Tag Archives: poetry

Le Chat par Charles Baudelaire

… Le Chat Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon coeur amoureux; Retiens les griffes de ta patte, Et laisse-moi plonger dans tes beaux yeux, Mêlés de métal et d’agate. Lorsque mes doigts caressent à loisir Ta tête et ton dos … Continue reading →

Robert Frost reads Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

25 Nov ’12

Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without … Continue reading →

Fucking II, part I: My phallus in a shaft of morning sunlight

19 Nov ’12

… My phallus in a shaft of morning sunlight. Shall we examine it and its environment? Dust is also in this shaft of sunlight in, out of it, on things as equally as the light on the mattress and my … Continue reading →

Sweet Mary

18 Nov ’12

….. I lived at home as a young man full of fears that paralyze I was a believer in truth and the truth was a lie then I slept with Sweet Mary and she made me realize there are more … Continue reading →

Fucking I: I will come to you with a candle burning

22 Oct ’12

… Ouvrez-moi cette porte où je frappe en pleurant. …………—Apollinaire Open this door where I knock weeping. I I will come to you with a candle burning light a stick of incense comb and braid your hair with sparrows’ feathers … Continue reading →

149

14 Oct ’12

… I wake the snakes on the way to the lake Coiling in leaves, slithering at my feet Half-seen in the low branches, thick brown waists Headless, tailless stone still in wait for me To trip them into slithering again. … Continue reading →

200

10 Oct ’12

… Out of the drizzle and the fog they come boys dressed up like soldiers though they’re more like the hands that wind around a clock. Out of the Scotch mist’s chilly smoke and the cry of gulls they stop … Continue reading →

92

8 Oct ’12

… … To be understood words are objective yet we understand them subjectively. When Willa Cather writes, “The long main street began at the church, the town seemed to flow from it like a stream from a spring,” the prose … Continue reading →

87

26 Jun ’12

… She completely sparkles, the girl talking to her father in a conversation that must be a little funny because she starts to laugh as well as talk, talking of her final destination perhaps leaving this very morning on a … Continue reading →

41

7 Jun ’12

… At any moment it’s going to rain making the world for miles around all wet. As the sky’s growing darker the leaves get anxious—Or is it me? No I remain calm on this comfortable rock and see it’s the … Continue reading →

The Tuft of Flowers by Robert Frost

28 Apr ’12

… Was Robert Frost chained resolutely to the laws of metrics? “Iamb the iamb,” he said. As strictly as The Tuft of Flowers sticks to form (couplets of iambic pentameter), in the reading Frost changes words: the instead of a … Continue reading →

Fucking II, part II: Poet Laundromat: I see a Tiajuana donkey leans

14 Apr ’12

… Poet Laundromat was published with the help of Stephen Spera & Philadelphia Eye & Ear Press in 1983. It comes from a long poem I was working on called Fucking, but it took its own form from the larger … Continue reading →