I would to heaven that I were so much clay, As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling – Because at least the past were passed away – And for the future – (but I write this reeling, Having got drunk exceedingly today, So that I seem to stand upon the ceiling) I say –… Read More I Woud to Heaven That I Were So Much Clay – Byron
‘You are old, father William,’ the young man said, ‘And your hair is exceedingly white: And yet you incessantly stand on your head – Do you think, at your age, it is right?’ ‘In my youth,’ father William replied to his son, ‘I feared it might injure the brain: Nut now that I’m perfectly sure… Read More Father William – Lewi Carrol
A disarmingly simple take on poetry. Even the greatest are just like us. This poem presents what the poet or the writer did while visualizing his thoughts, from the eating perspective. In all the good Greek of Plato I lack my roast beef and potato. A better man was Aristotle, Pulling steady on the botle.… Read More Survey of Literature – John Crowe Ransom
Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802 – Wordsworth, the poem of a romantic Earth hath not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships,… Read More Two Poems on Westminster Bridge
It’s quiet in Hell just now, it’s very tame. The devils and the damned alike like snoring. Just a faint smell of sulphur, not much flame; The human souls come here and find it boring. Satan, the poor old Puritan, sits there Emitting mocking laughter once a minute. Idly he scans a page of Baudelaire… Read More Lament of an Idle Demon – RP Lister
Onion luminous flask, your beauty formed petal by petal, crystal scales expanded you and in the secrecy of the dark earth your belly grey round with dew. Under the earth the miracle happened and when your clumsy green stem appeared. and your leaves were born like swords in the garden. the earth heaped up her… Read More Ode to the Onion – Pablo Neruda
A nice limerick A funny old bird is a pelican. His beak can hold more than his bellican. Food for a week He can hold in his beak, But I don’t know how the hellican.