Get Your Premium Membership

Best Famous Nock Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Nock poems. This is a select list of the best famous Nock poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Nock poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of nock poems.

Search and read the best famous Nock poems, articles about Nock poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Nock poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:
Written by Peter Orlovsky | Create an image from this poem

Second Poem

 Morning again, nothing has to be done, 
 maybe buy a piano or make fudge.
At least clean the room up for sure like my farther I've done flick 
 the ashes & butts over the bed side on the floor.
But frist of all wipe my glasses and drink the water 
 to clean the smelly mouth.
A nock on the door, a cat walks in, behind her the Zoo's baby 
 elephant demanding fresh pancakes-I cant stand these
 hallucinations aney more.
Time for another cigerette and then let the curtains rise, then I 
 knowtice the dirt makes a road to the garbage pan 
No ice box so a dried up grapefruit.
Is there any one saintly thing I can do to my room, paint it pink 
 maybe or instal an elevator from the bed to the floor,
 maybe take a bath on the bed?
Whats the use of liveing if I cant make paradise in my own 
 room-land?
For this drop of time upon my eyes
like the endurance of a red star on a cigerate
makes me feel life splits faster than sissors.
I know if I could shave myself the bugs around my face would 
 disappear forever.
The holes in my shues are only temporary, I understand that.
My rug is dirty but whose that isent?
There comes a time in life when everybody must take a piss in 
 the sink -here let me paint the window black for a minute.
Thro a plate & brake it out of naughtiness-or maybe just 
 innocently accidentally drop it wile walking around the 
 tabol.
Before the mirror I look like a sahara desert gost, 
 or on the bed I resemble a crying mummey hollaring for air, 
 or on the tabol I feel like Napoleon.
But now for the main task of the day - wash my underwear - 
 two months abused - what would the ants say about that?
How can I wash my clothes - why I'd, I'd, I'd be a woman if I did 
 that.
No, I'd rather polish my sneakers than that and as for the floor 
 its more creative to paint it then clean it up.
As for the dishes I can do that for I am thinking of getting a job in 
 a lunchenette.
My life and my room are like two huge bugs following me 
 around the globe.
Thank god I have an innocent eye for nature.
I was born to remember a song about love - on a hill a butterfly 
 makes a cup that I drink from, walking over a bridge of
 flowers.

Dec. 27th, 1957, Paris



Book: Reflection on the Important Things