Written by
Anna Piutti |
Was I thinking so loudly?
A heart absorbs the absurd
on a regular basis.
Primordial fears and poisoned
skies are
stage smoke;
but fragrant whispers from
your skin are
open windows
on relief.
And I see,
and I laugh:
I
know
nothing.
Copyright ©2006 Anna Piutti.
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Written by
George (Lord) Byron |
And thou wert sad—yet I was not with thee!
And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near;
Methought that joy and health alone could be
Where I was not—and pain and sorrow here.
And is it thus?—it is as I foretold,
And shall be more so; for the mind recoils
Upon itself, and the wrecked heart lies cold,
While heaviness collects the shattered spoils.
It is not in the storm nor in the strife
We feel benumbed, and wish to be no more,
But in the after-silence on the shore,
When all is lost, except a little life.
I am too well avenged!—but 'twas my right;
Whate'er my sins might be, thou wert not sent
To be the Nemesis who should requite—
Nor did heaven choose so near an instrument.
Mercy is for the merciful!—if thou
Hast been of such, 'twill be accorded now.
Thy nights are banished from the realms of sleep!—
Yes! they may flatter thee, but thou shalt feel
A hollow agony which will not heal,
For thou art pillowed on a curse too deep;
Thou hast sown in my sorrow, and must reap
The bitter harvest in a woe as real!
I have had many foes, but none like thee;
For 'gainst the rest myself I could defend,
And be avenged, or turn them into friend;
But thou in safe implacability
Hadst nought to dread—in thy own weakness shielded,
And in my love which hath but too much yielded,
And spared, for thy sake, some I should not spare—
And thus upon the world—trust in thy truth—
And the wild fame of my ungoverned youth—
On things that were not, and on things that are—
Even upon such a basis hast thou built
A monument whose cement hath been guilt!
The moral Clytemnestra of thy lord,
And hewed down, with an unsuspected sword,
Fame, peace, and hope—and all the better life
Which, but for this cold treason of thy heart,
Might still have risen from out the grave of strife,
And found a nobler duty than to part.
But of thy virtues didst thou make a vice,
Trafficking with them in a purpose cold,
For present anger, and for future gold—
And buying other's grief at any price.
And thus once entered into crooked ways,
The early truth, which was thy proper praise,
Did not still walk beside thee—but at times,
And with a breast unknowing its own crimes,
Deceit, averments incompatible,
Equivocations, and the thoughts which dwell
In Janus-spirits—the significant eye
Which learns to lie with silence—the pretext
Of Prudence, with advantages annexed—
The acquiescence in all things which tend,
No matter how, to the desired end—
All found a place in thy philosophy.
The means were worthy, and the end is won—
I would not do by thee as thou hast done!
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Written by
Emily Dickinson |
Great Streets of silence led away
To Neighborhoods of Pause --
Here was no Notice -- no Dissent
No Universe -- no laws --
By Clocks, 'twas Morning, and for Night
The Bells at Distance called --
But Epoch had no basis here
For Period exhaled.
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Written by
Thomas Moore |
A Donkey, whose talent for burdens was wondrous,
So much that you'd swear he rejoic'd in a load,
One day had to jog under panniers so pond'rous,
That -- down the poor Donkey fell smack on the road!
His owners and drivers stood round in amaze --
What! Neddy, the patient, the prosperous Neddy,
So easy to drive, through the dirtiest ways,
For every description of job-work so ready!
One driver (whom Ned might have "hail'd" as a "brother")
Had just been proclaiming his Donkey's renown
For vigour, for spirit, for one thing or another --
When, lo, 'mid his praises, the Donkey came down!
But, how to upraise him? - one shouts, t'other whistles,
While Jenky, the Conjurer, wisest of all,
Declar'd that an "over-production of thistles" --
(Here Ned gave a stare) -- "was the cause of his fall.
"
Another wise Solomon cries, as he passes --
"There, let him alone, and the fit will soon cease;
The beast has been fighting with other jack-asses,
And this is his mode of "transition to peace".
"
Some look'd at his hoofs, and with learned grimaces,
Pronounc'd that too long without shoes he had gone --
"Let the blacksmith provide him a sound metal basis
(The wise-acres said), and he's sure to jog on.
"
Meanwhile, the poor Neddy, in torture and fear,
Lay under his panniers, scarce able to groan;
And -- what was still dolefuller - lending an ear
To advisers, whose ears were a match for his own.
At length, a plain rustic, whose wit went so far
As to see others' folly, roar'd out, as he pass'd --
"Quick -- off with the panniers, all dolts as ye are,
Or, your prosperous Neddy will soon kick his last!"
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Written by
Emily Dickinson |
Could Hope inspect her Basis
Her Craft were done --
Has a fictitious Charter
Or it has none --
Balked in the vastest instance
But to renew --
Felled by but one assassin --
Prosperity --
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
This hypocrisy [which I everywhere see], O cupbearer!
crushes my heart with weariness. Arise, and gaily bring
me wine, O cupbearer! and to procure it, put in pawn
the prayer-rug and the turban. Perhaps my arguments
will then rest upon a solid basis.
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Written by
Emily Dickinson |
Peril as a Possesssion
'Tis Good to hear
Danger disintegrates Satiety
There's Basis there --
Begets an awe
That searches Human Nature's creases
As clean as Fire.
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Written by
Omar Khayyam |
This world a body is, and God its soul,
And angels are its senses, who control
Its limbs—the creatures, elements, and spheres;
The ONE is the sole basis of the whole.
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