Your Favorite Poems

evolveme · 11-13-2009, 05:43 PM

The Borders

To say that she came into me,
from another world, is not true.
Nothing comes into the universe
and nothing leaves it.
My mother—I mean my daughter did not
enter me. She began to exist
inside me—she appeared within me.
And my mother did not enter me.
When she lay down, to pray, on me,
she was always ferociously courteous,
fastidious with Puritan fastidiousness,
but the barrier of my skin failed, the barrier of my
body fell, the barrier of my spirit.
She aroused and magnetized my skin, I wanted
ardently to please her, I would say to her
what she wanted to hear, as if I were hers.
I served her willingly, and then
became very much like her, fiercely
out for myself.
When my daughter was in me, I felt I had
a soul in me. But it was born with her.
But when she cried, one night, such pure crying,
I said I will take care of you, I will
put you first. I will not ever
have a daughter the way she had me,
I will not ever swim in you
the way my mother swam in me and I
felt myself swum in. I will never know anyone
again the way I knew my mother,
the gates of the human fallen.

- Sharon Olds

Mister Bent · 11-13-2009, 06:11 PM

I Ask You
Billy Collins

What scene would I want to be enveloped in
more than this one,
an ordinary night at the kitchen table,
floral wallpaper pressing in,
white cabinets full of glass,
the telephone silent,
a pen tilted back in my hand?

It gives me time to think
about all that is going on outside--
leaves gathering in corners,
lichen greening the high grey rocks,
while over the dunes the world sails on,
huge, ocean-going, history bubbling in its wake.

But beyond this table
there is nothing that I need,
not even a job that would allow me to row to work,
or a coffee-colored Aston Martin DB4
with cracked green leather seats.

No, it's all here,
the clear ovals of a glass of water,
a small crate of oranges, a book on Stalin,
not to mention the odd snarling fish
in a frame on the wall,
and the way these three candles--
each a different height--
are singing in perfect harmony.

So forgive me
if I lower my head now and listen
to the short bass candle as he takes a solo
while my heart
thrums under my shirt--
frog at the edge of a pond--
and my thoughts fly off to a province
made of one enormous sky
and about a million empty branches.

As with most of the truly good poets I know, I was introduced to Billy Collins by e.

11-13-2009, 05:43 PM	#1
evolveme Member How Do You Identify?: honeysuckle venom Preferred Pronoun?: a pistol and a sugar cane Relationship Status: I promise to aid and abet Join Date: Nov 2009 Location: in between poems where ceilings are floors and joe ghost floats achromatic toward day Posts: 514 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 229 Thanked 735 Times in 228 Posts Rep Power: 503698	The Borders To say that she came into me, from another world, is not true. Nothing comes into the universe and nothing leaves it. My mother—I mean my daughter did not enter me. She began to exist inside me—she appeared within me. And my mother did not enter me. When she lay down, to pray, on me, she was always ferociously courteous, fastidious with Puritan fastidiousness, but the barrier of my skin failed, the barrier of my body fell, the barrier of my spirit. She aroused and magnetized my skin, I wanted ardently to please her, I would say to her what she wanted to hear, as if I were hers. I served her willingly, and then became very much like her, fiercely out for myself. When my daughter was in me, I felt I had a soul in me. But it was born with her. But when she cried, one night, such pure crying, I said I will take care of you, I will put you first. I will not ever have a daughter the way she had me, I will not ever swim in you the way my mother swam in me and I felt myself swum in. I will never know anyone again the way I knew my mother, the gates of the human fallen. - Sharon Olds __________________ Class, race, sexuality, gender and all other categories by which we categorize and dismiss each other need to be excavated from the inside. - Dorothy Allison

11-13-2009, 06:11 PM	#2
Mister Bent Senior Member How Do You Identify?: . Join Date: Nov 2009 Location: . Posts: 2,905 My Photo Gallery Thanks: 4,151 Thanked 5,825 Times in 1,722 Posts Rep Power: 21474854	I Ask You Billy Collins What scene would I want to be enveloped in more than this one, an ordinary night at the kitchen table, floral wallpaper pressing in, white cabinets full of glass, the telephone silent, a pen tilted back in my hand? It gives me time to think about all that is going on outside-- leaves gathering in corners, lichen greening the high grey rocks, while over the dunes the world sails on, huge, ocean-going, history bubbling in its wake. But beyond this table there is nothing that I need, not even a job that would allow me to row to work, or a coffee-colored Aston Martin DB4 with cracked green leather seats. No, it's all here, the clear ovals of a glass of water, a small crate of oranges, a book on Stalin, not to mention the odd snarling fish in a frame on the wall, and the way these three candles-- each a different height-- are singing in perfect harmony. So forgive me if I lower my head now and listen to the short bass candle as he takes a solo while my heart thrums under my shirt-- frog at the edge of a pond-- and my thoughts fly off to a province made of one enormous sky and about a million empty branches. As with most of the truly good poets I know, I was introduced to Billy Collins by e. __________________ Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin to slit throats. - H. L. Mencken