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 Nov 2014 Cripp
Georgia Williams
i watched you
absorbed each gesture
those tiny and delicate branches
nearly contiguous within
your fragile frame

your bones

nearly graze one another
yet so gracefully sweep and pass  
into every pose or stance
beneath such warm, inviting skin
what is blood
what are muscles
when I can follow your bones
 Oct 2014 Cripp
Dag J
noice
 Oct 2014 Cripp
Dag J
we make time as we,
just for our own peace of mind,
correct our misspelling:
noise noise noise noise noise!
and everything falls silent...
correct, not wrong
just beautiful
 Feb 2014 Cripp
Louise Glück
When I made you, I loved you.
Now I pity you.

I gave you all you needed:
bed of earth, blanket of blue air--

As I get further away from you
I see you more clearly.
Your souls should have been immense by now,
not what they are,
small talking things--

I gave you every gift,
blue of the spring morning,
time you didn't know how to use--
you wanted more, the one gift
reserved for another creation.

Whatever you hoped,
you will not find yourselves in the garden,
among the growing plants.
Your lives are not circular like theirs:

your lives are the bird's flight
which begins and ends in stillness--
which begins and ends, in form echoing
this arc from the white birch
to the apple tree.
 Feb 2014 Cripp
T. S. Eliot
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
        A persona che mai tornasse al mondo
        Questa fiamma staria senza più scosse.
        Ma perciocchè giammai di questo fondo
        Non tornò vivo alcun, s’i'odo il vero,
        Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question…
Oh, do not ask, ‘What is it?’
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to ****** and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, ‘Do I dare?’ and, ‘Do I dare?’
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: ‘How his hair is growing thin!’)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: ‘But how his arms and legs are thin!’)
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
  So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the ****-ends of my days and ways?
  And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
  And should I then presume?
  And how should I begin?

     . . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? …

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

     . . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep … tired … or it malingers,
Stretched on on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in
     upon a platter,
I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: ‘I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all’—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
  Should say: ‘That is not what I meant at all;
  That is not it, at all.’

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail
     along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
  ‘That is not it at all,
  That is not what I meant, at all.’

     . . . . .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
 Jan 2014 Cripp
Aditi
"my epitaph"
 Jan 2014 Cripp
Aditi
My Epitaph
I wonder how it'll go
or, who'll write it ,
I don't know
But I want you to be there,
when they bury me in the cold ground,
Alone and forsaken
Aloof from your world
A world I could never be a part of
A world parallel to mine
And so I would want you there,
for one *last time

but not with your family or wife
Just the two of us ..like old times
"Just the two of us"man , how come you made a corpse cry?
And I don't know about afterlife
as this is the first time I'll die
pardon my illogical line ,
I did it for a smile
I wish we could die together ,
and have you there by my side
and go through eternity side by side
or be born again ..and be able to make you mine this time
but for now, this world needs your pure soul , and warm smile
so just promise me this ..you won't abandon my grave? (like you abandoned my life)
and visit me ,at least once or twice..or maybe not as you've your own life
(and a family and a wife)
but if you do visit , i hope my epitaph makes you smile
as it'll go like this
"
still yours...
here lies the girl who never moved on like you did*"
 Jan 2014 Cripp
J.R.R. Tolkien
In Dwimordene, in Lorien

Seldom have walked the feet of Men,

Few mortal eyes have seen the light,

That lies there ever, long and bright.

Galadriel! Galadriel!

Clear is the water of your well,

White is the star in your white hand

Unmarrred, unstained is leaf and land,

In Dwimordene, in Lorien

More fair than thoughts of Mortal Men.

To Flammifer of Westernesse.
 Jan 2014 Cripp
Marly Louise
Blank pages and blank walls
follow me
begging to be written on
"Give us art!"
But I have nothing to say to them
so I walk away .
But they call anyway .
Pressured
I pick up the pen and begin to write.
Unsatisfied still when I'm done
I step back...
as they read
they realize what I wrote isn't poetry,
its insanity.
So they shout, they scream
and still they follow me
until I paint lies with words
and print them deep in the cracks of the forgotten yesterday
to fill the blank space.
 Jan 2014 Cripp
Sam Conrad
You ignored me all day
Which was reasonable, (what am I even saying)
Considering I'm nothing but
Awful.
Anyway it was your birthday
Why should it matter
Because I know I bother you

I just threw up, again
Its just
Because I'm so hurt
And it hurts so much
What you're doing, what you've done
I feel so worthless
I feel so dead

You were the love of my life
You still are...
Home is any place with you
And I can't have you
I feel lost
Like I'm not at home
When I'm not with you

I'm nervous, again
Its just
My heart, mind, and soul are so frail
I miss your heart
I miss your mind
I miss your soul and
Your soul, it really touched me; you became my soul mate...

And I'm not okay
I don't think I ever will be
Without you, you see...
This is not a game when I say
I can't get over you
I won't learn how
It's so horrible what you did to me, the way you ditched me...

Both good and bad,
I remember the last time we kissed,
I whispered,
"You have no idea what you do to me" because
You are both my highest highs
And my lowest lows
And I've never been lower in my life...

...than where I am now

And sometimes I plead to God
If he's real, to
"Take me home"...to "take me to heaven"...
But...but heaven is a place on Earth...
And home is when I shelter in you...
I...
I don't know what to say anymore...you gave me so much security...

...but you left me for dead
And now you're here, again, somewhat
But you put yourself exactly where you are...
Put yourself with her...
Somewhat as a safeguard...
So you wouldn't be tricked by my games...(this is not a game)
To come back, or as you put it, how you "just can't go back"

But
I...
I...
I've never been lower
I've never been lower than where I am now
God...
*I want to die...
I...
I...
Is this real?
Is it true, you'll never come back?
I...
I...miss you...
I...I...I really love you...

You say about her,
"Home is whenever I'm with you"...
Why... why ... why ... why am I so worthless...
You threw me away so quickly...
All the horrible things you told about me...
You put me behind a two way mirror to your life, tied down, so I could squirm...
As I watched you love her instead, but so you didn't have to see me...


She...
You...
...
You...
Me...
...
You picked...
She...
...
Loser, me...
...

I'm listening to love songs you sent me and crying over you...
My throat hurts so bad from the acid...
A widow bird sate mourning for her Love
Upon a wintry bough;
The frozen wind crept on above,
The freezing stream below.

There was no leaf upon the forest bare,
No flower upon the ground,
And little motion in the air
Except the mill-wheel’s sound.
Dance on fickle heart strings
be ambiance on the dark streets, follow me home
  after every show, a ladder already built from the roots
    have we hacked off enough vines and dirt, to finally do this?
     either way here we are and for once i am truly happy to be here
       i wanna live, i wanna give, I've been a minor with you , now were
twenty and not searching , and now i just want money to buy you paint
Trip on hidden floor essence
  burn holes with close eye lid joints
   run from the cold in north new england
    Late night trips in our band rooms shadows
     of the light of candles and the city, single window
       rock me darling, been a miner for a heart of gold.
1.13.14
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