Best Famous Belligerent Poems
Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Belligerent poems. This is a select list of the best famous Belligerent poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Belligerent poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of belligerent poems.
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Written by
Michael Ondaatje |
All night long the hockey pictures
gaze down at you
sleeping in your tracksuit.
Belligerent goalies are your ideal.
Threats of being traded
cuts and wounds
--all this pleases you.
O my god! you say at breakfast
reading the sports page over the Alpen
as another player breaks his ankle
or assaults the coach.
When I thought of daughters
I wasn't expecting this
but I like this more.
I like all your faults
even your purple moods
when you retreat from everyone
to sit in bed under a quilt.
And when I say 'like'
I mean of course 'love'
but that embarrasses you.
You who feel superior to black and white movies
(coaxed for hours to see Casablanca)
though you were moved
by Creature from the Black Lagoon.
One day I'll come swimming
beside your ship or someone will
and if you hear the siren
listen to it.
For if you close your ears
only nothing happens.
You will never change.
I don't care if you risk
your life to angry goalies
creatures with webbed feet.
You can enter their caves and castles
their glass laboratories.
Just
don't be fooled by anyone but yourself.
This is the first lecture I've given you.
You're 'sweet sixteen' you said.
I'd rather be your closest friend
than your father.
I'm not good at advice
you know that, but ride
the ceremonies
until they grow dark.
Sometimes you are so busy
discovering your friends
I ache with loss
--but that is greed.
And sometimes I've gone
into my purple world
and lost you.
One afternoon I stepped
into your room.
You were sitting
at the desk where I now write this.
Forsythia outside the window
and sun spilled over you
like a thick yellow miracle
as if another planet
was coaxing you out of the house
--all those possible worlds!--
and you, meanwhile, busy with mathematics.
I cannot look at forsythia now
without loss, or joy for you.
You step delicately
into the wild world
and your real prize will be
the frantic search.
Want everything.
If you break
break going out not in.
How you live your life I don't care
but I'll sell my arms for you,
hold your secrets forever.
If I speak of death
which you fear now, greatly,
it is without answers.
except that each
one we know is
in our blood.
Don't recall graves.
Memory is permanent.
Remember the afternoon's
yellow suburban annunciation.
Your goalie
in his frightening mask
dreams perhaps
of gentleness.
|
Written by
Bernadette Geyer |
Train.
Distant Train.
Praise the glorious distance of Train.
Dogs bark, reply to the mournful echo of Train's whistle.
Train looks back, keeps moving.
Train carries its boxcars of secrets further and further away (and even further still) from those who profess to love Train, but who do not run after him.
Eyes brimmed with glassy reflections of Train.
To watch Train pass is to feel your life as a single low note quiver from the rough pads of your toes to the stooped hunch of your shoulders.
To watch Train pass is to feel the vibrato of your first singular thought trilling in your ears, casting inward to slide the escarpment of your throat, until Train shudders the memory in the hollow of your belly.
Train leaves and returns like an abusive lover: the completion of necessary cycles.
Machinery joined, unjoined, loud and effusive.
Belligerent Train no sooner announces his arrival and is gone again, to another town, another set of rails against which to preen.
Can you feel Train's fist inside you? Can you feel the assault with the strength of ten thousand wishes blown from the head of a dandelion?
Train is gone and not gone.
For us, Train is the still-warm track we know does not disappear, but even continues to exist outside our sight range.
We trust in the existence of Train, even when we can no longer see him.
We believe in Train even when the night's silence fights our ears.
We await the coming of Train even when the unbelievers tell us Train is not expected.
We imagine Train's call and response like a cantor and a choir.
We pray to Train for the cleansing of our sins.
Train was.
Train is.
Train shall be evermore.
We sit on the tracks.
We wait.
|