Famed Poems/Famed Poets

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Scar Tactics
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Richard Cory 2011/06/10 22:57:50 (permalink)
by Edwin Arlington Robinson 


Richard Cory                  
 
Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked,
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
"Good-morning," and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich--yes, richer than a king--
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.
Scar Tactics
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Troy 2011/06/17 17:14:24 (permalink)
by Meghan O'Rourke  


Troy                  
 
We had a drink and got in bed.
That’s when the boat in my mouth set sail,
my fingers drifting in the shallows of your buzz cut.
And in the sound of your eye
a skiff coasted—boarding it
I found all the bric-a-brac of your attic gloom,
the knives from that other island trip,
the poison suckleroot lifted from God-knows-where.
O, all your ill-begotten loot—and yes, somewhere,
the words you never actually spoke,
the woven rope tethering
me to this rotting joint. Touch me,
and the boat and the city burn like whiskey
going down the throat. Or so it goes,
our love-wheedling myth, excessively baroque.
crazytrain
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RE: Troy 2011/06/17 19:08:31 (permalink)
You know how to bore ppl don't you?

"Ladies and Gentlemen, it's tough to run against Santa Claus."- Rush Limbaugh
Scar Tactics
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RE: Troy 2011/06/17 22:05:32 (permalink)
ORIGINAL: crazytrain

You know how to bore ppl don't you?

Gosh Bobbie Sue, that hurts. However will I cope?
crazytrain
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RE: Troy 2011/06/20 05:25:36 (permalink)
It will be hard, but you'll find a way.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, it's tough to run against Santa Claus."- Rush Limbaugh
Scar Tactics
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I Belong There 2011/07/18 23:32:39 (permalink)
by Mahmoud Darwish 

I Belong There                   
 
I belong there. I have many memories. I was born as everyone is born. I have a mother, a house with many windows, brothers, friends, and a prison cell with a chilly window! I have a wave snatched by seagulls, a panorama of my own. I have a saturated meadow. In the deep horizon of my word, I have a moon, a bird's sustenance, and an immortal olive tree. I have lived on the land long before swords turned man into prey. I belong there. When heaven mourns for her mother, I return heaven to her mother. And I cry so that a returning cloud might carry my tears. To break the rules, I have learned all the words needed for a trial by blood. I have learned and dismantled all the words in order to draw from them a
single word: Home.
Scar Tactics
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About Face 2011/07/26 23:42:33 (permalink)
Alice Fulton
 
About Face 
Because life's too short to blush,
I keep my blood tucked in.
I won't be mortified
by what I drive or the flaccid
vivacity of my last dinner party.
I take my cue from statues posing only
in their shoulder pads of snow: all January
you can see them working on their granite tans.

That I woke at an ungainly hour,
stripped of the merchandise that clothed me,
distilled to pure suchness,
means not enough to anyone for me
to confess.  I do not suffer
from the excess of taste
that spells embarrassment:
mothers who find their kids unseemly
in their condom earrings,
girls cringing to think
they could be frumpish as their mothers.
Though the late nonerotic Elvis
in his studded gut of jumpsuit
made everybody squeamish, I admit.
Rule one: the King must not elicit pity.

Was the audience afraid of being tainted
--this might rub off on me--
or were they--surrendering--
what a femme word--feeling
solicitous--glimpsing their fragility
in his reversible purples
and unwholesome goldish chains?

At least embarrassment is not an imitation.
It's intimacy for beginners,
the orgasm no one cares to fake.
I almost admire it.  I almost wrote despise.
post edited by Scar Tactics - 2011/07/26 23:46:00
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The Young Fools 2011/08/03 00:11:54 (permalink)
Paul Verlaine 
  
The Young Fools 
High-heels were struggling with a full-length dress
So that, between the wind and the terrain,
At times a shining stocking would be seen,
And gone too soon. We liked that foolishness.

Also, at times a jealous insect's dart
Bothered out beauties. Suddenly a white
Nape flashed beneath the branches, and this sight
Was a delicate feast for a young fool's heart.

