"doges" poems - Hello Poetry

216 Safe in their Alabaster Chambers— Untouched my Morning And untouched by Noon— Sleep the meek members of the Resurrection— Rafter of satin, And Roof of stone. Light laughs the breeze In her Castle above them— Babbles the Bee in a stolid Ear, Pipe the Sweet Birds in ignorant cadence— Ah, what sagacity perished here! version of 1859 Safe in their Alabaster Chambers— Untouched by Morning— And untouched by Noon— Lie the meek members of the Resurrection— Rafter of Satin—and Roof of Stone! Grand go the Years—in the Crescent—above them— Worlds scoop their Arcs— And Firmaments—row— Diadems—drop—and Doges—surrender— Soundless as dots—on a Disc of Snow— version of 1861

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Emily Dickinson

Safe in their Alabaster Chambers

216 Safe in their Alabaster Chambers— Untouched my Morning And untouched by Noon— Sleep the meek members of the Resurrection— Rafter of satin, And Roof of stone. Light laughs the breeze In her Castle above them— Babbles the Bee in a stolid Ear, Pipe the Sweet Birds in ignorant cadence— Ah, what sagacity perished here! version of 1859 Safe in their Alabaster Chambers— Untouched by Morning— And untouched by Noon— Lie the meek members of the Resurrection— Rafter of Satin—and Roof of Stone! Grand go the Years—in the Crescent—above them— Worlds scoop their Arcs— And Firmaments—row— Diadems—drop—and Doges—surrender— Soundless as dots—on a Disc of Snow— version of 1861

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he slow jogs on the white sand parody of a boxer dose little dance steps as if to avoid blows the sweat from the fierce sun scatters like rain as he doges side to side his hands held at his chest head held at low angle were that he was a prize fighter his life is the beach with its own world that never sleeps from lovers entwined in sand at three am to the devoted worshippers following the sun in her daily trek across the unblemished roof of the world he touches pavement as dawn touches sky and spends his day dancing the waves of sand the tourists stop and stare the natives frown at night he sits under the monotony noise of an antique fan its fast ticking is soothing in his aquamarine blue room a chicken *** pie and the game on transistor radio aint life grand he thinks to himself he's one of the lucky ones he is complete in his little world the beach and its teeming life is his world and he's happy there i see him sunburned to a golden brown dance jogging and boxing the air unburdened by the weight of the world happy in his blissful unawares under the watchful gaze of miami beach highrises to live with even a fraction of his inner peace one would live a better life

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Dec 9, 2013

Dec 9, 2013 at 2:36 PM UTC

mark-john-junor-1

beach dancer

he slow jogs on the white sand parody of a boxer dose little dance steps as if to avoid blows the sweat from the fierce sun scatters like rain as he doges side to side his hands held at his chest head held at low angle were that he was a prize fighter his life is the beach with its own world that never sleeps from lovers entwined in sand at three am to the devoted worshippers following the sun in her daily trek across the unblemished roof of the world he touches pavement as dawn touches sky and spends his day dancing the waves of sand the tourists stop and stare the natives frown at night he sits under the monotony noise of an antique fan its fast ticking is soothing in his aquamarine blue room a chicken *** pie and the game on transistor radio aint life grand he thinks to himself he's one of the lucky ones he is complete in his little world the beach and its teeming life is his world and he's happy there i see him sunburned to a golden brown dance jogging and boxing the air unburdened by the weight of the world happy in his blissful unawares under the watchful gaze of miami beach highrises to live with even a fraction of his inner peace one would live a better life

34

Spare me your venice. I know it's beautiful, but I've four more senses And a nose That smells stagnant Water and **** Floating with pretty buildings On the Adriatic. Spare me: its Doges, its saints, its Campanile. Spare me piazzas and inquisitive xenophiles. I've got all the water And **** I desire Floating in pretty alleys Beside the black Thames.

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Jul 12, 2018

Jul 12, 2018 at 9:55 AM UTC

Daniel-J-Weller

Venezia

Spare me your venice. I know it's beautiful, but I've four more senses And a nose That smells stagnant Water and **** Floating with pretty buildings On the Adriatic. Spare me: its Doges, its saints, its Campanile. Spare me piazzas and inquisitive xenophiles. I've got all the water And **** I desire Floating in pretty alleys Beside the black Thames.

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