Poetry is a redundant trade.
Freedom of speech is a lost expression.
Little do I have to say.
Silence is my every word in protest.
by CASSA BASSA
© All rights reserved 2024
Tag Archives: Poet
TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // Gifts Returned by Walter Savage Landor
“You must give back,” her mother said,
To a poor sobbing little maid,
“All the young man has given you,
Hard as it now may seem to do.”
“‘Tis done already, mother dear!”
Said the sweet girl, “So never fear.”
Mother. Are you quite certain? Come, recount
(There was not much) the whole amount.
Girl. The locket; the kid gloves.
Mother. Go on.
Girl. Of the kid gloves I found but one.
Mother. Never mind that. What else? Proceed.
You gave back all his trash?
Girl. Indeed.
Mother. And was there nothing you would save?
Girl. Everything I could give I gave.
Mother. To the last tittle?
Girl. Even to that.
Mother. Freely?
Girl. My heart went pit-a-pat
At giving up … ah me! ah me!
I cry so I can hardly see …
All the fond looks and words that past,
And all the kisses, to the last.
by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR (1775-1864)
Public Domain Poetry
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GUEST POST // When You Go by House of Heart
When you go I become
the sea gull begging salt from
from briny air,
My heart a deep blue sea.
I channel you in the nightingale’s
perpetual call that awakens my
unrelenting desire.
Come the buttery dawn your faded coat
hangs from my bed post and I
become so small I could slip
inside the lining of your chest,
sheltered by the warmth of your
skin where I belong.
by HOUSE OF HEART
© All rights reserved 2024
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TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // A Crazed Girl by William Butler Yeats
That crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,
Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.
No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, “O sea-starved, hungry sea.’
by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS (1865-1939)
Public Domain Poetry
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GUEST POST // Reflections: A Walk-Through Life by Tessie
When the last grain of sand finally falls,
through the cracks of the hourglass,
I hope it finds me grateful, content,
having lived a life that’s truly been mine.
With no regrets, I’ll cherish memories:
breaking rules, stealing smiles, and free.
I jumped the gun, fell deeply in love,
and watched sunrise, euphoric and above.
On rooftops, I danced with morning dew,
felt life’s pulse, and let my spirit renew.
My time’s been filled with laughter, tears,
and moments that dispel all fears.
When my hour’s up, I’ll greet death’s gentle keeper,
with cheer, and finally, eternal sleep’s whisper.
I’ll ask to haunt old libraries’ hallowed halls,
play with the clouds, and hear their gentle calls.
Till then, I live. I laugh, cry, smile,
at life’s beauty, and it’s worthwhile.
by TESSIE
© All rights reserved 2024
unbolt me 