the hours rise up putting off stars and it is

the hours rise up putting off stars and it is
into the street of the sky light walks scattering poems

on earth a candle is
extinguished      the city
with a song upon her
mouth having death in her eyes

and it is dawn
the world
goes forth to murder dreams...

i see in the street where strong
men are digging bread
and i see brutal faces of
people contented hideous hopeless cruel happy

and it is day

in the mirror
i see a frail
dreams in a mirror

and it
is dusk      on earth

a candle is lighted
and it is dark.
the people are in their houses
the frail man is in his bed
the city
sleeps with death upon her mouth having a song in her eyes
the hours descend,
putting on stars...

in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems

E.E. Cummings

SONNET IX from Tulips (1922)
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Carry on

I carry your heart with me.

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear

no fate (for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

*I admire him for his silenced words-- (the things he keeps quiet, whispers, the things he puts into brackets.)- that smothers my mind into the thought that would take place if the words he silences ever lived in actions. (Something slightly greater than words.)

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hello :)

hello! :) i just joined this community. i discovered this wonderful poem while flipping through the e.e. cummings poetry book I have, and thought i'd share it. 

it (touched by love's own secret) we, like homing
through welcoming sweet miracles of air
(and joyfully all truths of wing resuming)
selves, into infinite tomorrow steer

- souls under whom flow (mountain valley forest)
a million wheres which never may become
one (wholly strange; familiar wholly) dearest
more than reality of more than dream -

how should contented fools of fact envision
the mystery of freedom? yet, among
their loud exactitudes of imprecision
you'll (silently alighting) and i'll sing

while at us very deafly a most stares
colossal hoax of clocks and calendars.  
Avengers: Hawkeye

(no subject)

now air is air and thing is thing:no bliss

of heavenly earth beguiles our spirits,whose
miraculously disenchanted eyes

live the magnificent honesty of space.

Mountains are mountains now;skies now are skies--
and such a sharpening freedom lifts our blood
as if whole supreme this complete doubtless

universe we'd(and we alone had)made

--yes;or as if our souls,awakened from
summer's green trance,would not adventure soon
a deeper magic:that white sleep wherein
all human curiosity we'll spend
(gladly,as lovers must)immortal and

the courage to receive time's mightiest dream

(no subject)

when god decided to invent
everything he took one
breath bigger than a circustent
and everything began

when man determined to destroy
himself he picked the was
of shall and finding only why
smashed it into because

EE Cummings

(no subject)

One of the poems I really like by him is The Ballad of an Intelectual. I like the first stanza ecspecially, and I think that's very cleverly written. But then again I think that about most of his work.

A good one

I first encountered this one in Hayden Carruth's anthology The Voice That Is Great Within Us.  It's one of my all-time favorites by him, but oddly, I never see it anywhere.

than (by yon sunset's wintry glow
revealed) this strong tall stalward youth,
what sight shall human optics know
more quite ennobling forsooth?

One wondrous fine sonofabitch
(toward all purposes and intents)
in which distinct and rich
portrait should be included,gents

these (by the fire's ruddy glow
united) not less that sixteen
children and of course you know
their mother,of his heart the queen

—incalculable bliss!
Picture it gents:our hero,Dan
who as you've guessed already is
the poorbuthonest workingman

(by that bright flame whose myriad tints
enrich a visage simple, terse,
seated like any king or prince
upon his uncorrupted arse

with all his hearty soul aglow)
his nightly supper sups
it isn't snowing snow you know
it's snowing buttercups


new(ish) member

hello everyone ~ new member :) i used to be a member a couple of years ago, back now with a fresh new LJ! Glad to see this fine community still going strong!

Here's a lovely excerpt from one of my favourites:

And if she speak in her frail way,
it is wholly to bewitch
my smallest thought with a most swift
radiance wherein slowly drift
murmurous things divinely bright;
it is foolingly to smite
my spirit with the lithe free twitch
of scintillant space, with the cool writhe
of gloom truly which syncopate
some sunbeam’s skilful fingerings;
it is utterly to lull
with foliate inscrutable
sweetness my soul obedient;
it is to stroke my being with
numbing forests, frolicsome,
fleetly mystical, aroam
with keen creatures of idiom
(beings alert and innocent
very deftly upon which
indolent miracles impinge)
—it is distinctly to confute
my reason with the deep caress
of every most shy thing and mute,
it is to quell me with the twinge
of all living intense things.

(from Puella Mea)

lovely, isn't it? :)
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