Midnight Poetry Thread

[SOteric]

Matins

We leave the bed where your fingers
are a long, thin surprise, where your tongue
tells me slow stories. I watch you,
In the daylight, bring your hand
to my face, to my mouth. I tuck
pieces of myself behind
in the tangle of our bodies.
We make our way onto buses,
we pass old women who sit
rocking and tapping their feet,
we blow our noses, clear our throats.
It's just life picking us up,
moving us from one place to
the next. We fumble for our keys,
tie our shoes, greet people we
care nothing for greeting. But
today, when you reach into your
pocket, you'll find the curve of my
neck, you'll brush away my hair
from your cheek. I'll slip inside
your shirt, lie flat against your chest.
Your hands will catch themselves
reaching. And the scent of me, the
scent you long for, will draw you home.

[Wonk]

1. haiku

Freeping pervert trolls
Can go fuck themselves soundly
Somewhere else, thank you

[McKenzie]

2. that sounds like Brian Patten or Roger McGough

both of whom I've heard reciting their work. Could be Adrian Henri too. Pity it's am over here because I can't stay and discuss this stuff...poetry is a lovely medium.

[chicagojoe]

3. Pendulum

The pendulum has swung to the right
The hammer will soon fall upon the right
There will be a great weeping on the right
As the stench of death chokes them all into silence.

[BBradley]

4. I'll try...

Texas is red,
California is blue,
Fuck every ditto-head,
And fuck war too.

[Zomby Woof]

5. yeah

http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=105x2404892

[AlienGirl]

6. How Does it Go?

How Does it Go?

How does it go, now? The song almost
at the edge of her memory,
how does it go?
She thinks
she can almost recall the voice,
Caruso, and the sunlight of that day
touches her hair for a moment:
she is young and in love amid
dandelions and clothes flapping on the line,
it's July, the sun warms her, and
(How does it go, now?) The song
escapes again, back to
July and Caruso and love.