Car poems
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Your Idea of Embracing Horror
© Moritz Albert Frank
Your idea of embracing horrorwas overwhelmed by the horror:
One With The Sun
© Moritz Albert Frank
Childone with the sunin trackless fieldsof yellow grass and thistle, scentof humid heavy air and the wing musicof bees and flies.
Lost Content
© Moritz Albert Frank
You couples lyingwhere moon-scythes and day-scythes reaped you,browning fruit falls and sleepsin tangled nests, the wild grass,falls from your apple tree that still grows here:cry for your dead hero, his weak sword, his flight,that you were slaughtered and your bed poured whiteness,the issue of murdered marriage dawns
The Little Walls Before China
© Moritz Albert Frank
A courtier speaks to Ch'in Shih-huang-ti, ca. 210 B.C.
The Erotic Civilization
© Moritz Albert Frank
The infinite erotic civilization we createdis declining now. Breast and penis wag in publicas in primitive times, when nothing was erotic but the gods,
Capriccio of Roman Ruins
© Moritz Albert Frank
We, the living ones, are distinguishablefrom those we move among, people of stone,by the red and blue of our robes,the blood-glow of face, knee and arm
Addiction
© Moritz Albert Frank
I wish we could control this revoltingwant of control: these peoplewith their spongy eyes, their mouthsof trembling shoehorns, billhooks for penisesand bear traps for vulvas
Life's Fate
© Julia A Moore
The world is filled with trouble; This world is filled with woe;We poor mortals can not shun it, Wherever we may go
Air -- "Belle Mahone"
© Julia A Moore
Once there was a lady fair, With black eyes and curly hair,She has left this world of care, Sweet Carrie Munro.
Town Eclogues: Wednesday; The Tête à Tête
© Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
DANCINDA. " NO, fair DANCINDA, no ; you strive in vain" To calm my care and mitigate my pain ;" If all my sighs, my cares, can fail to move," Ah ! sooth me not with fruitless vows of love."
The Dean’s Provocation for Writing the Dressing-Room
© Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
The Doctor, in a clean starch'd band,His golden snuff box in his hand,With care his diamond ring displays,And artful shows its various Rays;While grave he stalks down -- StreetHis dearest -- to meet
Suburb
© Harold Monro
Dull and hard the low wind creaksAmong the rustling pampas plumes.Drearily the year consumesIts fifty-two insipid weeks.
Lovers in a London Shadow
© Harold Monro
You two, who woo, take record of to-night;(This corner, that arc-light):For you may never feel againSuch joyful pain.
Sonnet VII: How soon hath Time, the Subtle Thief of Youth
© John Milton
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stol'n on his wing my three-and-twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th
Paradise Regain'd: Book IV (1671)
© John Milton
PErplex'd and troubl'd at his bad successThe Tempter stood, nor had what to reply,Discover'd in his fraud, thrown from his hope,So oft, and the perswasive RhetoricThat sleek't his tongue, and won so much on Eve,So little here, nay lost; but Eve was Eve,This far his over-match, who self deceiv'dAnd rash, before-hand had no better weigh'dThe strength he was to cope with, or his own:But as a man who had been matchless heldIn cunning, over-reach't where least he thought,To salve his credit, and for very spightStill will be tempting him who foyls him still,And never cease, though to his shame the more;Or as a swarm of flies in vintage time,About the wine-press where sweet moust is powr'd,Beat off, returns as oft with humming sound;Or surging waves against a solid rock,Though all to shivers dash't, the assault renew,Vain battry, and in froth or bubbles end;So Satan, whom repulse upon repulseMet ever; and to shameful silence brought,Yet gives not o're though desperate of success,And his vain importunity pursues
Paradise Regain'd: Book III (1671)
© John Milton
SO spake the Son of God, and Satan stoodA while as mute confounded what to say,What to reply, confuted and convinc'tOf his weak arguing, and fallacious drift;At length collecting all his Serpent wiles,With soothing words renew'd, him thus accosts
Paradise Regain'd: Book II (1671)
© John Milton
MEan while the new-baptiz'd, who yet remain'dAt Jordan with the Baptist, and had seenHim whom they heard so late expresly call'dJesus Messiah Son of God declar'd,And on that high Authority had believ'd,And with him talkt, and with him lodg'd, I meanAndrew and Simon, famous after knownWith others though in Holy Writ not nam'd,Now missing him thir joy so lately found,So lately found, and so abruptly gone,Began to doubt, and doubted many days,And as the days increas'd, increas'd thir doubt:Sometimes they thought he might be only shewn,And for a time caught up to God, as onceMoses was in the Mount, and missing long;And the great Thisbite who on fiery wheelsRode up to Heaven, yet once again to come
Paradise Regain'd: Book I (1671)
© John Milton
I Who e're while the happy Garden sung,By one mans disobedience lost, now singRecover'd Paradise to all mankind,By one mans firm obedience fully tri'dThrough all temptation, and the Tempter foil'dIn all his wiles, defeated and repuls't,And Eden rais'd in the wast Wilderness
