     
Dohn Joe
23/m/Ire
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Last Login: | 3050 d | |
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Journals: | 34 | |
Writings: | 125 | |
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 Untitled Entry
Mood: The Usual
Posted on 2014-03-18 17:32:55
Into the living sea of waking dreams
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Untitled Entry
Mood: The Usual
Posted on 2012-09-16 15:46:37
Fantasies have now come of age
Broke into some romantic ideal
Where love isn’t some throwaway farce
Readily strung for cards and cash
Where any art can be realised
And all the world obeys me gladly
Or words obey call
All lives can strike out
Nobody gets away with anything
No one deserves to live a life they don’t deserve
Life becomes a unit
And we can move together
And I remember all my old tricks
That made it easier
And everyone loves me but no one needs to
Where I have a soul that speaks
And a pen that works
And my name could spread the years beyond me
Or my vanity could disappear
And I could live without the tears
And I could die without the pain
And nothing will out shadow me
Dance me out, dare entrance me
Into a hole
No one can speak behind me
Punch or bruise me
Frighten or fear me
No big job will earn what I can always get
No one will despise me
Eye me up or leave me out
No one need advise me
Counsel or oppose
Once all is written
All will know
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Untitled Entry
Mood: The Usual
Posted on 2012-05-17 14:30:15
The smell of burning weed
Airy gaily comes on me
The big blue eye of the sky
Is turning tailing closing neigh
Let us be thankful
For my body is propped half off the bed
The feeling of completion of some great task
Is on me too
I cannot move
Blissful paralysis
At the coming of a soft night
That will embalm me in all new confidences
And all new futures I never knew.
Sing, dusk, a harmonious tune
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Untitled Entry
Mood: The Usual
Posted on 2011-09-13 18:10:58
The Enemy
My youth was a dark storm
Crossed here and there by brilliant suns;
Thunder and rain have caused such quick ravage
That there remain in my garden very few red fruits.
Now I have touched the Autumn of my mind,
And I must use the spade and rakes
To assemble again the drenched lands,
Where the water digs holes as large as graves.
And who knows whether the new flowers I dream of
Will find in this soil washed like a shore
The mystic food which would create their strength?
-O grief! O grief! Time eats away life,
And the dark Enemy who gnaws the heart
Gnaws and thrives on the blood we lose.
Charles Baudelaire
Translated by Wallace Fowlie
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Untitled Entry
Mood: The Usual
Posted on 2011-05-12 07:16:46
Encounter
By Czeslaw Milosz
Translated By Czeslaw Milosz and Lillian Vallee
We were riding through frozen fields in a wagon at dawn.
A red wing rose in the darkness.
And suddenly a hare ran across the road.
One of us pointed to it with his hand.
That was long ago. Today neither of them is alive,
Not the hare, nor the man who made the gesture.
O my love, where are they, where are they going
The flash of a hand, streak of movement, rustle of pebbles.
I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder.
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Untitled Entry
Mood: The Usual
Posted on 2011-05-04 19:45:58
Never give all the Heart
W.B. Yeats
Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that's lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.
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Helen
Mood: Shit buzz
Posted on 2011-05-04 19:37:25
WHY should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great.
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?
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Untitled Entry
Mood: The Usual
Posted on 2011-02-10 07:30:05
The last stroke of midnight dies.
All day in the one chair
From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have
ranged
In rambling talk with an image of air:
Vague memories, nothing but memories.
W.B Yeats
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November
Mood: Relaxing
Posted on 2010-10-29 11:57:04
Mirror in February
The day dawns, with scent of must and rain,
Of opened soil, dark trees, dry bedroom air.
Under the fading lamp, half dressed -- my brain
Idling on some compulsive fantasy --
I towel my shaven jaw and stop, and stare,
Riveted by a dark exhausted eye,
A dry downturning mouth.
It seems again that it is time to learn,
In this untiring, crumbling place of growth
To which, for the time being, I return.
Now plainly in the mirror of my soul
I read that I have looked my last on youth
And little more; for they are not made whole
That reach the age of Christ.
Below my window the wakening trees,
Hacked clean for better bearing, stand defaced
Suffering their brute necessities;
And how should the flesh not quail, that span for span
Is mutilated more? In slow distaste
I fold my towel with what grace I can,
Not young, and not renewable, but man.
Thomas Kinsella
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Futility
Mood: The Usual
Posted on 2010-10-24 17:24:43
Move him into the sun -
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds -
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides
Full-nerved, - still warm, - too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
- O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?
Wilfred Owen
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