Why fades a dream?
An iridescent ray
Flecked in between the tryst
Of night and day.
Why fades a dream?–
Of consciousness the shade
Wrought out by lack of light and made
Upon life’s stream.
Why fades a dream?
That thought may thrive,
So fades the fleshless dream;
Lest men should learn to trust
The things that seem.
So fades a dream,
That living thought may grow
And like a waxing star-beam glow
Upon life’s stream–
So fades a dream.
by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR (1872-1906)
Public Domain Poetry
She was half Lady and half cat–
What is so wonderful in that?
Half of our lady friends (so say
The other half) are Cats to-day.
In Egypt she made quite a stir,
They carved huge Images of her.
Riddles she asked of all she met
And all who answered wrong, she ate.
When Oedipus her riddle solved
The minx–I mean the Sphinx–dissolved
In tears. What is there, when one thinks,
So wonderful about the Sphinx?
by OLIVER HERFORD (1863-1935)
Public Domain Poetry
I am a shell. From me you shall not hear
The splendid tramplings of insistent drums,
The orbed gold of the viol’s voice that comes,
Heavy with radiance, languorous and clear.
Yet, if you hold me close against the ear,
A dim, far whisper rises clamorously,
The thunderous beat and passion of the sea,
The slow surge of the tides that drown the mere.
Others with subtle hands may pluck the strings,
Making even Love in music audible,
And earth one glory. I am but a shell
That moves, not of itself, and moving sings;
Leaving a fragrance, faint as wine new-shed,
A tremulous murmur from great days long dead.
by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET (1898-1943)
Public Domain Poetry
at the beginning of time there was a girl
in a melamine bowl
she had no family, no friends
and was on the dole
she was sat there in a corn flake swirl
a milky, sugared doll
her belongings were mere odds and ends
oh, what a poor little soul!
her name was saoirse
though people hardly remembered
yearning between dearth and plenty
buried under stone in the garden of rasure
at noonday’s predoom was a woman cold
in a gumball machine
for the merriment of boozers
in a stinky shebeen
she would shiver nude and candy bold
a pert and tart cuisine
a laughing stock even for losers
oh, buy her a tall glass of poteen!
her name was saoirse
though people hardly remembered
yearning between dearth and plenty
buried under stone in the garden of rasure
at the end of all things there was a crone
in a bottle discarded
fighting her battles all over again
in weakness, unguarded
she inhaled a black wind through her bones
and all she’d once regarded
her last sigh was for the land of cockaigne
where life is ample tabled and lardered
her name was saoirse
though people hardly remembered
yearning between dearth and plenty
buried under stone in the garden of rasure
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020
as the eviscerated fish fries in its milt
so too i self-immolate in feculent guilt
my thoughts are sharper than a castrating knife
looking to cradle song to pity my lawless life
hush, little baby, don’t say a word
you’ll die soon enough, and shame ungird
just look at yourself one last time
as you flop and gasp before your last crime
as the desiccated slug becomes shriveled and pruned
so too i rub salt into this black pudding wound
my memories are more bitter than jesuit’s bark
looking to burial song to absolve myself in the dark
cry, little baby, let everyone hear
you’ll rot soon enough, in soil and fear
just look at yourself one last time
as you drop and rasp after your last crime
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020
unbolt me 