I could swear it was just here, but now it has been swept away no matter what I do, it can never see the light of day the doors into our very souls must have been left unbarred our throats burning with poison smoke from books in bonfires charred I still wonder if horns sprung on the brows of the czars can you see the face of the poets with their burn scars no Rome is built in a day, as the saying goes a day of song was enough to bring it to its final throes moon, earth and ashes Who was the c u l p r i t, who can we blame for that law? the doves were set free, while man lies chained like an outlaw friendship bleeds into the soil to sate the dead I hate the brute who ordered the launch of the warhead so easy for the hunter to sit by the campfire's light as the marching of peoples echoed into the night moon, earth and ashes I could never fit into that society we are all members of that minority

"In Memory of W.B. Yeats" by W. H. Auden Earth, receive an honoured guest: William Yeats is laid to rest. Let the Irish vessel lie Emptied of its poetry. In the nightmare of the dark All the dogs of Europe bark, And the living nations wait, Each sequestered in its hate; Intellectual disgrace Stares from every human face, And the seas of pity lie Locked and frozen in each eye. Follow, poet, follow right To the bottom of the night, With your unconstraining voice Still persuade us to rejoice; With the farming of a verse Make a vineyard of the curse, Sing of human unsuccess In a rapture of distress; In the deserts of the heart Let the healing fountain start, In the prison of his days Teach the free man how to praise.

"IS IT REALLY ANY GOOD?" by Cy Warman You're a critic in your attic up above the dust and din, ⁠On an essay you're in duty bound to do; When your sanctum opens softly and a sonneteer comes in, ⁠Who was never any good, to you. But the poet smiles serenely while you're stifling a moan, For he wants your honest judgment on an effort of his own; When you tell him that it's rotten and the sonneteer is gone— ⁠Is it really any good, to you? ⁠Were you ever any good, to him, William? ⁠Was he ever any good to you? ⁠Could you help him if you would, ⁠Would you scalp him if you could— ⁠Is he really any good, to you? You're a Beauty, by the Bard and by the Belted Hero wooed, ⁠Doing nothing, for you've nothing else to do. Or, perhaps, you're pouring Pink Tea for a pink-a-doodle-dude ⁠Who was never any good, to you. When you listen to his lyric of the diamond in the skies. With a glimmer that is dimmer than the shimmer of your eyes; When he tells you where his treasure lies, and other little lies— ⁠Is he really any good, to you? ⁠Was he ever any good, to you, girlie? ⁠He was never any good, to you. ⁠Would you lose him if you could, ⁠Could you lose him if you would, ⁠Is he really any good, to you? You're a Merger, with a hundred million dollars in the bank, ⁠Up and doing till there's no one left to do. When your ship is on the ocean, and the oil is in the tank, ⁠Is it really any good, to you? When you're owning all that's ownable between the earth and sky, Every four-and-twenty hours will another day go by; But you couldn't eat a carrot lest you'd double up and die— ⁠Is it really any good, to you? ⁠It was never any good, to me, Rocky; ⁠Was it ever any good, to you? ⁠Could you stop it if you would, ⁠Would you stop it if you could— ⁠Is it really any good, to you? You're a soldier. There's a Sultan on a lonely little isle. ⁠Doing nothing, for there's nothing else to do. When you hail him and the Heathen comes to greet you with a smile— ⁠Is it really any good, to you? You approach him with your Bible and your bottle and your gun, If he doesn't hike he's High-balled and you'll shoot him if he run; When a hundred weedless widows stand aweeping in the sun— ⁠Are they really any good, to you? ⁠Were you ever any good, to him, Johnny? ⁠Was he ever any good, to you? ⁠You could win him if he would, ⁠You would skin him if you could,— ⁠For he isn't any good, to you.

hiukses liekehtivät ruusut katsees tarun meduusan loihtivat musta suolapatsaan oi, pue mulle tuonen kruunu! vaan käy mun yli yksinäisyys viinin virtaan sukellan uniin toisten ruumistusten ja aikain korkeampain riimukirjaimilla kaiverran kysymyksen mieleen juopuneen miks jätti meille paholainen perinnön yksinäisyyden? tän huudon kohti kuuta ja piston tikarin hiustes tulipunaruusuin ja katsees mysteerein vaan käy mun yli yksinäisyys viinin virtaan sukellan uniin toisten ruumistusten ja aikain korkeampain

Haen samaa korttelia, haen samaa porttia taas. Haen samoja ikkunoita, isoja verhoi' joit' ei ikinä aukaista ees. Haen pimeitä käytäviä. Haen pimeää temppeliä. Haen avaimia, tai jotain avaimenhaltijaa, mut päästään sisälle. Hänen hymynsä kaikkivoipa säteilee sieluumme, hänen hymynsä valloittaa ja parantaa haavamme, ja me nousemme. Tämä sali ja muotokuvat, nämä esineet, jotka ovat kaikki tuhannen vuoden takaa, tuhannen vuoden takaa, iänikuisia. Nämä hämärät tuolirivit, ja keskellä alttari. Siin' on mestarin miekka sekä mestarin viitta, sekä hopeinen tikari. Hänen hymynsä... Olen kultainen aasi jota vedetään korvista ja vedetään hännästä ja tönitään tungoksessa, tönitään tungoksessa. Olen kultainen aasi, joka hakee porttiansa tässä vieraassa maassa jonka pitäisi olla oma, pitäisi, mutta ei. Hänen hymynsä...

maan pinnan alla kulkee uumenissa onkaloissa verkkainen hurmeen suoni niin verkkaan velloo tuoni tummissa tuvissa turpeen huoman sä voit kuulla luiden laulun sä voit kuulla luiden laulun juutinmaalta iirin saareen saarelta iirin juutinmaalle yltää suohautain eurooppa juutinmaalta saareen iirin laulu merten ali kiirii luiden murrettujen piirin sä voit kuulla niiden laulun maan poveen poljettujen maasta uurtuu hurmeen malja uroot unhoon upotettu suohon sotkettu raukoilla rajoilla, rajoilla näilläkin suohautojen euroopan raukea, ahnas jätti auringon alla uinuu lailla jalopeuran niin makea kumpuaa syömmestä väkevän makea kumpuupi syömmestä väkevän uroot unhoon upotettu suohon sotkettu suohautojen eurooppa kumpuineen kätköineen juutinmaalta saareen iirin suohon sorrettujen piiri raukoilla rajoilla, rajoilla näilläkin sä voit kuulla luiden laulun uroot unhoon upotettu suohon sotkettu raukoilla rajoilla, rajoilla näilläkin suohautojen euroopan