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#1281 Kat Saunders

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Posted 02 February 2014 - 09:50 PM

sarah lindsey also came to the lit fest... this poem makes me cry.


Elegy for the Quagga


Krakatau split with a blinding noise
and raised from gutted, steaming rock
a pulverized black sky, over water walls
that swiftly fell on Java and Sumatra.
Fifteen days before, in its cage in Amsterdam,
the last known member of Equus quagga,
the southernmost subspecies of zebra, died.
Most of the wild ones, not wild enough,
grazing near the Cape of Good Hope,
had been shot and skinned and roasted by white hunters.

When a spider walked on cooling Krakatau's skin,
no quagga walked anywhere. While seeds
pitched by long winds onto newborn fields
burst open and rooted, perhaps some thistle
flourished on the quagga's discarded innards.
The fractured island greened and hummed again;
handsome zebras tossed their heads
in zoos, on hired safari plains.
Who needs to hear a quagga's voice?
Or see the warm hide twitch away a fly,

see the neck turn, curving its cream and chestnut stripes
that run down to plain dark haunches and plain white legs?
A kind of horse. Less picturesque than a dodo. Still,
we mourn what we mourn.
Even if, when it sank to its irreplaceable knees,
when its unique throat closed behind a sigh,
no dust rose to redden a whole year's sunsets,
no one unwittingly busy
two thousand miles away jumped at the sound,
no ashes rained on ships in the merciless sea.


#1282 Kat Saunders

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Posted 02 February 2014 - 09:51 PM

and finally, a classic from frank o'hara


for grace, after a party


You do not always know what I am feeling.
Last night in the warm spring air while I was
blazing my tirade against someone who doesn't
me, it was love for you that set me

and isn't it odd? for in rooms full of
strangers my most tender feelings
writhe and
bear the fruit of screaming. Put out your hand,
isn't there
an ashtray, suddenly, there? beside
the bed? And someone you love enters the room
and says wouldn't
you like the eggs a little

different today?
And when they arrive they are
just plain scrambled eggs and the warm weather
is holding.

Edited by Kat Saunders, 02 February 2014 - 09:51 PM.

#1283 threeonthetree



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Posted 03 February 2014 - 03:05 PM

Those are great. I particularly like the first and third ones.

#1284 figmund



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Posted 10 February 2014 - 04:34 PM


i dreamt the drought was over.

i woke up and thought it was true.


: )

#1285 A Mongolian Raiding Party

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Posted 11 May 2014 - 12:44 AM

A Calmness

By Hoyle Brannacht


A hole blessing unto you,

for to place your calmness clot-


 --and such a thing it is: calmness;

truly the business of wraps and masks—

The bleeding slows, even wanes,

--and such a thing it is: calmness;

repetition its strength—

the bloom has passed, lapping its fringe,

a flower-to-face and sightly twinge.

I see your pain in me

and meet it with a calmness.

#1286 stripes42


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Posted 11 May 2014 - 11:45 AM

very, very nice^^


Edited by stripes42, 19 October 2014 - 06:08 PM.

#1287 stripes42


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Posted 19 October 2014 - 06:10 PM



i'm currently taking an online modern poetry class through Coursera.   this is a piece we looked at this week.  

pretty much blew me away.  

#1288 JackRabbit


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Posted 22 August 2015 - 03:59 PM

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors
No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever-or else swoon to death.


#1289 macwacky


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Posted 23 August 2015 - 04:12 AM


#1290 Kat Saunders

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Posted 14 September 2017 - 08:57 PM

Spec House
Before I left you,
I made certain your freezer was full:
bolognese sauce and the remnants 
of the deer your father killed with his crossbow
Now you are building a house, where the roads are swallowed by woods
(or rather, the Amish are building it for you)—
men in broad-brimmed hats and suspenders,
the married ones’ beards are longest.
You took me to see one of the Amish spec houses,
a wide front porch wrapping the home,
less a lover’s arms,
and more like a strangling vine.
Inside, fake lemons tempted me 
from a bowl on the kitchen table,
where no loving family has ever sat down to dinner,
discussing the just-exhausted day over Sloppy Joe’s
Amish craftsmanship: there’s nothing like it,
the oak beams stained gold. Such Sturdiness!
And I knew you would make a good husband—
with your modest savings and receding hairline
I imagine a kind woman slipping 
her hand into yours, as you rock
in the swing—strung up like a dressed deer—on the front porch,
a border collie drooling at your feet, stupid with loyalty
Build the house, I’d said, 
my voice ricocheting 
off the empty, too-white walls,
knowing I’d never see the Amish break ground

#1291 Kat Saunders

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Posted 14 September 2017 - 09:30 PM


This is a love scene:

When wolves mate, they remain locked

at the haunches for 30 minutes or more

after the act is over, the she-wolf snarling

at the alpha

or the omega

And I’m so happy to be human;

I can leave you whenever I want.


Edited by Kat Saunders, 14 September 2017 - 09:30 PM.

#1292 kts1997


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Posted 16 September 2017 - 11:35 AM



Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs

 Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell

 Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well

Would passion arm me for the enterprise:

But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies;

 No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell;

 I am no happy shepherd of the dell

Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes.

Yet must I dote upon thee - call thee sweet,

 Sweeter by far than Hybla's honeyed roses

  When steeped in dew rich to intoxication.

Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 'tis meet,

 And when the moon her palled face discloses,

  I'll gather some by spells, and incantation.


John Keats

#1293 kts1997


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Posted 16 September 2017 - 11:45 AM

A little more modern.....



Poem Of Regret For An Old Friend


What you did wasn't so bad.

You stood in a small room, waiting for the sun.

At least you told yourself that.

I know it was small,

but there was something, a kind of pulped lemon,

at the low edge of the sky.


No, you're right, it was terrible.

Terrible to live without love

in small rooms with vinyl blinds

listening to music secretly,

the secret music of one's head

which can't be shared.


A dream is the only way to breath.

But you must

find a more useful way to live.

I suppose you're right

this was a failure: to stand there

so still, waiting for ------what?


When I think about this life,

the life you led, I think of England,

of secret gardens that never open,

and novels sliding off the bed

at night where the small handkerchief

of darkness settles over

one's face.


                             -Megan O'Rourke

#1294 kts1997


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Posted 16 September 2017 - 11:53 AM




In the back's low hollow sometimes

a weightless hand guides me, gentle pressure

so I tack soft as a sailboat (Go there)


Soften the space between your eyes (smudge

of eucalyptus) the third eye

opens. There's the wide vermillion sky


that cradled us before birth

and the sun pours it's golden sap

to preserve me like His precious insect.


            ~~~Mary Karr

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