Poems I heart!

You can’t spell problem without poem

& also some rubble to sift through

Tom Snarsky

Don’t take it personal, they said; but I did, I took it all quite personal—

the breeze and the river and the color of the fields; the price of grapefruit and stamps,

the wet hair of women in the rain— And I cursed what hurt me

and I praised what gave me joy, the most simple-minded of possible responses.

The government reminded me of my father, with its deafness and its laws,

and the weather reminded me of my mom, with her tropical squalls.

Enjoy it while you can, they said of Happiness Think first, they said of Talk

Get over it, they said at the School of Broken Hearts

but I couldn’t and I didn’t and I don’t believe in the clean break;

I believe in the compound fracture served with a sauce of dirty regret,

I believe in saying it all and taking it all back

and saying it again for good measure while the air fills up with I’m-Sorries

like wheeling birds and the trees look seasick in the wind.

Oh life! Can you blame me for making a scene?

You were that yellow caboose, the moon disappearing over a ridge of cloud.

I was the dog, chained in some fool’s backyard; barking and barking:

trying to convince everything else to take it personal too.

Tony Hoagland

Have you forgotten what we were like then when we were still first rate and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

it’s no use worrying about Time but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves and turned some sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal we didn’t need speedometers we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn’t want to be faster or greener than now if you were with me O you were the best of all my days

Frank O'Hara

How should I not be glad to contemplate the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window and a high tide reflected on the ceiling? There will be dying, there will be dying, but there is no need to go into that. The poems flow from the hand unbidden and the hidden source is the watchful heart. The sun rises in spite of everything and the far cities are beautiful and bright. I lie here in a riot of sunlight watching the day break and the clouds flying. Everything is going to be all right.

Derek Mahon

I don't believe in God because I have never seen him. If he wanted me to believe in him, Then surely he'd come and speak to me. He would enter by my door Saying, "Here I am!" (This may sound ridiculous to those who, Because they aren't used to looking at things, Can't understand a man who speaks of them In the way that looking at things teaches.) But if God is the flowers and trees And hills and sun and moon, Then I believe in him, I believe in him at every moment, And my life is all a prayer and a mass And a communion by way of my eyes and ears. But if God is the flowers and the trees And hills and sun and moon, Then why should I call him God? I'll call him flowers and trees and hills and sun and moon. Because if to my eyes he made himself Sun and moon and flowers and trees and hills, If he appears to me as trees and hills And moon and sun and flowers, Then he wants me to know him As trees and hills and flowers and sun and moon. And so I obey him. (Do I know more about God than God knows about himself?) I obey him by living spontaneously As a man who opens his eyes and sees, And I call him moon and sun and flowers and hills and trees, And I love him without thinking of him, And I think him by seeing and hearing, And I am with him at every moment.

Fernando Pessoa

The storm is over; too bad, I say. At least storms are clear about their dangerous intent.

Ordinary days are what I fear, the sneaky speed with which noon arrives, the sun

shining while a government darkens a decade, or a man falls out of love. I fear the solace

of repetition, a withheld slap in the face. Someone is singing in Portugal. Here the mockingbird

is a crow and a grackle, then a cat. So many things happening at once. If I decide

to turn over my desk, go privately wild, trash the house, no one across town will know.

I must insist how disturbing this is– the necessity of going public, of being a fool.

Stephen Dunn

After a while you learn the subtle difference Between holding a hand and chaining a soul,

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning And company doesn’t mean security.

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts And presents aren’t promises,

And you begin to accept your defeats With your head up and your eyes open With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child,

And you learn to build all your roads on today Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans And futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight.

After a while you learn… That even sunshine burns if you get too much.

So you plant your garden and decorate your own soul, Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure…

That you really are strong

And you really do have worth…

And you learn and learn…

With every good-bye you learn.

Jorge Luis Borges

    Make some room for yourself, human animal.      Even a dog jostles about on his master's lap to improve his position. And when he needs space he runs forward, without paying attention to commands or calls.      If you didn't manage to receive freedom as a gift, demand it as courageously as bread and meat.      Make some room for yourself, human pride and dignity.      The Czech writer Hrabal said:      I have as much freedom as I take.

Julia Hartwig

Grandfather     advised me:         Learn a trade I learned   to sit at desk         and condense No layoff   from this         condensery

Lorine Niedecker