Ungodly poetry

Ode To The Lemon - Poem by Pablo Neruda. From blossomsreleasedby the moonlight,from anaroma of exasperatedlove,steeped in fragrance,yellownessdrifted from the lemon tree,and from its plantariumlemons descended to the earth. Tender yield! The coasts,the markets glowedwith light, withunrefined gold;we openedtwo halvesof a miracle,congealed acidtrickledfrom the hemispheresof a star,the most intense liqueurof nature,unique, vivid,concentrated,born of the cool, freshlemon,of its fragrant house,its acid, secret symmetry. Knivessliced a smallcathedralin the lemon,the concealed apse, opened,revealed acid stained glass,dropsoozed topaz,altars,cool architecture.

So, when you holdthe hemisphereof a cut lemonabove your plate,you spilla universe of gold,ayellow gobletof miracles,a fragrant nippleof the earth's breast,a ray of light that was made fruit,the minute fire of a planet. Philip Levine: They Feed They Lion @ The Internet Poetry Archive. Out of burlap sacks, out of bearing butter, Out of black bean and wet slate bread, Out of the acids of rage, the candor of tar, Out of creosote, gasoline, drive shafts, wooden dollies, They Lion grow.

Out of the gray hills Of industrial barns, out of rain, out of bus ride, West Virginia to Kiss My Ass, out of buried aunties, Mothers hardening like pounded stumps, out of stumps, Out of the bones' need to sharpen and the muscles' to stretch, They Lion grow. Earth is eating trees, fence posts, Gutted cars, earth is calling in her little ones, "Come home, Come home! " From pig balls, From the ferocity of pig driven to holiness, From the furred ear and the full jowl come The repose of the hung belly, from the purpose They Lion grow. From the sweet glues of the trotters Come the sweet kinks of the fist, from the full flower Of the hams the thorax of caves, From "Bow Down" come "Rise Up," Come they Lion from the reeds of shovels, The grained arm that pulls the hands, They Lion grow. From. Ghazal by Agha Shahid Ali : The Poetry Foundation [poem] Feel the patient’s heart Pounding—oh please, this once— —JAMES MERRILL I’ll do what I must if I’m bold in real time.

A refugee, I’ll be paroled in real time. Cool evidence clawed off like shirts of hell-fire? A former existence untold in real time ... The one you would choose: Were you led then by him? What longing, O Yaar, is controlled in real time? Each syllable sucked under waves of our earth— The funeral love comes to hold in real time! They left him alive so that he could be lonely— The god of small things is not consoled in real time.

Please afterwards empty my pockets of keys— It’s hell in the city of gold in real time. God’s angels again are—for Satan! Salvation was bought but sin sold in real time. And who is the terrorist, who the victim? We’ll know if the country is polled in real time. “Behind a door marked DANGER” are being unwound the prayers my friend had enscrolled in real time. The throat of the rearview and sliding down it the Street of Farewell’s now unrolled in real time. Biography. Billy collins: Litany - Billy Collins. Snog Blog: Lineage. The Illiterate by William Meredith : The Poetry Foundation [poem] The Cinnamon Peeler -- Michael Ondaatje. Feeling Fucked Up by Etheridge Knight : The Poetry Foundation [poem]

Ezra Pound - Salutation.