Quotes about latch, page 9
I sleep Poetry
Last night I wrestled with poetry
As if a lion wrestling with its prey
I sleep poetry
I dream poetry
I walk poetry on thin line ropes
binding together steeply slopes
I make love to poetry like a new catch
On heat waiting to be let loose from its latch
So out of ten if I am bad, take a pen
And give me a score of five or a four
I constantly make love to poetry
With dramatic grammatical metaphors
The root of my poetic hunger
Is I starve myself a bit longer
In sleep I twiddle my poetic lines
Sharpen them to be as fine as a riddle
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poem by Sylvia Chidi
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LVII
ON A LOST OPPORTUNITY
We might, if you had willed, have conquered Heaven.
Once only in our lives before the gate
Of Paradise we stood, one fortunate even,
And gazed in sudden rapture through the grate.
And, while you stood astonished, I, our fate
Venturing, pushed the latch and found it free.
There stood the tree of knowledge fair and great
Beside the tree of life. One instant we
Stood in that happy garden, guardianless.
My hands already turned towards the tree
And in another moment we had known
The taste of joy and immortality
And been ourselves as gods. But in distress
You thrust me back with supplicating arms
And eyes of terror, till the impatient sun
Had time to set and till the heavenly host
Rushed forth on us with clarions and alarms
And cast us out for ever, blind and lost.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Lover's Chronicles
what we look for is something deeper
than what we call love... if love is
the taste, we long for the substance.
we run afraid of the dark towards the
neon lights... but we long for chocolate,
for broth, for fruit, for just baked
bread. we hear the rumor of ecstasy,
but we settle for the numbness of not
being alone... for we fear ourselves,
and what is behind the door! we jump
into bed and pant against the cold,
never even getting close to the fire.
we settle for sex, we barter for sex,
using sex like a drug, mere children
sailing on a plastic globe. we are
afraid to touch, we take off our clothes,
but are afraid of being naked. afraid
of the stillness, we talk, we chatter...
like bones rattled by the wind, or the
window we latch. but the darkness calls,
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poem by Eric Cockrell
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Experience The Joy
Inspirius eyes stair deep into mine
Unknowing of what will move will come next
I decide it's time to make my move
As I reach in straight for your neck
I'll latch down upon your skin
Lock my grip in tight
As you shiver from within
You'll give in and refuse to fight
You will enjoy the moments
I can see it on your face the joy
The rebellious nature of it all
The joy you get to kiss another boy
Who ever said it was wrong
Those people know not of what is real
The feelings you can still have
From the joy that he can make you feel
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poem by Matt Burgett
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One And One Are Two
The trumpet sounded and the dead
Came forth from earth and ocean,
And Pickering arose and sped
Aloft with wobbling motion.
'What makes him fly lop-sided?' cried
A soul of the elected.
'One ear was wax,' a rogue replied,
'And isn't resurrected.'
Below him on the pitted plain,
By his abandoned hollow,
His hair and teeth tried all in vain
The rest of him to follow.
Saint Peter, seeing him ascend,
Came forward to the wicket,
And said: 'My mutilated friend,
I'll thank you for your ticket.'
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poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Dream Fragments
The window latch sleep opens,
Then the mind flits out,
And wends the regions,
Boundless, free, and twilit,
Till warm rays kiss the night welt.
Like a rat the mind darted
Along the shrubs,
By the elephants chased.
Soon the legs lost quick paces;
And in fear, the mind to the body returns.
The mind does slowly land
On the school boyhood loitered,
And see the collyrium touched eye brows, and
Side long looks ever charmed,
But all broken opening the eyes.
The vennel snake creeps
The mind dared to prowl,
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poem by Fabiyas M V
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Starling
The starling in the ivy now,
For to amuse his dear,
Mimics the dog, the cat, the cow,
Blackbird and Chanticleer.
The starling's an accomplished mime:
Between his love-making
He solaces her brooding-time
By many a madcap thing.
He is the saw, the spade, the scythe,
He rings the dinner bell;
Chuckles of laughter, small and blithe,
Of self-laudations tell.
Now by the battle-field he mocks
As though 'twere but a game,
Thunder with which the belfry rocks
And the great bursts of flame.
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poem by Katharine Tynan
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The Privvy.......Toilet Trolls
Twas sordid that thought
Midwinter handed a lit
Oil lamp
Glowing
Showing the way outside to the shiny black paint of
The toilet door
Lift the latch....clunk! as your eyes scoured the darkness the bushes
For bogey men, trolls and murderers
Place lamp on window sill
Put small buttocks on the winter chilled toilet seat
Heart beats at a quickened pace
As a small scared face gazes
Out
Eyes foraging the white painted walls
For spiders and daddy long legs
Anything that crawls
And flys
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poem by Karen Sinclair
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Jekyll and Hyde Psychology
My tongue is like a viperous snake
Waiting to latch onto a nervous victim
Who senses my evil mood of paranoid defensiveness
But still she walks slowly into the room.
Maybe she thought she knew me,
That I have a sweet smile, definitely a gentle man,
Maybe we could meet, exchange civility,
Later, that I would ask her out for a drink.
This is all Jekyll and Hyde psychology!
The slightest thing can set me spinning
Into a downward spiral of unrelenting depression:
Hearing a song on the radio
That meant something to me
When I was in love, could make me cry
Or fly ruthlessly off the handle!
She introduces herself and says,
“I’ve met your sister at church,
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poem by Uriah Hamilton
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Couplet: Come With Me (Ekphrasis)
This door was cut from the same tree
that held Me up for all to see.
There's no latch, bolt, padlock, or key,
swing it open, (your name) come with Me.
Follow My lead. Stay close behind.
The path's narrow. See how it winds?
Pace yourself and don't make a sound—
we're passing over hallowed ground.
Not many have ventured this way.
They don't like the small gate they say.
Most prefer that wide road over there;
it's large, red gates are a matched pair.
Look up ahead. See that bright light?
That's My signal. An angel's in flight.
Not to worry we'll be safe now—
we're near My Father's house anyhow.
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poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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