Howdy, Stranger!

It looks like you're new here. If you want to get involved, click one of these buttons!


Amorphous abstract
Series of sensations,
Doings, feelings, states of mind,
Cast rigidly by power
To a single symbol


  • To Goh Endo, You Were Not Alone

    In Yonkers, New York

    at the Greystone Train Station

    wandering over the tracks, one would find

    two almost certainly abandoned benches

    overlooking the Hudson beneath the

    cliffs of the Palisades.

    There is a discoloration in the rocks,

    looking carefully, it would seem to be

    the aftermath of a rock-slide.

    It was just over a year since I last saw you,

    some stupid apartment party, and some kid

    mentioned he went to The Master's School.

    We laughed about Ian Johnston's antics,

    and how Jenna Gorfinkle talked too much.

    I asked him about you,

    I remember the last time I saw you,

    we barely spoke between inhales.

    You mentioned to me that you had

    been feeling depressed.

    All I could say was,

    "I'm with you buddy."

    In Yonkers, New York

    at the Greystone Train Station

    I sit sometimes at the usually empty benches

    where I can see you from across the river,

    still silent, not knowing what to say.

    If I didn't know better,

    I'd ask you what God smelled like

    or how the view was.

    But, inarticulate,

    I stare at you.

    praying, even for a second, that you could see me,

    sitting on the other side of the Hudson,

    before you hit the ground.
    edited July 2017
    that was intense. loved that.
  • edited August 2017
    Love this poem. It is amazing!
  • dulce et decorem est by wilfred owen - one of my favorite poems, a powerful and incisive evocation of the horrors of war. almost never fails to make me cry during the latter part ("in all my dreams..." onward).

    Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
    Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
    Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
    And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
    Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
    But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
    Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
    Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

    Gas! GAS! Quick, boys!—An ecstasy of fumbling
    Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
    But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
    And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime.—
    Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
    As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

    In all my dreams before my helpless sight,
    He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

    If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
    Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
    And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
    His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
    If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
    Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
    Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
    Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—
    My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
    To children ardent for some desperate glory,
    The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
    Pro patria mori.
  • Great poem.
  • The Brain-is wider than the Sky-
    For-put them side by side-
    The one the other will contain
    With ease-and You-beside-

    The Brain is deeper than the sea-
    For-hold them-Blue to Blue-
    The one the other will absorb-
    As Sponges-Buckets-do-

    The Brain is just the weight of God-
    For-Heft them-Pound for Pound-
    And they will differ-if they do-
    As Syllable from Sound-

    Emily Dickinson
    ca. 1862
  • That’s a good one.
  • God I love her
  • This poem written by one of my professors really hit home today after reading about Las Vegas.
  • that's a striking poem; like a hammer on a red brass bell.

    future History textbooks will use it to examplify a shift in ideology: Chapter 32 Lesson 4 "Post Contemporary America: Block quote.
Sign In or Register to comment.