Manley Poems - Poems about Manley

Poems about Poets VI beMused Michael R Burch Perhaps at three you'll come to tea, to have a cuppa here? You'll just stop in to sip dry gin? I only have a beer. To name the greats: Pope, Dryden, mates? The whole world knows their names. Discuss the songs of Emerson? But these are children's games. Give me rhythms wild as Dylan’s! Give me Bobbie Burns! Give me Psalms or Hopkins’ poems, Hart Crane’s, if...

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(1.) First poem In Our Feasts, We Both Drank Lover's Wine Second poets tribute series third poet Gerard Manley Hopkins Blood that entices with its red-glow appeal Its bright warmth into a wanton soul seeks She that drove passion, ate my youthful zeal Relishing that my words, were soft and meek! Yet I, a victim lost and thus spellbound Wore blinded eyes and...

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We saw bloom at midday where dreams begun Moon casting spell on tides, despite the sun. We squanded you like pennies on the street And did not know the price was adding up To our misery and the barren table; defeat For every tomorrow is the failure of today. But do not blame the others so badly yet For we did not,...

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The mind is a womb Copulate it Let the semen of reason Part the legs of its cervix And you will see When moth struggles before its born The power of its dreams for flight Words are eggs, you know Virginal eggs, I saw him hatch them into bricks Of ideas that he could carve Like an Edna exhibit All copulation must spontaneous A true gentleman has that...

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I remember the morning when the flags flew High over us, how we tumult in sweet chorus "The people's flag is deepest red," and grew Warm around you, like emancipation August When we track Sam Sharp down the wet mountain To pay with blood for what we could not keep. I grew up a cargoed car in your tight train I made...

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Seductively symetrical in form and presence She calls it Eve, I call it sepia political Aroused motherhood of nation, a glamorous sense Of identity, modern and yet mystical Naked as a morning, smooth as silk dreams She looks back, not histantly, nor curiously Profiled the hidden breast, in streams Of provocativeness, the right hand assertively Shouldered on the fallen curtain of hair Lefting hand...

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