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scaredyclassic.
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AuthorPosts
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August 17, 2011 at 3:08 AM #19039August 17, 2011 at 9:55 AM #720313
TemekuT
ParticipantBarn’s burned down,
Now I can see the moon.Masahide
http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/M/Masahide/index.htmAugust 17, 2011 at 9:55 AM #720405ParticipantBarn’s burned down,
Now I can see the moon.Masahide
http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/M/Masahide/index.htmAugust 17, 2011 at 9:55 AM #721003ParticipantBarn’s burned down,
Now I can see the moon.Masahide
http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/M/Masahide/index.htmAugust 17, 2011 at 9:55 AM #721161ParticipantBarn’s burned down,
Now I can see the moon.Masahide
http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/M/Masahide/index.htmAugust 17, 2011 at 9:55 AM #721524ParticipantBarn’s burned down,
Now I can see the moon.Masahide
http://www.poetry-chaikhana.com/M/Masahide/index.htmAugust 20, 2011 at 9:55 PM #721976scaredyclassic
ParticipantSad Steps
BY PHILIP LARKINGroping back to bed after a piss
I part thick curtains, and am startled by
The rapid clouds, the moon’s cleanliness.Four o’clock: wedge-shadowed gardens lie
Under a cavernous, a wind-picked sky.
There’s something laughable about this,The way the moon dashes through clouds that blow
Loosely as cannon-smoke to stand apart
(Stone-coloured light sharpening the roofs below)High and preposterous and separate—
Lozenge of love! Medallion of art!
O wolves of memory! Immensements! No,One shivers slightly, looking up there.
The hardness and the brightness and the plain
Far-reaching singleness of that wide stareIs a reminder of the strength and pain
Of being young; that it can’t come again,
But is for others undiminished somewhere.August 20, 2011 at 9:55 PM #722068ParticipantSad Steps
BY PHILIP LARKINGroping back to bed after a piss
I part thick curtains, and am startled by
The rapid clouds, the moon’s cleanliness.Four o’clock: wedge-shadowed gardens lie
Under a cavernous, a wind-picked sky.
There’s something laughable about this,The way the moon dashes through clouds that blow
Loosely as cannon-smoke to stand apart
(Stone-coloured light sharpening the roofs below)High and preposterous and separate—
Lozenge of love! Medallion of art!
O wolves of memory! Immensements! No,One shivers slightly, looking up there.
The hardness and the brightness and the plain
Far-reaching singleness of that wide stareIs a reminder of the strength and pain
Of being young; that it can’t come again,
But is for others undiminished somewhere.August 20, 2011 at 9:55 PM #723189ParticipantSad Steps
BY PHILIP LARKINGroping back to bed after a piss
I part thick curtains, and am startled by
The rapid clouds, the moon’s cleanliness.Four o’clock: wedge-shadowed gardens lie
Under a cavernous, a wind-picked sky.
There’s something laughable about this,The way the moon dashes through clouds that blow
Loosely as cannon-smoke to stand apart
(Stone-coloured light sharpening the roofs below)High and preposterous and separate—
Lozenge of love! Medallion of art!
O wolves of memory! Immensements! No,One shivers slightly, looking up there.
The hardness and the brightness and the plain
Far-reaching singleness of that wide stareIs a reminder of the strength and pain
Of being young; that it can’t come again,
But is for others undiminished somewhere.August 20, 2011 at 9:55 PM #722826ParticipantSad Steps
BY PHILIP LARKINGroping back to bed after a piss
I part thick curtains, and am startled by
The rapid clouds, the moon’s cleanliness.Four o’clock: wedge-shadowed gardens lie
Under a cavernous, a wind-picked sky.
There’s something laughable about this,The way the moon dashes through clouds that blow
Loosely as cannon-smoke to stand apart
(Stone-coloured light sharpening the roofs below)High and preposterous and separate—
Lozenge of love! Medallion of art!
O wolves of memory! Immensements! No,One shivers slightly, looking up there.
The hardness and the brightness and the plain
Far-reaching singleness of that wide stareIs a reminder of the strength and pain
Of being young; that it can’t come again,
But is for others undiminished somewhere.August 20, 2011 at 9:55 PM #722670ParticipantSad Steps
BY PHILIP LARKINGroping back to bed after a piss
I part thick curtains, and am startled by
The rapid clouds, the moon’s cleanliness.Four o’clock: wedge-shadowed gardens lie
Under a cavernous, a wind-picked sky.
There’s something laughable about this,The way the moon dashes through clouds that blow
Loosely as cannon-smoke to stand apart
(Stone-coloured light sharpening the roofs below)High and preposterous and separate—
Lozenge of love! Medallion of art!
O wolves of memory! Immensements! No,One shivers slightly, looking up there.
The hardness and the brightness and the plain
Far-reaching singleness of that wide stareIs a reminder of the strength and pain
Of being young; that it can’t come again,
But is for others undiminished somewhere.August 20, 2011 at 10:07 PM #722836ParticipantQuarterly, as it is, money reproaches me:
‘Why do you let me lie here wastefully?
I am all you never had of goods and sex.
You could get them still by writing a few cheques.’So I look at others, what they do with theirs:
They certainly don’t keep it upstairs.
By now they’ve a second house and car and wife:
Clearly money has something to do with life-In fact, they’ve a lot in common, if you enquire:
You can’t put off being young until you retire,
And however you bank your screw, the money you save
Won’t in the end buy you more than a shave.I listen to money singing. It’s like looking down
From long french windows at a provincial town,
The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad
In the evening sun. It is intensely sad.Philip Larkin,”Money”
August 20, 2011 at 10:07 PM #723198ParticipantQuarterly, as it is, money reproaches me:
‘Why do you let me lie here wastefully?
I am all you never had of goods and sex.
You could get them still by writing a few cheques.’So I look at others, what they do with theirs:
They certainly don’t keep it upstairs.
By now they’ve a second house and car and wife:
Clearly money has something to do with life-In fact, they’ve a lot in common, if you enquire:
You can’t put off being young until you retire,
And however you bank your screw, the money you save
Won’t in the end buy you more than a shave.I listen to money singing. It’s like looking down
From long french windows at a provincial town,
The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad
In the evening sun. It is intensely sad.Philip Larkin,”Money”
August 20, 2011 at 10:07 PM #722680ParticipantQuarterly, as it is, money reproaches me:
‘Why do you let me lie here wastefully?
I am all you never had of goods and sex.
You could get them still by writing a few cheques.’So I look at others, what they do with theirs:
They certainly don’t keep it upstairs.
By now they’ve a second house and car and wife:
Clearly money has something to do with life-In fact, they’ve a lot in common, if you enquire:
You can’t put off being young until you retire,
And however you bank your screw, the money you save
Won’t in the end buy you more than a shave.I listen to money singing. It’s like looking down
From long french windows at a provincial town,
The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad
In the evening sun. It is intensely sad.Philip Larkin,”Money”
August 20, 2011 at 10:07 PM #721987ParticipantQuarterly, as it is, money reproaches me:
‘Why do you let me lie here wastefully?
I am all you never had of goods and sex.
You could get them still by writing a few cheques.’So I look at others, what they do with theirs:
They certainly don’t keep it upstairs.
By now they’ve a second house and car and wife:
Clearly money has something to do with life-In fact, they’ve a lot in common, if you enquire:
You can’t put off being young until you retire,
And however you bank your screw, the money you save
Won’t in the end buy you more than a shave.I listen to money singing. It’s like looking down
From long french windows at a provincial town,
The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad
In the evening sun. It is intensely sad.Philip Larkin,”Money”
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