The reason I like – David Mamet

The reason I like
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Is that her name.
Sounds like a basketball
Falling downstairs.
The reason I like
Walt Whitman
Is that his name
Sounds like
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Falling Downstairs.

Fault – Ron Koertge

In the airport bar, I tell my mother not to worry.
No one ever tripped and fell into the San Andreas
Fault. But as she dabs at her dry eyes, I remember
those old movies where the earth does open.

There’s always one blonde entomologist, four
deceitful explorers, and a pilot who’s good-looking
but not smart enough to take off his leather jacket
in the jungle.

Still, he and Dr. Cutie Bug are the only ones
who survive the spectacular quake because
they spent their time making plans to go back
to the Mid-West and live near his parents

while the others wanted to steal the gold and ivory
then move to Los Angeles where they would rarely
call their mothers and almost never fly home
and when they did for only a few days at a time.

‘Love bade me welcome’ – George Herbert

Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack’d anything.

“A guest,” I answer’d, “worthy to be here”;
Love said, “You shall be he.”
“I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee.”
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
“Who made the eyes but I?”

“Truth, Lord, but I have marr’d them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.”
“And know you not,” says Love, “who bore the blame?”
“My dear, then I will serve.”
“You must sit down,” says Love, “and taste my meat.”
So I did sit and eat.

To a Passer-by – Charles Baudelaire

Amid the deafening traffic of the town,
Tall, slender, in deep mourning, with majesty,
A woman passed, raising, with dignity
In her poised hand, the flounces of her gown;

Graceful, noble, with a statue’s form.
And I drank, trembling as a madman thrills,
From her eyes, ashen sky where the brooded storm,
The softness that fascinates, the pleasure that kills.

A flash … the night! – O lovely fugitive,
I am suddenly reborn from your swift glance;
Shall I never see you till eternity?

Somewhere, far off! too late! never, perchance!
Neither knows where the other goes or lives;
We might have loved, and you knew this might be!

Transcendence – A.R. Ammons

Just because the transcendental
having digested all change into
a staying, promises foreverness,

it’s still no place to go, nothing
having survived there into life:
and here, this lost way, these

illusory hollyhocks and garages,
this is no place to settle: but
here is the grief, at least,

constant, that things and loves
go, and here the love that
never comes except as permanence.

Tim – Robert Service

My brother Tim has children ten,
While I have none.
Maybe that’s why he’s toiling when
To ease I’ve won.
But though I would some of his brood
Give hearth and care,
I know that not a one he would
Have heart to spare.

’Tis children that have kept him poor;
He’s clad them neat.
They’ve never wanted, I am sure,
For bite to eat.
And though their future may be dim,
They laugh a lot.
Am I tearful for Brother Tim?
Oh no, I’m not.

I know he goes to work each day
With flagging feet.
’Tis hard, even with decent pay,
To make ends meet.
But when my sterile home I see,
So smugly prim,
Although my banker bows to me,
I envy Tim.

You Know Where You Did Despise – Alexander Pope

You know where you did despise
(Tother day) my little Eyes,
Little Legs, and little Thighs,
And some things, of little Size,
You know where.

You, tis true, have fine black eyes,
Taper legs, and tempting Thighs,
Yet what more than all we prize
Is a Thing of little Size,
You know where.

Behold this little Bane— – E Dickinson

Behold this little Bane—
The Boon of all alive—
As common as it is unknown
The name of it is Love—

To lack of it is Woe—
To own of it is Wound—
Not elsewhere—if in Paradise
Its Tantamount be found—

The Butchers At Prayer – Don Marquis

Each nation as it draws the sword
And flings its standard to the air
Petitions piously the Lord—
Vexing the void abyss with prayer.

O irony too deep for mirth!
O posturing apes that rant, and dare
This antic attitude! O Earth,
With your wild jest of wicked prayer!

I dare not laugh . . . a rising swell
Of laughter breaks in shrieks somewhere—
No doubt they relish it in Hell,
This cosmic jest of Earth at prayer!

Healed – Dorothy Parker

Oh, when I flung my heart away,
The year was at its fall.
I saw my dear, the other day,
Beside a flowering wall;
And this was all I had to say:
“I thought that he was tall!”