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To Someone who Killed My Day

PostPosted: Fri May 05, 2006 5:20 am
by dks
I know you have all felt this way...when someone just kills your day... :?


Would You?

Would you
Kindly
File down
The rasping garrote?

Make sure the blade’s
Verge
Is sufficiently
Tined?

See to it
The needle is not glutted
And the vein
You choose
Is not tender, shaken
Tissue?

Arrange the
Kilowatt cap
So it’s right
Center, plugged,
And salty sponge lined?

Would you make it so?
Do it in double time;
Deaden the blow,
Make it a blurring tempest,
Love,
So I don’t know
It’s you.

PostPosted: Fri May 05, 2006 5:26 am
by Credo Buffa
These rhymes are so creative.

PostPosted: Fri May 05, 2006 10:11 am
by Saturn
I don't know if you will take this as a compliment or not dks but your poems are very reminiscent of Sylvia Plath - whether intentional or not they have the same intensity, razor-sharp wit and incisiveness.

PostPosted: Fri May 05, 2006 2:42 pm
by dks
Saturn wrote:I don't know if you will take this as a compliment or not dks but your poems are very reminiscent of Sylvia Plath - whether intentional or not they have the same intensity, razor-sharp wit and incisiveness.


If there was an emoticon that bows slightly, I would use it. I take that as an extraordinary compliment, Saturn, that you would think to compare me to any serious, famed poet at all.

Thank you. :oops:

PostPosted: Fri May 05, 2006 5:02 pm
by Saturn
I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it :wink:

remember the published poets are the fortunate ones - as Keats himself said:

“…Poesy alone can tell her dreams,
With the fine spell of words alone can save
Imagination from the sable charm
And dumb enchantment. Who alive can say
‘Thou art no Poet; may’st not tell thy dreams?’
Since every man whose soul is not a clod
Hath visions, and would speak, if he had lov’d
And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.”
‘The Fall of Hyperion: A Dream’ Canto I, 8-15.


:D

PostPosted: Fri May 05, 2006 9:54 pm
by dks
Saturn wrote:I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it :wink:

remember the published poets are the fortunate ones - as Keats himself said:

“…Poesy alone can tell her dreams,
With the fine spell of words alone can save
Imagination from the sable charm
And dumb enchantment. Who alive can say
‘Thou art no Poet; may’st not tell thy dreams?’
Since every man whose soul is not a clod
Hath visions, and would speak, if he had lov’d
And been well nurtured in his mother tongue.”
‘The Fall of Hyperion: A Dream’ Canto I, 8-15.



:D


Well, thanks, Saturn. And thanks for recalling those consummate lines from "Hyperion." :wink: