Gabble and honk and hiss;
Let them batten, and let them be-
Me, I can sing them this:

"Better to shiver beneath the stars,
Head on a faithless breast,
Than peer at the night through rusted bars,
And share an irksome rest.

"Better to see the dawn come up,
Along of a trifling one,
Than set a steady man's cloth and cup
And pray the day be done.

"Better be left by twenty dears
Than lie in a loveless bed;
Better a loaf that's wet with tears
Than cold, unsalted bread."

[...] Read more

poem by Dorothy Parker
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His Content In The Country

HERE, Here I live with what my board
Can with the smallest cost afford;
Though ne'er so mean the viands be,
They well content my Prue and me:
Or pea or bean, or wort or beet,
Whatever comes, Content makes sweet.
Here we rejoice, because no rent
We pay for our poor tenement;
Wherein we rest, and never fear
The landlord or the usurer.
The quarter-day does ne'er affright
Our peaceful slumbers in the night:
We eat our own, and batten more,
Because we feed on no man's score;
But pity those whose flanks grow great,
Swell'd with the lard of other's meat.
We bless our fortunes, when we see
Our own beloved privacy;
And like our living, where we're known
To very few, or else to none.

poem by Robert Herrick
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