At age 25
for Sir John Donne
Down went San Felipe.
Crimson and pale, rippling,
clinging to it's mist.
Oh, how that flagship
hurled itself starboard
into this ventricle.
San Felipe, the sight,
the sight of the loss of you,
Oh, I will never recover.
My heart was never betrothed
to any fine cloth, or gold coin.
Not any jewel or peach loin,
at age 25. I lost them all.
I swam at lengths to reach the horizon
with inherited estate as my compass.
What did I find there?
Several tongues inside my mouth.
Señor Guardián del Gran Sello,
Lord Custode del Gran Sigillo,
Lord Keeper of the Great Seal,
I have returned to England
with my mother's tongue,
full of experience,
but with the sickness of too much travel.
With itchy, rambling bones.
Now my only thoughts,
all of my dictation,
is the guardianship of squaller.
And now the privation of Anne.
This succulent dish,
resting at ease on my silver platter,
but only at a price.
I will serve you willingly, but
I will woefully,
serve up the innards of your status quo.
And gut men of your stature,
like a sheep.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
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like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
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motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
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Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
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nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
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Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
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and now that the anger is gone there may be a few more glimpses like looking out of the window through a thin veil of silk. a look in...
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confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
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it's not possible. I think the problem must be- too much love and hate.
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our silence comes easy and there is much to it the commingling of our fingers and the swapping of palm oils and the nimble saltation of ...
My heart was never betrothed
ReplyDeleteto any fine cloth,
I will woefully,
serve up the innards of your status quo.
And gut men of your stature,
like a sheep.
you may be evol, but god you're good. :)))
LMAO
ReplyDelete"I will serve you willingly, but
ReplyDeleteI will woefully,
serve up the innards of your status quo.
And gut men of your stature,
like a sheep."
Again, I do not know who this is, but that bit is AMAZING and I LOVE it. Frankly I love it when anyone uses "status quo" in writing haha, but seriously, your descriptions are great!
your explanation of his life on LJ certainly enhanced my understanding of this. great one! <3
ReplyDeleteYAY! <3
ReplyDeleteAmber I posted some info on LJ about John Donne since many people don't know much about him.