𝐉𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐨𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐲

2021-09-05 11:00:00 'Inventory Of The Dark'

By Cela Camilo José

There are young girls wetting with the stupor of frogs
And humid cadavers rotting alone
On moonless nights

There are men born with a hole in their chest
And bitter wax tapers to debilitate virgins
In the dark of the moon

There are magnanimous torrents of tears that burn
And wearying weepings like an eye on the floor
On moonless nights

There are treacherous mattresses resembling purest crystal
And poisonous friends like lizards at ease
In the dark of the moon

There are women who gnaw the most tender violins
And rusting irons as happy as wastrels
On moonless nights

Through the hopes and through the hurricanes
With eyelids that sound and wrists that tremble
In the dark of the moon

There is the heavy atmosphere of worn chemises
Clinging to our thighs like a frightened child
On moonless nights

There are very deep wells with cries inside them
Like the salt that imprisons the roots of dreams
In the dark of the moon

There are bodies, radios, bottles, mares
To spurt in a welter like working manure
On moonless nights

And there is a hole in the ground, without measure or owner
With bridges of lichen and the sound of fright
In the dark of the moon

There are bulls like fountains flighty as horses
Who enlace our legs in sudden lunges
On moonless nights

There are telegraph forms with the news of births.
And missives of hoarfrost to kill the expectant.
In the dark of the moon.

Soft autumnal firewood, and these hands useless
To break the seals stamped on my hearing
On moonless nights

There are atrocious cowbells and dyes that mire
Our misty sleep like a young girl's dying
In the dark of the moon

The trees, the clovers, the vegetal oxen
The corners, the blows the watery maidens
On moonless nights

They come leaping along the ineffable lids
Along the hands frozen by death's proximity
In the dark of the moon

Along the rooftops and over the schoolbooks
Through the highest branches wounded with swallows
On moonless nights

Ferocious winds blow from hated provinces
And sustain the shadows we maraud alone
In the dark of the moon. Open / Comment

2021-09-04 11:00:01 'Sonnet LVII'

By William Shakespeare

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill. Open / Comment

2021-09-03 11:00:04 'To The Tune'

By Li Ching Chao

Breeze soft, sun frail, spring still early.
In a new lined dress my heart was refreshed,
But when I rose from sleep I felt a chill.
I put plum blossoms in my hair.
Now they are withered.
Where is my homeland?
I forgot it only when drunk.
The sandal wood incense burned out while I slept.
Now the perfume has gone,
But the wine has not gone. Open / Comment

2021-09-02 11:00:06 'Punctuality'

By Lewis Carroll

Man Naturally loves delay,
And to procrastinate;
Business put off from day to day
Is always done to late.

Let ever hour be in its place
Firm fixed, nor loosely shift,
And well enjoy the vacant space,
As though a birthday gift.

And when the hour arrives, be there,
Where'er that "there" may be;
Uncleanly hands or ruffled hair
Let no one ever see.

If dinner at "half-past" be placed,
At "half-past" then be dressed.
If at a "quarter-past" make haste
To be down with the rest

Better to be before you time,
Than e're to be behind;
To open the door while strikes the chime,
That shows a punctual mind.

Moral:

Let punctuality and care
Seize every flitting hour,
So shalt thou cull a floweret fair,
E'en from a fading flower Open / Comment

2021-09-01 11:00:05 'Abstemia'

By Gelett Burgess

In Mystic
Argot
often Confounded with Farrago

If aught that stumbles in my speech
Or stutters in my pen,
Or, claiming tribute, each to each,
Rise, not to fall again,
Let something lowlier far, for me,
Through evanescent shades--
Than which my spirit might not be
Nourished in fitful ecstasy
Not less to know but more to see
Where that great Bliss pervades. Open / Comment

2021-08-31 11:00:03 'In The Train'

By Sara Teasdale

Fields beneath a quilt of snow
From which the rocks and stubble sleep,
And in the west a shy white star
That shivers as it wakes from deep.

The restless rumble of the train,
The drowsy people in the car,
Steel blue twilight in the world,
And in my heart a timid star. Open / Comment

2021-08-30 11:00:01 'Work'

By Henry Van Dyke

Let me but do my work from day to day,
In field or forest, at the desk or loom,
In roaring market-place or tranquil room;
Let me but find it in my heart to say,
When vagrant wishes beckon me astray,
"This is my work; my blessing, not my doom;
"Of all who live, I am the one by whom
"This work can best be done in the right way."

Then shall I see it not too great, nor small,
To suit my spirit and to prove my powers;
Then shall I cheerful greet the labouring hours,
And cheerful turn, when the long shadows fall
At eventide, to play and love and rest,
Because I know for me my work is best. Open / Comment

2021-08-29 13:00:34 'Particles'

Lyrics by Ólafur Arnalds and Nanna Bryndís Hilmarsdóttir

Here I am
Floating in emerald sea
Keep me dancing
Keep me as still as can be
And I try to keep the balance right
And I try but it feels like wasted time

But these heavy hands
They're pulling me down on my chest
Latching on, coloring all of my flesh
Quietly, you hover over me
And I fight but it feels like wasted time

Say goodnight
I know that I'm swallowed in sea
We collide, colors that devour me
Just say goodnight
I'm already down
I cry
Already down

Already down
And I cry
Already down

And I try
And I try
But it feels like wasted Open / Comment

2021-08-28 11:00:04 'Sonnet LVI'

By William Shakespeare

Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
Thy edge should blunter be than appetite,
Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd,
To-morrow sharpen'd in his former might:
So, love, be thou; although to-day thou fill
Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fullness,
To-morrow see again, and do not kill
The spirit of love with a perpetual dullness.
Let this sad interim like the ocean be
Which parts the shore, where two contracted new
Come daily to the banks, that, when they see
Return of love, more blest may be the view;
Else call it winter, which being full of care
Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more rare. Open / Comment

2021-08-27 11:00:06 'What Can We Do?'

By Charles Bukowski

at their best, there is gentleness in Humanity.
some understanding and, at times, acts of
courage
but all in all it is a mass, a glob that doesn't
have too much.
it is like a large animal deep in sleep and
almost nothing can awaken it.
when activated it's best at brutality,
selfishness, unjust judgments, murder. Open / Comment