Theme: Poems

Let's dance the jig! Above all else I loved her eyes, More clear than stars of cloudless skies, And arch and mischievous and wise.Read more

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Painting Parliament burning, Turner reverses the drift of the wind so the river can echo yellow with red reverberations as crowds on boats observe the melding of towers and time, and all parties puddle in conflations of paint.Read more

How well its square fit my palm, my mouth, a toasty wafer slipped onto the sick tongue or into chicken soup.Read more

A map of every country known, With not a foot of land his own. A list of folks that kicked a dust On this poor globe, from Ptol. the First; He hopes,—indeed it is but fair,—Read more

Are you at a loss? Why not get a Master's? Hundreds of programs are filled up with intense People like you, each class as good as last year's.Read more

In modern English, Scylla is the ‘rock,’ Charybdis the ‘hard place.’ When they are framed this way they ease the mind— simpler terms for trouble than any location between a six-headed rock & a gasping mouth in the ocean's face.Read more

Daniel Craig is hotter than Ted Hughes. Notice, they don’t let you get a good glimpse of his abs, which are obviously defined.Read more

The shovel’s rising and falling. And everyone’s screaming: bodies gorgeous, leathery and hauled out like turtles, punctual as beaches. And (Hallelujah!) you appear like an outbreak of bones hatched in the nightmare night. The light’s hard as a long twisting beak. And it burns away at our eyes. Read more

I shut doors. Fasted and fastened bolts. Do not think the hunger can be starved.Read more

Superstition is the poetry of life; both build an imaginary world, and between the things of the actual, palpable world they anticipate the most marvelous connections. Sympathy and antipathy govern everywhere. Poetry is ever freeing itself from such fetters as it arbitrarily imposes upon itself; superstition, on the contrary, can be compared to the magic cords which draw together ever the tighter, the more one struggles against them. Read more

Hugo Ball (22 February 1886 – 14 September 1927) was a German author, poet and artist.Read more

What is prayer? When I was a kid, I learned the Catholic prayers, and believed Sister Mary Annette, who liked to quote Shakespeare, when she said, “Words without thought never to heaven go.” King Claudius is trying to pray, looks like he is praying, to Hamlet, anyway, and so Hamlet decides to put off killing him, for fear that if the king is killed while praying, he’ll go to heaven, while Hamlet wants full revenge, not to send his uncle to an unjust reward.Read more

Illness rinses my insides while I wait for you to dye my hair.Read more

In her lungs, dirty water and often birds crowd until she vomits feathers.Read more

Let me press yourself into your fucking self until you disappear completely. You are the executive of unmanned hateRead more

Why should one read poetry? That seems to me a good deal like asking: Why should one eat? One eats because one has to, to support life, but every time one sits down to dinner one does not say, ‘I must eat this meal so that I may not die.' On the contrary, we eat because we are hungry, and so eating appears to us as a pleasant and desirable thing to do.Read more

If only a shotgun, if only a twelve gauge loaded fast with birdseed and shot between my teeth.Read more

Russell Bennetts is the editor of Berfrois.Read more

I have been smoking my fingers very slow as this movie projector blinks.Read more