Journaling on estrip is free and easy. get started today

Last Visit 2012-10-08 19:49:21 |Start Date 2006-04-06 23:05:29 |Comments 512 |Entries 112 |Images 31 |

Category: poems

07/04/08 11:19 - ID#44856

America

I Hear America Singing- Walt Whitman

I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand
singing on the steamboat deck,
The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,
The wood-cutter's song, the ploughboy's on his way in the morning, or
at noon intermission or at sundown,
The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of
the girl sewing or washing,
Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
The day what belongs to the day--at night the party of young fellows,
robust, friendly,
Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

(Happy 4th of July, (e:peeps)).
print add/read comments

Permalink: America.html
Words: 165


Category: poems

02/23/08 09:30 - ID#43440

turned to blue

image

"My life has turned to blue" Maya Angelou

Our summer's gone,
the golden days are through.
The rosy dawns I used to
wake with you
have turned to gray,
my life has turned to blue.

The once-green lawns
glisten now with dew.
Red robin's gone,
down to the South he flew.
Left here alone,
my life has turned to blue.

I've heard the new
that winter too will pass,
that spring's a sign
that summer's due at last.
But until I see you
lying in green grass,
my life has turned to blue.
print add/read comments

Permalink: turned_to_blue.html
Words: 96


Category: poems

08/02/07 05:57 - ID#40350

peanuts

Peanuts by Charles Bukowski:


answers that never arrive by Bukowski

answers that never arrive
I sit by the window and listen to the rain
come down
and I think about why we
do these things

we sit with our elbows on these
brick walls,
talking
bickering
lamenting the passing of our youth,
and what it means to be
young.

we write letters to Santa Claus
tell him about how
we've been good
we should get presents
waiting for answers that never arrive.

we spend our days and nights
drinking
screwing
screaming our heads off
and all it ever really does
is make my stomach
hurt


print add/read comments

Permalink: peanuts.html
Words: 111


Category: poems

10/03/06 09:09 - ID#29654

sex without love

"Sex Without Love" Sharon Olds


How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health--just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.



print add/read comments

Permalink: sex_without_love.html
Words: 179


Category: poems

10/03/06 09:07 - ID#29653

Naomi Shihab Nye

Kindness by Naoimi Shihab Nye

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.

Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and
purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.
print addComment

Permalink: Naomi_Shihab_Nye.html
Words: 245


Search

Chatter

New Site Wide Comments

mike said to grandma
I'm so glad you made it safely!...

mike said to grandma
I'm so glad you made it safely!...

joe said to grandma
OMG welcome!...

joe said to mike
New years resolution to top (e:strip)?...