Poems Rethabile Likes

A Radio With Guts by Charles Bukowski | Poems Rethabile Likes A Radio With Guts by Charles Bukowski it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street I used to get drunk and throw the radio through the window while it was playing, and, of course, it would break the glass in the window and the radio would sit there on the roof still playing and I'd tell my woman, "Ah, what a marvelous radio!" the next morning I'd take the window off the hinges and carry it down the street to the glass man who would put in another pane. I kept throwing that radio through the window each t...

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver | Poems Rethabile Likes Wild Geese by Mary Oliver You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, n...

Kumina by Kamau Brathwaite | Poems Rethabile Likes “Kumina,” by Kamau Brathwaite Poet Kamau Brathwaite reads selections from “Kumina,” from Born to Slow Horses . Read more of the poem What I admire about “Kumina” is how Brathwaite turns ritual into rhythm on the page. The poem doesn't just describe a Kumina ceremony — it becomes one. The spacing, the line breaks, the way words fall like drumbeats: that's Nation Language at its most alive. Here is how “Kumina” opens: on the first day of yr death it is quiet it is dormant like a doormat no one-foot touch its welcome. its dust on the floor is not disturb nor are the sleeping spirits of this house Brathwaite’s Kumina takes its name from a Jamaican religious tradition of drumming, dancing, and spirit possession. The poem's sc...

Hug o' War by Shel Silverstein | Poems Rethabile Likes Hug o' War by Shel Silverstein I will not play at tug o' war. I'd rather play at hug o' war, Where everyone hugs Instead of tugs, Where everyone giggles And rolls on the rug, Where everyone kisses, And everyone grins, And everyone cuddles, And everyone wins. Poet: @ShelSilverstein Online: @alisonmcghee.com Book(s): @ThriftBooks ...

The Orange by Wendy Cope | Poems Rethabile Likes The Orange by Wendy Cope At lunchtime I bought a huge orange The size of it made us all laugh. I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave— They got quarters and I had a half. And that orange it made me so happy, As ordinary things often do Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park This is peace and contentment. It’s new. The rest of the day was quite easy. I did all my jobs on my list And enjoyed them and had some time over. I love you. I’m glad I exist. Poet: @WendyCope Online: @TheGl...

The Dance of Death by Charles Baudelaire (translated by Frank Pearce Sturm) | Poems Rethabile Likes The Dance of Death by Charles Baudelaire For he who has not folded in his arms A skeleton, nor fed on graveyard charms, Recks not of furbelow, or paint, or scent, When Horror comes the way that Beauty went. O irresistible, with fleshless face, Say to these dancers in their dazzled race: "Proud lovers with the paint above your bones, Ye shall taste death, musk-scented skeletons! Withered Antinoüs, dandies with plump faces, Ye varnished cadavers, and grey Lovelaces, Ye go to lands unknown and void of breath, ...

Breakfast by Jacques Prévert (translated by Lawrence Ferlinghetti) | Poems Rethabile Likes Breakfast by Jacques Prévert (translated by Lawrence Ferlinghetti) He put the coffee In the cup He put the milk In the cup of coffee He put the sugar In the café au lait With the coffee spoon He stirred He drank the café au lait And he set down the cup Without a word to me He lit A cigarette He made smoke-rings With the smoke He put the ashes In the ash-tray Without a word to me Without a look at me He got up He put His hat upon his...