Evening fell, equivocal, dissembling,
The women who hung dreaming on our arms
Spoke in low voices, words that had such charms
That ever since our stunned soul has been trembling.
Scar Tactics
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home 2011/08/08 21:31:35 (permalink)
Ciaran Carson  
   
home 
hurtling from
the airport down
the mountain road

past barbed wire
snagged with
plastic bags

fields of scrap
and thistle
farmyards

from the edge
of the plateau
my eye zooms

into the clarity
of Belfast
streets

shipyards
domes
theatres

British Army
helicopter
poised

motionless
at last

I see everything
Scar Tactics
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Dot 2011/08/21 01:36:11 (permalink)
Clayton Eshleman   
    
Dot 
Unicellular sac pressed
fingertips,

two dots, a me
row--or a herow? a meandering
red moist

blastospore, a multicellular
dot-filled wall,
lubricious prefiguration of Hermes
who swings with

heat of the amoeba need
soldered to sprout

desire, an earthworm psyche
spiderline, tunneling on the leash of the
to-be-peristaltic

boundary seeking

something to curve
about, zigzag,
bear claw hut rain,
diagrammatic boogie-woogie of Hermes
flowing in the boundary catastrophe
when the animal was separated out

     *

Dot,  doorbell
Summoning Hades through stone.
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Vespers 2011/09/04 02:35:09 (permalink)
Louise Glück    
     
Vespers 
In your extended absence, you permit me
use of earth, anticipating
some return on investment. I must report
failure in my assignment, principally
regarding the tomato plants.
I think I should not be encouraged to grow
tomatoes. Or, if I am, you should withhold
the heavy rains, the cold nights that come
so often here, while other regions get
twelve weeks of summer. All this
belongs to you: on the other hand,
I planted the seeds, I watched the first shoots
like wings tearing the soil, and it was my heart
broken by the blight, the black spot so quickly
multiplying in the rows. I doubt
you have a heart, in our understanding of
that term. You who do not discriminate
between the dead and the living, who are, in consequence,
immune to foreshadowing, you may not know
how much terror we bear, the spotted leaf,
the red leaves of the maple falling
even in August, in early darkness: I am responsible
for these vines.
Scar Tactics
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Heart 2011/09/13 13:32:09 (permalink)
by Gregory Orr  


Heart                   
 
Its hinges rustless,
restless; opening
and shutting on trust.

      ~

We guard it;
it guides us.
Gods lack it.
Vacant their gaze.

      ~

Doctors listen
to its cryptic
lisp.
      From sacred
to scared—a few
beats skipped,
a letter slipped.

      ~

Cavity and spasm;
a spark can start
it; parting stop it.

Such a radiant husk
to hive our dust!
post edited by Scar Tactics - 2011/09/23 14:06:26
Scar Tactics
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Listening to jazz now 2011/09/13 13:32:59 (permalink)
by Jimmy Santiago Baca 


Listening to jazz now                    
 
Listening to jazz now, I'm happy
     sun shining outside like it was my lifetime achievement award.
                I'm happy,
with my friend and her dog up in Durango, her emailing
     me this morning
no coon hound ailing yowls
vibrant I love yous.
        I'm happy,
        my smile a big Monarch butterfly
        after having juiced up some carrots, garlic, seaweed,
        I stroll the riverbank, lazy as a deep cello
in a basement bar--

                   smoke, cagney'd out patrons
                   caramel and chocolate women in black
                             shoulder strap satin dresses,
                   and red high heels.
post edited by Scar Tactics - 2011/09/23 14:06:09
Scar Tactics
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Graves We Filled Before the Fire 2011/09/25 18:08:22 (permalink)
by Gabrielle Calvocoressi 

Graves We Filled Before the Fire                     
 
Some lose children in lonelier ways:
tetanus, hard falls, stubborn fevers

that soak the bedclothes five nights running.
Our two boys went out to skate, broke

through the ice like battleships, came back
to us in canvas bags: curled

fossils held fast in ancient stone,
four hands reaching. Then two

sad beds wide enough for planting
wheat or summer-squash but filled

with boys, a barren crop. Our lives
stripped clean as oxen bones.
Scar Tactics
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Least Said 2011/10/07 21:28:09 (permalink)
by Olena Kalytiak Davis  

