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Let's dust off our thees and thou'dsts and elevate the tone round about these parts.

by Anonymousreply 802/08/2013

Here I sit, broken hearted.

Had to shit but only farted.

by Anonymousreply 111/29/2012


I am not ashamed of this.

And be you not ashamed of this.

It is not glorious,

But neither loathsome,

We are beings whom to meet

Is what prognostication taught:

Familiar to the touch of self

By many wounds, though healed,

And simple to the eyes of time

By the disappearance of the scars.

Nothing is happening: rightly sees

The present impassive look.

Rightly our memory stings

With an incredible aliveness:

Long ago and not long ago

We were committing those outrages

Which breed the heroic title

And privately make aghast.

It has become less horrible to be.

The loss of splendour was the loss of fright -

Gigantic steps in the dark,

An advancing as toward pain that made it pain

When senses shrieked encounter.

Widely we groped, as if brave;

Closing on something - that was love,

By accident of night inflicted

And borne like fate, tragically

Because invisible.

Epic disaster!

To explore as if an empty universe

And have the shield of solitude pierced

By the existence of another!

It has grown less foolish to be.

We knew it would become as it is.

Fate was but the ringing in our ears

Of a resolution of deafness

Against the shock of hearing ourselves speak;

And pain, the lie of astonishment

That being should be so much -

We knew it was not over-much,

Not more than what beings needed

Minutely to spell being.

Oh, simpering, self-awe,

The pretence of never having meant this!

Let us not mock our own sincerity.

Who has forgotten how we first began

To take ourselves to pieces?

by Anonymousreply 211/29/2012

You ain't shit

by Anonymousreply 311/29/2012


Thou art not false, but thou art fickle, to those thyself so fondly sought; The tears that thou hast forced to trickle are doubly bitter from that thought; 'Tis this which breaks the heart thou grievest, Too well thou lov'st-too soon thou leavest.

The wholly false the heart despises, and spurns deceiver and deceit; But she who not a thought disguises, whose love is as sincere as sweet- When she can change who loved so truly, It feels what mine has felt so newly.

To dream of joy and wake to sorrow is doom'd to all who love or live; And if, when conscious on the morrow, we scarce our fancy can forgive, That cheated us in slumber only, To leave the waking soul more lonely.

What must they feel whom no false vision, but truest tenderest passion warm'd? Sincere, but swift in sad transition; as if a dream alone had charm'd it? Ah! sure such grief is fancy's scheming, And all thy change can be but dreaming!

by Anonymousreply 411/29/2012

Appeal to the Grammarians

We, the naturally hopeful,

Need a simple sign

For the myriad ways we're capsized.

We who love precise language

Need a finer way to convey

Disappointment and perplexity.

For speechlessness and all its inflections,

For up-ended expectations,

For every time. we're ambushed

By trivial or stupefying irony,

For pure incredulity, we need

The inverted exclamation point.

For the dropped smile, the limp handshake,

For whoever has just unwrapped a dumb gift

Or taken the first sip of a flat beer,

Or felt love or pond ice

Give way underfoot, we deserve it.

We need it for the air pocket, the scratch shot,

The child whose ball doesn't bounce back,

The flat tire at journey's outset,

The odyssey that ends up in Weehawken.

But mainly because I need it—here and now

As I sit outside the Caffe Reggio

Staring at my espresso and cannoli

After this middle-aged couple

Came strolling by and he suddenly

Veered and sneezed all over my table

And she said to him, "See, that's why

I don't like to eat outside."

Paul Violi

by Anonymousreply 511/29/2012

I HATE poetry, always have and always will and I'm a nellie queen too.

by Anonymousreply 611/29/2012

"When I am an Old Queen I Shall Wear Abercrombie"


With an A&F shirt that doesn't fit, and $90 jeans that don't suit me.

I shall spend my pension on Abercrombie & Fitch clothing and apparel.

And, Birkenstock sandals, and say I have no money to rent boys.

I shall sit down in the middle of Abercrombie on the big leather chairs when I am tired.

And, gobble up an enormous Mrs. Field's chocolate chip cookie.

And, lay across the chair, cookie in hand, imitating the Abercrombie models on the giant posters pretending I am them.

And, make up for the loneliness of my youth.

I shall go out in the winter in my A&F Cargo shorts.

And, go to keggers at Michigan State.

And, learn to say "bro".

When you are an old queen, you can wear tight fitted 1892 shirts to the club. And, feel good.

You can stand on the side of the walls, sipping your favorite mixed drink, bobbing your head to Filo and Peri, looking at all of the beautiful young men, looking at you...looking through you like you're a ghost. And, feel good.

You can put on your fake tanner, Regenerist anti-wrinkle cream, and stand farther and farther away from the mirror when getting ready. And, feel good.

But, with age comes wisdom, and I know that because I work out seven days a week, don't smoke or drink, and eat healthy, that I can be eternally young and spry. Confused for 19 to the average eye.

And, when I walk out of the mall with my Abercrombie bag in hand, people will stare and I will not care. For when I am an old queen I shall wear Abercrombie.

by Anonymousreply 702/08/2013

Lol R3

by Anonymousreply 802/08/2013
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