Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Anastasia Aug 9
My head
Is pounding
It hurts
Perhaps
I shouldn't have
Hit it
Over
  Ove r
  O v E r
   O   V  E r
O V e R
Again
Against a concrete wall
John Van Dyke May 25
On this day, which seems a portal to the rest of life,
A pair of Rose breasted Grosbeaks come to the feeder
Under powerful white beaks, their throats are brilliant red.  
And Pound’s words: “What thou lov’st well” come to mind.
“What thou lov’st well”
Words I recited to Janey when her husband died.
To myself when I lost my house,
And that job, thirty years ago.
When mother’s white hair signaled her mortality
Now, this beautiful bird
And coffee
And taking breaths
An oriole in the apple tree
Picking nectar out of May blossoms...
“What thou lovest well remains,

the rest is dross

What thou lov’st well shall not be reft from thee

What thou lov’st well is thy true heritage”
I always wondered: Is this true? So far, it has been.
Your name became my favorite sound.
It would always make my heart pound,
and even make my head spin around.
You’re different from the rest I’ve found.
how did you get me feeling this way?
Erian Apr 15
If I could tell you how much
You make my heart pound each day
I would lose sight of the Earth
You blinded me
From who I could be
adi Apr 5
One brain, one mouth, one being - nothing more!
I’ve killed my selves so many times
My own womb has suffered crimes,
To be a poet have I tried
But my ink has gotten dry.
Rebirthed myself as man - for the poems, for the words, nothing more
Everything missed Dionysus like never before!

A different life among you have I led!
Deprived myself of all life gives
In dark, alone and cold I wept.
Destitute and desperate now,
My heart freezing on a lonely bough.
The bulb above my brow is hanging by a single thread and when
It falls and breaks to pieces they will know that I am dead.

Come sleep - or come death,
I can see no difference.
Blind me at least so I can mock the Sun!

With shut eyes they think I am illiterate,
Primordial is the essence and I am her son.

They want me to dance at the feet of chance!
Embrace chaos in my attic,
Die a young and worthy addict.
Forced to live in Hölderlin’s tower
As nothing more than a wilting flower.
My words trembled but were barren, devoid of romance,
So my poetry never made anyone dance.

I clipped my wings so I can drink with sailors,
Walk amongst them on my frail feet,
To be man is all I ever wanted,
Chugged the nectar of life which made me sick.
Oh, men! How fragile you are!
Slowly poisoned by the time you try to escape
‘Meaningless is existence’ you say as you create!

Come sleep - or come death, 
I can see no difference. 

Poverty through poetry, the most human way to go,
Come sleep - or come death,
Let me go.

He wanted to be human - the humanest of them all - a poet!
He wanted to put pain on paper - even make it rhyme
He wanted to be the one to hear the screams of time.
And as the light faded and the bulb broke,
Darkness came wearing mistress clothes.
‘Oh, men! How strange you really are!’ - he yelled.
‘Dionysus! What a man you have become!’ - she said.
Then he disappeared swearing to never return,
Thinking that poetry is for those who like to burn.
ooh
ooh they said at match
as it is finished good for them

ooh! they said to compete
when their team got first

ooh!they shouted at celebrate
when engage or wedding occurred

ooh! they said and escaped
when they stole some pounds

ooh! they called at one
who failed for his leg in love

they may laugh at
or they may wish to be at
love is the way to get happy all over the world,. love mother, sister ,father ,wife and God
Angela Liyanto Sep 2018
Brimmed hat, scruffed beard, fixed gaze - who is Ezra Pound?
Sir, may I be your friend?
I am also sensitive, very shy, lonesome
Institutionalised four times,
We made it through in the end

I’m not Shakespeare, but we’d make a
Good pact, a team of poets
With our visions,
And love of dejected paintings
I’ll die trying to be quite as precise as you
Sir, may I be your friend?

We’d make a good pact.
Inspired by Pound’s A Pact.
Jeff S Sep 2018
...And kirchéglise(Notre) dame
   o u r l a d y m y l a d y
encyl-able, Pope or Pope or popedeux
and vindicate the waysteland
   My caska is openclosed!
(pews is pause is putride and prodigious)
Et tout-en commun?Gizerly pharaoh HA
lf gone.
Source-error of Oz
Ymandias
and dust, and dustinction

   god pull downwhich?

or fleurs-de-litigation.
Vini, vu/gesehen, conquered/konkeri?
And tot
And mort
and trunks gefallen.
Fantast-asy—I flail.
pause

S e m p i ternam.
Elizabeth Zenk Aug 2018
Every person with the same glasses
reminds me of you.
Everytime I see them my heart begins to race, and my face goes red.
It’s exhausting.
I’m so tired.
Next page