e e cummings 'AFTER FIVE'
vi6vii7viii8
Slyvi Plath ' CANDLES '
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Categories:
penultimate, poems,
Form: Shape
What is life?
but a clutching for dear life
to a cotton ball dipped in sweet nectar
a wounded butterfly grasps,
finally able to drink his measure
sugar rushing to it's wings, it looks
somehow stronger, prouder
ready to face it's brief existance,
for whatever it may be worth
for what is a butterflys life
if not soaring through a penultimate sky,
admired by all, propagating, migrating
part of a long chain of successions
toward the North, and once again returning
for what purpose, only it's creator knows
perhaps only to lift the spirits of it's beholder.
Does a butterfly have to soar and flutter
to be part of life's penultimate cycle
even if struggling to pull itself to the highest branch,
and gaze upon the world, to which it emerged?
Categories:
penultimate, meaningful, nature, philosophy,
Form: Free verse
And would I write of all
the lesser staples of the trivia
that pass before my mind
while history is borne--it is
of man, the swell of glory
in his chest. The ages pass
before him, he to stand, select
the argument, the passion in it--
he to put in place demand, a price,
a crest to rule when time slows
down its pace.
There looking up, I see
the restless skies; they'll not
be conquered by a man,
nor by a god that he creates.
He, the one to see, to be
creature of his science which
sees of its own, creates
a reference to its own.
Its flight is free, and shares
one thing alone--one basic power,
one love.
~
Categories:
penultimate, appreciation,
Form: Free verse
new fastfood place opened
mcstiltskie's "stuff you make at home that we make for you"
nice, i'll take a large kool-aid and two pb&j's.
$7.69?
no thanks, skank.
Categories:
penultimate, food, poverty, society,
Form: Free verse
Till my life goes off,
Till I stop hearing your mellowing voice,
Till my body gets withered,
Till my voice is out of moisture,
Till my eyelids stop fluttering,
Till I stop gaping at the nature,
Till my blood gets cold,
Till my heart stops throbbing,
Till my lips become shrivelled,
Till my eyes become dry,
Till I fade into your lap,
Till I exile into nothingness,,
Till your memories stop lingering on me,
Till I am bereft of you,
Till I await to begin a new expedition,
Till I sip my penultimate breath,
Till these moments confluence and betide I am not going to forget you.
Categories:
penultimate, allegory, innocence, longing, loss,
Form: Ballad
The penultimate day of 2011
Pale winter sky, green landscape and the far mountain
is dark blue…the air is so clear I can see white cottages
on the slopes where they have goats and make cheese.
There is stillness, but I hear cars rushing by on the main
road and if I stand on my toes I can see the Gaza Strip,
not in details as it is shrouded in the mist of conflicts.
The distance between here and there is too short today
bullets hit ground and I must hide behind a stone wall.
I see cartridges from shot guns, hunters have been here
and meaty birds fly fast and fearfully from tree to tree.
The dale to the east that looks like a voluptuous woman
on her back, I drove up there once but couldn’t find her.
This year is coming to an end, a year of wars, it is sad to
think in our world hostilities are a norm.
Categories:
penultimate, nature, peace,
Form: Sonnet