poetryrepairs 197 v14.02:022
VERNON WARING : almost home
ROBIN OUZMAN HISLOP : A Rounded Character
JASON VISCONTI : When One Loses the Image of Oneself
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almost home
and now we sing of whitney...nothing can contain her she takes the shape she fills the space she moves through ether nothing can stop her beading like quicksilver in constant motion she flickers and a million candles† glow at her loveliness nothing can blur her face so perfect that angels hush to behold her and when she sings "i will always love you" only the moon† can hold that magnificent voice soaring beyond the crest of everest a ceiling of stars can only welcome† this sparkling laughing luminous† slip of a girl as she ascends far from earthly cares up up up she glitters in a swirl of stardust she is almost home

poetryrepairs 197 v14.02:022

All the fine arts are species of poetry--Samuel Taylor Coleridge

poetry repairs your heart
even as it splits it open.
The Art of Reading

Our Dancing Poet Logo! FIND GIFT BUY GIFT

A Rounded Character
Part 2. 1.) v. Over the faultless Sky day breaks fey In love & hate. Haunted by our fears We commit abominations Over the breaking day. Condemn our ancestors Or honour them only to justify Strategies for the battlefield. Part 3. Feet. 2.) ii.* 'Ours is not to reason why. Ours is but to do & die.' *Charge of the Light Brigade. A.Tennyson. 'You & I are fit for nothing but to die We can die for liberty, or bow down to Burgundy.' *Operetta. Vagabond King. J.Villon. The leader before its troops demonstrates The futility of the metaphor, Charge.'

poetryrepairs 197 v14.02:022

I have many things to write unto you but
I will not write with pen and ink
--JOHN the theologian

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When One Loses the Image of Oneself
When one loses the image of oneself, An able body man should emerge One who bides the time and sounds the bells, A bird that sings to itself high on a birch. For all cravings go awry when the heart double-takes, And pumps all the faster to see oneself bloom, And oh the self assurance that flowers just a remake of the budding thing that grew once out of doom. And fair is fair, his sight may be stolen away For in his hourglass time waste too soon. Fear for a stranger who barked once and gained his stay… For men go back to things they used to do. For that man should waste no power and want no more than give life to one that needs to be restored.

poetryrepairs 197 v14.02:022

Poetry endangers the established order
of the soul - Plato

REPAIR: resort, frequent or habitual going; concourse or confluence of people at or in a place; making one's way; to go, betake oneself, to arrive; return to a place; to dwell; to recover, heal, or cure; to renew; to fix to original condition.
-- Oxford English Dictionary


VERNON WARING : almost home
ROBIN OUZMAN HISLOP : A Rounded Character
JASON VISCONTI : When One Loses the Image of Oneself

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