Poems Rethabile Likes

Not Getting Closer by Jack Gilbert Not Getting Closer Walking in the dark streets of Seoul under the almost full moon Lost for the last two hours Finishing a loaf of bread and worried about the curfew I have not spoken for three days and I am thinking Why not just settle for love Why not just settle for love instead Poet: @JackGilbert Source: @poemsthathurt Books: @AbeBooks Finishing a loaf of bread and worried about the curfew Do take a moment to read the guidelines . Use this form to sign up and receive poems. Check out my latest book "Mbera", available at Canopic Publishing and other equally, extremely very finest bo...

To the One Upstairs by Charles Simic To the One Upstairs Boss of all bosses of the universe. Mr. know-it-all, wheeler-dealer, wire-puller, And whatever else you're good at. Go ahead, shuffle your zeros tonight. Dip in ink the comets' tails. Staple the night with starlight. You'd be better off reading coffee dregs, Thumbing the pages of the Farmer's Almanac. But no! You love to put on airs, And cultivate your famous serenity While you sit behind your big desk With zilch in your in-tray, zilch In your out-tray, And all of eternity spread around you. Doesn't it give you the creeps To hear them begging you on their knees, Sputtering endearments, As if you were an inflatable, life-size doll? Tell them to button up and go to bed. Stop pretending you're too busy to take notice. Your hands are empty and so are your ey...

The End of the World by Archibald MacLeish The End of the World Quite unexpectedly as Vasserot The armless ambidextrian was lighting A match between his great and second toe And Ralph the lion was engaged in biting The neck of Madame Sossman while the drum Pointed, and Teeny was about to cough In waltz-time swinging Jocko by the thumb– Quite unexpectedly the top blew off: And there, there overhead, there, there, hung over Those thousands of white faces, those dazed eyes, There in the starless dark the poise, the hover, There with vast wings across the canceled skies, There in the sudden blackness, the black pall Of nothing, nothing, nothing–nothing at all. Poet: Archibald MacLeish Source: @RonNow Poetry Books: @AbeBooks Quite unexpectedly the top ...