sitting well after midnight I call you on the telephone trying to save you from yourself you are sick and do not answer the waste of my love hits me hard I have always wondered about the remnants in that vacuumed state my heart aches, and a drousy numbness pains my senses I watch the red coals, burning, flashing and dying- sitting well after midnight ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "My heart aches, and...
I think we all know the routine by now, but just in case you don't, here's the spiel again. OK, Here's a poem up for reactions, interaction, and--dare I say it--analysis: Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful. Keep in mind what Molly Peacock's books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don't like; and offer an opinion. If you...
We were a smaller group than usual this month, but still did not manage to get round to discussing everyone's poems! Those we did discuss ranged widely from the mildly bawdy eighteenth-century broadside ballad 'An Amorous Dialogue between John and his Mistress' . This under-represented form of ephemera drew plenty of approving comments. It was followed by John Masefield's 'Cargoes' - always a favourite...
Negative Capability your beautiful life Rosa buzzing in my ears you built a dam from clever one I could not cross pensive mountains in your brown hands not much left in the box except tall blonde eggs your charmed life in a purse my lungs fill with blood who the hell am I John Keats my heartbreak just a spicy little word
News Article Tape: ( ragline )___ MR Zine: Trance (Langston Hughes: In Translation) ___( ragline )___ Guernica: Bolaño Inc. ___( ragline )___ Radio Free Asia: Late Activist's Writings Saved ___( ragline )___ The Guardian: Siegfried Sassoon: The reluctant hero ___( ragline )___ The Guardian: Siegfried Sassoon archive likely to stay in UK after £550,000 award ___( ragline )___ London Review...
for not texting back straight away--I had been riding my bike. This instantness is a problem. You can't tape a text to the fridge, you can't hold it, and you can't leave a trail of texts around the house for a partner. In your own write . . . Send us your love poems and we will print our favourites in times2. Poems should be no longer than 250 words. One entry a person. from The Times: John Keats:...
If you're born on this day, you have the power to curse people. As presumably, the following people could: the diarist John Evelyn, the snivelling Cockney versifier John Keats, the dictator and mass-murderer Chaing Kai-Shek, the jockey and novelist Dick Francis, the pornographic photographer Helmut Newton, Barbara Bel Geddes ("Miss Ellie" in Dallas), the weirdo Jimmy Savile, the American...
Poor Keats. A Scorpio with Virgo rising and, just to clinch the deal, his moon in Gemini. This is the equivalent of being dealt the Fool, the Lovers (inverted), and the Tower as the three culminating cards in an eleven-card...
This Living Hand This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb, So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood So in my veins red life might stream again, And thou be conscience-calmed—see here it is— I hold [...]
he put [John] Keats on a starvation diet of just an anchovy and a piece of bread a day to cut the flow of blood to his stomach. "You cannot think how dreadful this is for me," [Joseph] Severn wrote to a friend. "The Doctor on the one hand tells me I shall kill him to give him more than he allows--and Keats raves till I am in a complete tremble for him." Clark, who went on to be...
A last farewell - Abdel-Moneim Said remembers Mohamed El-Sayed Said DISPATCHES FROM AMERICA : Failed war president or prince of peace? - Should he take the peace-maker route, United States President Barack Obama stands a chance of success. History suggests that the path of war will be a surefire loser. The past half-century makes clear what the US military can achieve - destruction and mayhem; and...
When I have Fears that I may Cease to Be By John Keats When I have fears that I may cease to be Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain, Before high-piled books, in charactery, Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain; When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance, And think that I may never live to trace Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance; And...
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