"lyricism" poems - Hello Poetry

(for the unknown You) – Sweep up a mound of achievements; layer dogwood and newspaper beneath; find a small, secluded shoreline to sleep an endless sleep; shovel money (in at least twenty currencies), some status and fame onto the funeral pyre’s unremembering flame; write furiously with computer or pen, fill out the days’ whitespace with enthusiastic fantasy; revel on a fallacy (or three); win the gladiatorial games in the Corporate Arena; rediscover a bit of ancient folklore; set up nice altruistic societies to make orphans feel infinite; plant a little garden – give guidance in its growth; build four or five fine-but-small boats with richly decorated keels; fight for something worth believing, though I’m still unsure what that means… A(my) guess: lyricism and poetry and prose, musical composition, simply being kind and open; A suggestion(for You): lay Your hand on a patient’s slowing heart in a cancer ward, catch their tears with a jar and meditate on better things to do; give the old folks a laugh; steal the Elgin Marbles back for the Greeks, or, for the memory of ancient Greece; find where lay a psychopathic fascist’s bitter ashes and give them to the conspirators for closure; (for me) place letters on the graves of John Keats, Percy Shelley, Wystan Auden and William Yeats; rescind, abolish, annul, invalidate my station in God’s dysphoric, existential reverie; heap up beautiful words and send them off to sea inside a laptop on a cellophane-wrapped raft; (for both of us) think thoughts uplifting; smile thirty-three times a day (or more); plan for the future of ourselves and others; give just a bit of love to our mothers; sweep the kitchen and the city streets for free; by your garden plant a tree. Beyond these things for us to do, be proud-yet-humble, open-eyed and acquiescent; just accept; all things inanimate and animate, accept.

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Jul 4, 2012

Jul 4, 2012 at 7:58 AM UTC

christopher-howard-gorrie

Things to do

(for the unknown You) – Sweep up a mound of achievements; layer dogwood and newspaper beneath; find a small, secluded shoreline to sleep an endless sleep; shovel money (in at least twenty currencies), some status and fame onto the funeral pyre’s unremembering flame; write furiously with computer or pen, fill out the days’ whitespace with enthusiastic fantasy; revel on a fallacy (or three); win the gladiatorial games in the Corporate Arena; rediscover a bit of ancient folklore; set up nice altruistic societies to make orphans feel infinite; plant a little garden – give guidance in its growth; build four or five fine-but-small boats with richly decorated keels; fight for something worth believing, though I’m still unsure what that means… A(my) guess: lyricism and poetry and prose, musical composition, simply being kind and open; A suggestion(for You): lay Your hand on a patient’s slowing heart in a cancer ward, catch their tears with a jar and meditate on better things to do; give the old folks a laugh; steal the Elgin Marbles back for the Greeks, or, for the memory of ancient Greece; find where lay a psychopathic fascist’s bitter ashes and give them to the conspirators for closure; (for me) place letters on the graves of John Keats, Percy Shelley, Wystan Auden and William Yeats; rescind, abolish, annul, invalidate my station in God’s dysphoric, existential reverie; heap up beautiful words and send them off to sea inside a laptop on a cellophane-wrapped raft; (for both of us) think thoughts uplifting; smile thirty-three times a day (or more); plan for the future of ourselves and others; give just a bit of love to our mothers; sweep the kitchen and the city streets for free; by your garden plant a tree. Beyond these things for us to do, be proud-yet-humble, open-eyed and acquiescent; just accept; all things inanimate and animate, accept.