haiku stringlengths 5 2.3k | source stringlengths 1 74 |
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so the old miracle anew
and crumbs apportioned for a few
god-blessed suffice a multitude | img2poems |
i dry dishes in the afternoon
watch her can apples from
the backyard put them in the cellar dark to save for winter | img2poems |
this is a genuine transcription of the beautiful poem
the dance of the yangtze river valley
and the yangtze river | img2poems |
mn
i saw his eyes
i saw some old olive groves | img2poems |
a
he he who lets nothing
is cut by his shadow and walks away | img2poems |
mn
his words are white and unspeakable
his eyes deep and without sleep | img2poems |
a
but the whole upper part of the stone was taken
and with it her name | img2poems |
mn
i remember
it well | img2poems |
mn
and from too many storms i've exited
self among humans exiled | img2poems |
i have been one acquainted with the night
i have walked out in rain and back in rain
i have outwalked the furthest city light | img2poems |
i have looked down the saddest city lane
i have passed by the watchman on his beat
and dropped my eyes unwilling to explain | img2poems |
a page torn from a book
still blank for the two of us
a mother and her child | img2poems |
savage and burning the barrow he circled
all without nor was any there
none in the waste | img2poems |
' let reason say
the tomb shall close thy glittering day
the beggar prove thy equal there | img2poems |
no she can't have no mattress
no she can't have no spoon
see if she throwed her food yet | img2poems |
my mama was fifteen when she had me
that's common
in the country | img2poems |
she is so sweet
you wouldn't believe she had did all the things they say
she did | img2poems |
mercy for praise to be forgiven for fame
he asked and hoped through christ
do thou the same | img2poems |
if there were no wind we might we think hear
the earth grind on its axis or history
drip in darkness like a leaking pipe in the cellar | img2poems |
then someone lifted you up
and there was a sound
and they laid you on me breathing | img2poems |
restored to its rich owner lying safely on his lap the money was mute again was superfluity and root and sum and symbol both lettuce and lump of all evil
she too approaching that state
yasmin a flower meantime dying | img2poems |
gorgeous limber and free like our consciences
a law unto themselves a darker law to us
in their suntans our shadow | img2poems |
exit deif with his dead daugher in his arms
re-enter deif in a fiat meekly beeping
and overhead yasmin the locally dis | img2poems |
upon such sacrifices the gods themselves shy clods
riffling the pages of sorrow and suffering
the president carefully lowers his hydrocephalic head onto the news he made | img2poems |
making jazz swing in
seventeen syllables ain't
no square poet's job | img2poems |
she looked at him and tried to feel her way into the body
of a woman a thing which has to be taken care of held
safely in his arms | img2poems |
with an impudent wag of the head
and he once went a walk paw-in-paw with a bear
just to keep up its spirits he said | img2poems |
we have sailed many months we have sailed many weeks
but never as yet
have we caught the least glimpse of a snark | img2poems |
we have sailed many weeks we have sailed many days
but a snark on the which we might lovingly gaze
we have never beheld till now | img2poems |
you may charge me with murder or want of sense
but the slightest approach to a false pretence
was never among my crimes | img2poems |
the jury had each formed a different view
and they all spoke at once so that none of them knew
one word that the others had said | img2poems |
but while my thought runs on like this
with wasteful whims more than enough
i wonder what you're thinking of | img2poems |
even so the leaves are curled apart
still red as from the broken heart
and here's the naked stem of thorns | img2poems |
for love himself shall ripen these
in a kind of soil to just increase
through years of fertilizing peace | img2poems |
and rank with interface of rut and rot
the month after the month they say is cruel
is and is not | img2poems |
when nietzche squinting trimmed his fingernails
did he care for suchlike slighter things
to a turning pot a potter's fingers do not cling | img2poems |
as for the devil when he has finished every imp
ersonation the best he will have been able to accomplish
is only that sound which is exactly not the music | img2poems |
but in the earth and fire water and air
live earnestly by turns without despair
nor seek a home till home be every where | img2poems |
' i fondly cried
secure with me thou may'st abide
till warmer suns appear | img2poems |
for the listener who listens in the snow
and nothing himself beholds
nothing that is not there and the nothing that is | img2poems |
where they chased the local mongoloid yelling stupid joey
stupid joey
now i've said everything nice i can about this | img2poems |
the dark dark barks of the shark
boys
the cool juice of soweto | img2poems |
it bowed as she left
and sat chastened by scales
wondering | img2poems |
never-eldering revel and river of youth
what can it be this glee
the good you have there of your own | img2poems |
but how shall i
make me room there
reach me a | img2poems |
there by flow'ry bows o' bramble
zet free o' lwoads
an' stwony rwoads | img2poems |
melted slowly out o' zight
an' there in glooms
ov unzunn'd rooms | img2poems |
of course there is nothing the matter with the stars
it is my emptiness among them
while they drift farther away in the invisible morning | img2poems |
the circles of the stormy moon
slide westward toward the river plate
death and the raven drift above | img2poems |
stronger than memory
and weaker than dewdrops and i would have said
