10 Best Famous Televisions Poems

Here is a collection of the top 10 all-time best famous Televisions poems. This is a select list of the best famous Televisions poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Televisions poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of televisions poems.

• All Famous Televisions Poems

 In every presence there is absence.

When we're together, the spaces between
Threaten to enclose our bodies
And isolate our spirits.
The mirror reflects what we are not,
And we wonder if our mate
Suspects a fatal misreading
Of our original text,
Not to mention the dreaded subtext.
Reality, we fear, mocks appearance.
Or is trapped in a hall of mirrors
Where infinite regress prevents
A grateful egress. That is,
We can never know the meaning
Of being two-in-one,
Or if we are one-in-two.
What-I-Am is grieved at What-I'm-Not.
What-We-Should-Be is numbed by What-We-Are.

Yes, I'm playing word games
With the idea of marriage,
Musing over how even we can
Secularize Holy wedlock.
Or to figure it another way,
To wonder why two televisions
In the same house seem natural symbols
Of the family in decline.

Yet you are present to me now.
I sense you keenly, at work,
Bending red in face to reach
A last defiant spot of yellow
On those horrific kitchen cabinets.
Your honey hair flecked with paint;
Your large soft hidden breasts
Pushing down against your shirt.
The hemispheres of those buttocks
Curving into uncompromising hips.
To embrace you would be to take hold
Of my life in all its substance.

Without romance, I say that if
I were to deconstruct myself
And fling the pieces at random,
They would compose themselves
Into your shape.
But I guess that is romantic,
The old mystification-
Cramming two bodies
Into a single space.

Amen!

Our separation has taught me
That, dwelling in mind,
The corporeality
Of mates has spiritual mass
Which may be formulated:
Memory times desire over distance
Yields a bodying forth.
Thus I project into the
Deadly space between us
A corposant,Pulsating a language
That will cleave to you
In the coolness of sleep
With insubstantiality
So fierce as to leave its dampness
On the morning sheets,
Or so gentle
As to fan your brow
While you paint the kitchen.
A body like a breath,
Whispering the axiom
By which all religions are blessed:

In every absence there is presence.

Bene
Bene
Benedictus.

 That afternoon the dream of the toads 
rang through the elms by Little River
and affected the thoughts of men, 
though they were not conscious that 
they heard it.--Henry Thoreau 


The dream of toads: we rarely 
credit what we consider lesser 
life with emotions big as ours, 
but we are easily distracted, 
abstracted. People sit nibbling 
before television's flicker watching 
ghosts chase balls and each other 
while the skunk is out risking grisly 
death to cross the highway to mate; 
while the fox scales the wire fence 
where it knows the shotgun lurks 
to taste the sweet blood of a hen. 
Birds are greedy little bombs 
bursting to give voice to appetite. 
I had a cat who died of love.
Dogs trail their masters across con-
tinents. We are far too busy 
to be starkly simple in passion. 
We will never dream the intense 
wet spring lust of the toads.