Poems Rethabile Likes

Butter by Finuala Dowling | Poems Rethabile Likes Butter by Finuala Dowling You know how it is sometimes with butter? How after a free fallow period, you long for it, how it lies shaded in its pale, soft firmness, how it calls to you quietly from its cool clay dish until at last you give in, you make toast: you don't even want the toast — burnt crumbs mean nothing to you — but you but you but you want the butter. Well, that's how it was with you. I'm saying this in as plain a sliced way as I can — there may after all be children present: you were any old slice of toast. I can't be more explicit ...

Untitled by César Vallejo | Poems Rethabile Likes "Untitled" by César Vallejo Poet César Vallejo — read by Claudia Rankine . Find Vallejo's books 📖 Read along Untitled For several days, I have felt an exuberant, political need to love, to kiss affection on its two cheeks, and I have felt from afar a demonstrative desire, another desire to love, willingly or by force, whoever hates me, whoever rips up his paper, a little boy, the woman who cries for the man who was crying, the king of wine, the slave of water, whoever hid in his wrath, whoever sweats, whoever passes, whoever shakes his person in my soul. And I want, therefore, to adjust the braid of whoever talks to me; the hair of the soldier; the light of the great one; the greatness of the little one. I want to iron directly a ...

The Unchosen by Judson Jerome | Poems Rethabile Likes The Unchosen by Judson Jerome I guess I have a deficiency. God never said boo to me when as a boy I stood straining in church with muscular endeavor for the sweet squirt of salvation. I never could see why He spoke to this or that old lady, sending her, hallelujah, down the aisle. Was I alone in the congregation vile? Or was their claim of spirit something shady? And now when I read poets who simply Know, drinking their imagery from God's own cup, whose poems "just come," and then, like Topsy, grow, whereas I always have to make them up, ...

What I Believe by Michael Blumenthal | Poems Rethabile Likes What I Believe by Michael Blumenthal I believe there is no justice, but that cottongrass and bunchberry grow on the mountain. I believe that a scorpion's sting will kill a man, but that his wife will remarry. I believe that, the older we get, the weaker the body, but the stronger the soul. I believe that if you roll over at night in an empty bed, the air consoles you. I believe that no one is spared the darkness, and no one gets all of it. I believe we all drown eventually ...