my identity is this expanse | img2poems |
i attack and retreat like the violin in quatrains
i get far from my time when i am near
the topography of place | img2poems |
there is no margin in modern language left
to celebrate what we love
because all that will be | img2poems |
not because of anything
other than that the play was not written
skillfully | img2poems |
water
binds me
to your name | img2poems |
and we are now loosened
from the gravity of identity's land
what will we do | img2poems |
what
will we do without exile and a long night
that stares at the water | img2poems |
before i am lost
hell must open like a red rose
for the dead to pass | img2poems |
cease gentle muse
the solemn gloom of night
now seals the fair creation from my sight | img2poems |
i kissed a woman
whose freckles
aroused our neighbors | img2poems |
she takes my toe
in her mouth
bites lightly | img2poems |
speak not only of great devastation
so said my brother who could not write or read
but spent his days covered in other people's hair | img2poems |
they are bombing his hospital office
but i am a ripe woman
a man could be happy | img2poems |
i always thought reality
was something you became
when you grew up | img2poems |
in the square stands fata morgana
looking tired shouting
morning paper morning paper | img2poems |
with his ass and cart messiah crawls
and cries out: any old iron
any old shoes | img2poems |
the mouth of the living is awash with spit it has enough to melt and wash within it
pigs and fish and cakes and still have enough to spit at friends
and the dead man's dry mouth has not enough to silently swallow the disgrace of his death | img2poems |
and the dead man lay on his couch and the mold of a skeleton
was already drawn through the torn ends of his flesh
and his face is turned on high expectantly and waits for his daddy | img2poems |
for he too the daddy is an orphan he too has no daddy
and he too wants why not to hide his face in his father's neck
and find there the consolations of his life and death | img2poems |
and the dead man cried a desperate cry for his base life that was lost
and no one heard the dead man's awful moan
for it was choked in the hollow of his mouth that was stuffed with earth | img2poems |
i just wishes i could talk more smarter theory no
i just wishes i could write more smarter poems no
i thinks why i am a poet and not a | img2poems |
it could be all in the mind
anyway
nothing seems to bring it back to me | img2poems |
i've had a long look at someone
alone like a key in a lock
without what it takes to turn | img2poems |
my friend is smaller now and if i held my camera up
to her she would give off enough light to hover
pocket-sized in my hand and grand in the world | img2poems |
and lilac water
and then
they would shoot me the grapes | img2poems |
bored with perfecting my languid figure eights
i trailed him to a basement door marked gents
with its metal silhouette of high-laced skates | img2poems |
time will break what doesn't
bend even time
even you | img2poems |
if only i could show you
how very useless
they are not | img2poems |
nothing but silence and empty space
save in a corner a heap of dry leaves
that he's left for a bed to beggars or thieves | img2poems |
all the time i pray to buddha
i keep on
killing mosquitoes | img2poems |
feels shorter than the day
i first surmised the horses' heads
were toward eternity | img2poems |
where can the dead hope
to stash some part
of themselves if not in the living | img2poems |
your name to the squat gray
dog on wheels tipping on its side
as she drags it by a red string | img2poems |
already i am becoming the valley
a soil that sprouts nothing
for any of us | img2poems |
the sky went black in the ninth hour of rolling trays
and in the distance ropes of rain dropped to pull me
from the thick harvest that was not mine | img2poems |
fog
if you go to your window
you will notice a fog drifting in | img2poems |
woe to you watch out
you sons of bitches who would drive men and women
to the fields where they can only die | img2poems |
even with insects
some can sing
some can't | img2poems |
even if you are a puritan it would be all right
if you join the lovers in their ruined house tonight
it's good if you become a soul and then disappear | img2poems |
i think of the path in space the thing has made since then
veering and halting of the shapes hands make
washing a car or in the uses of music | img2poems |
the linguisticator is a veritable language experience
you programmed him in oregon but he caught a virus
now his frenchness is cent fois off the spectrum | img2poems |
ask him what irony means he says
tout pour le mieux dans ce meilleur des mondes possibles
but if his ennui peaks he suspends all conversation | img2poems |
broods for hours muttering putain
malaise on a loop
it never fades | img2poems |
goes out
comes back
the love life of a cat | img2poems |
his habits of mind aren't settled ossifying so slowly for many of us
we can't know and no one can tell him anything about cigarettes
bad drugs his fragile mortal spiral | img2poems |
so far away we have
forgotten it
this is just a place | img2poems |
i spent that evening clapping loudly in the garden
and come bedtime i was ready to write my long email
to the president of the united states of america | img2poems |
reb haskel
reb shimin
my grandfathers | img2poems |
towards the unattainable scarily
lofty realm of hawk and albatross
and stay backlit by cirrocumulus | img2poems |
it seems to be up to you
to keep us
up in the air and to make sure our paths never cross | img2poems |
the scourge the spike a stab a shending bile the grace the quenching
mother who brought me here muddler: open the window
let birds in | img2poems |
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