To fight aloud, is very brave

Emily Dickinson

To fight aloud, is very brave—
But gallanter, I know
Who charge with the bosom
The Cavalry of Woe—

Who wins, and nations do not see—
Who fall—and none observe—
Whose dying eyes, no Country
Regards with patriot love—

We trust, in plumed procession
For such, the Angels go—
Rank after Rank, with even feet—
And Uniforms of Snow.

Places, Loved Ones

Philip Larkin (1954)

No, I have never found
The place where I could say
This is my proper ground,
Here I shall stay;
Nor met that special one
Who has an instant claim
On everything I own
Down to my name;

To find such seems to prove
You want no choice in where
To build, or whom to love;
You ask them to bear
You off irrevocably,
So that it's not your fault
Should the town turn dreary,
The girl a dolt.

Yet, having missed them, you're
Bound, none the less, to act
As if what you settled for
Mashed you, in fact;
And wiser to keep away
From thinking you still might trace
Uncalled-for to this day
Your person, your place.

Light Breaks Where No Sun Shines

Dylan Thomas

Light breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glow-worms in their heads,
The things of light
File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones.

A candle in the thighs
Warms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age;
Where no seed stirs,
The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars,
Bright as a fig;
Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs.

Dawn breaks behind the eyes;
From poles of skull and toe the windy blood
Slides like a sea;
Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the sky
Spout to the rod
Divining in a smile the oil of tears.

Night in the sockets rounds,
Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes;
Day lights the bone;
Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpin
The winter's robes;
The film of spring is hanging from the lids.

Light breaks on secret lots,
On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain;
When logics dies,
The secret of the soil grows through the eye,
And blood jumps in the sun;
Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.

Epigram

Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1839)

Sir, I admit your general rule,
That every poet is a fool,
But you yourself may serve to show it,
That every fool is not a poet.



Samuel Taylor Coleridge

In One Place

Robert Wallace

—something
holds up two or three leaves
the first year,

and climbs
and branches, summer
by summer,

till birds
in it don't remember
it wasn't there.

Tasting Freedom

from responses by
the 1st Battalion, 501st Parachute Infantry Regiment (2008)
in Fort Greeley, Alaska,
to a recent survey on new Meals Ready to Eat.

The vanilla pudding is so good I ripped it open,
licked the inside, and rolled around on top of
it like a dog.
Am I supposed to add water to the peanut but-
ter dessert?
Shitcan the meat chunk and give out more granola.
I don't personally like the cheese, but I can
trade with it.
Should add Copenhagen dip.
Why in God's name would you put a vegetable in
a MRE?
It sounded like a flatulence symphony in my
tent all night.
The way it turned my mouth blue flooded my
mind with childhood memories, and for a
moment I was at peace.

I Met a Seducer

Grace Paley (2008)

One day a seducer met a seducer
now said one     what do we do
fly into each other's arms said
the other     ugh said one     they turned
stood back to back     one
looked over one's shoulder     smiled
shyly     other turned seconds
too late     made a lovelier
shy smile     oh my dear said other
my own dear     said one