Least Said                 
    
Maybe we you us
But not everyone except
Everyone else seemingly set
One could romanticize the shipbells
Out of somebody else's grocery, sex shopping, life cleaning, bills
Of sail. When they had fresh grapefruit it was nothing like you not having
Scurvy, with or without the vodka. Your friends
Did they still say things (?) and the masses—
No, one didn't want to picture that vast
Writhing. Self-love is better left to this selective peculiar:
One shelf over, top shelf. The yeats, the years, none of it
More real than this. The judgment, the particular partings:
Reading a new yorker article about you. Reading. An article.
A small monster at my toe. There was once a long lusty list but
The only thing s/he had on me was feet. I went to course, to game, to
College. The epiphany was not worth dwelling (placement word of
Your choice here). Not to speak of, or the her, him, him before him, your last
Lover but, "seeing someone else right now"? Mostly, the possessive pronoun
"Her" in the next clause. Whose unfairness? Be spoken and be longing.
(An embarrassment of melons and heavily salted meats.)
The thing you will miss was being sexy, you will forget that you went
Forgetting all along; the whole ride. Going, going. Not coming. Reading,
Too closely, will fail my the measure of some treasure
You believe exists, but how? Morning was the only mooring: feeling,
Thinking, seeing no one. Right
Now. Or now. Barely tolerated, living.
Scar Tactics
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Survivor 2011/10/22 14:30:22 (permalink)
by Vijay Seshadri   

Survivor                  
 
We hold it against you that you survived.
People better than you are dead,
but you still punch the clock.
Your body has wizened but has not bled

its substance out on the killing floor
or flatlined in intensive care
or vanished after school
or stepped off the ledge in despair.

Of all those you started with,
only you are still around;
only you have not been listed with
the defeated and the drowned.

So how could you ever win our respect?--
you, who had the sense to duck,
you, with your strength almost intact
and all your good luck.
Scar Tactics
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Faults 2011/11/02 18:39:10 (permalink)
by Sara Teasdale    

Faults                   
 
They came to tell your faults to me,
They named them over one by one;
I laughed aloud when they were done,
I knew them all so well before,—
Oh, they were blind, too blind to see
Your faults had made me love you more.
Scar Tactics
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A Woman Named Thucydides 2011/11/18 10:31:58 (permalink)
by Sherod Santos   

A Woman Named Thucydides                    
 
Having slept in a turnout in the backseat
of her car, she awoke before dawn, shivering,
hungover, unsure of where she was.
To her surprise, the sodium lights on the billboard
she had parked beside were no longer on.
Wind gusts, the smell of rain, the raw, unbroken
landscape like a field of ice. If this had been a movie,
someone would've been sitting up front,
someone who held her fate in his hands.
Though she couldn't see them, she could hear
birds passing overhead. Why do they even bother
to cross so vast and empty a space?
At the moment, none of the usual explanations
made sense. Her head ached, her feet were cold,
she couldn't find the words. And the man up front,
what did he think? What would he do?
Must something still happen before the end?
Scar Tactics
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Untitled [In Colorado, In Oregon, upon] 2011/12/04 16:25:05 (permalink)
by Joshua Beckman    

Untitled [In Colorado, In Oregon, upon]

In Colorado, In Oregon, upon
each beloved fork, a birthday is celebrated.
I miss each and every one of my friends.
I believe in getting something for nothing.
Push the chair, and what I can tell you
with almost complete certainty
is that the chair won't mind.
And beyond hope,
I expect it is like this everywhere.
Music soothing people.
Change rolling under tables.
The immaculate cutoff so that we may continue.
A particular pair of trees waking up against the window.
This partnership of mind, and always now
in want of forgiveness. That forgiveness be
the domain of the individual,
like music or personal investment.
Great forward-thinking people brought us
the newspaper, and look what we have done.
It is time for forgiveness. Dear ones,
unmistakable quality will soon be upon us.
Don't wait for anything else.
Scar Tactics
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Vespertina Cognitio 2011/12/16 14:38:11 (permalink)
by Natasha Trethewey    

Vespertina Cognitio
 
Overhead, pelicans glide in threes—
         their shadows across the sand
                  dark thoughts crossing the mind.

Beyond the fringe of coast, shrimpers
         hoist their nets, weighing the harvest
                  against the day's losses. Light waning,

concentration is a lone gull
         circling what's thrown back. Debris
                  weights the trawl like stones.

All day, this dredging—beneath the tug
         of waves—rhythm of what goes out,
                  comes back, comes back, comes back.
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