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Literature Text
Cry "Havoc!" and Let slip the dogs of war!
But we never stop to ask what it's for.
Abandon all hope, All Ye who enter here.
But we never ask what is is that we fear.
Because this is one giant leap for man kind,
But I think somewhere we got left behind.
and I know one good turn deserves another.
But I dont think anyone else took the other.
But we all know curiosity killed the cat,
I think we've decided to leave it at that
But we never stop to ask what it's for.
Abandon all hope, All Ye who enter here.
But we never ask what is is that we fear.
Because this is one giant leap for man kind,
But I think somewhere we got left behind.
and I know one good turn deserves another.
But I dont think anyone else took the other.
But we all know curiosity killed the cat,
I think we've decided to leave it at that
Literature
umbrellas
I.
A boy putters in the hotel
corridor, leashed
by a single thread of duty--
it is wound
twice around the doorknob,
pulls taut at his wrist.
Recede through the keyhole,
and his keepers are weary,
sprawled like dead
leaves on bedspreads,
and fading
into sleep.
II.
A small girl wails, maybe three,
her teethy pitch escalating
by years.
In the rented night,
her last cry strangles,
undone by hands
on wrists.
III.
A forty-foot red curtain separates us
from the amphibious stage.
At the cirque du soleil
(i squint to see the sun),
clowns chase leaks
with patchy umbrellas.
This is a present, a moment
like a birthday. But
Literature
Reflection Untrue
Look deep in the mirror, what do you see?
Is the person reflected who you long to be?
Something has changed, innocence has died
The scar covered body reveals the heart that lied
Stare into the eyes of the stranger unknown
Forever unloved, forever alone
Black lined eyes tell of nights unslept
So many helpless times of rivers wept
Steady wind blows out the candle of hope
She rubs the rageing burn made by the rope
She hangs a suicide note by a single nail
This time it'll work, I know I can't fail.
Looking out the window at the coldest mist
It is now time, the razors are guided to her wrist
They dance painfully until their work is d
Literature
Tribute
Gail was born on the first of August 1942, the elder of two. She grew up in New York City, marrying by age 22 and producing three children of her own.
She'd tried her first cigarette when she was eleven. That shouldn't surprise you; in those days there wasn't a Surgeon General's warning — or for that matter, any other public service messages.
While she enjoyed motherhood well enough, Gail also had a restless spirit; she was happiest when she was working, helping others, or driving her car. Accordingly, just before her 53rd birthday (and with her children grown and flown) she lost forty pounds and fulfilled a lifelong dream: qualifying
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A unique piece of mine, trying to expierment and take my poetry new places. I hope you enjoy this one.
© 2005 - 2024 po0pslinger
Comments15
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nice use of quotes/sayings to make a poem.