everything is slipping from me today my memories, my past... I bend over backwards to hold but all the more is losing by my laughs, my happiness... with my mind I sieze them in my heart I preserve them not leaving behind anything from the pile scattered around of all precious things my musings, my love... as I sit in the middle of them and think of staking them gathering them together from my arms they fall my experiences, my life...
inspired by frost's poem...
THE ARMFUL For every parcel I stoop down to seize I lose some other off my arms and knees, And the whole pile is slipping, bottles, buns, Extremes too hard to comprehend at. once Yet nothing I should care to leave behind. With all I have to hold with hand and mind And heart, if need be, I will do my best. To keep their building balanced at my ***. I crouch down to prevent them as they fall; Then sit down in the middle of them all. I had to drop the armful in the road And try to stack them in a better load.
Top answer
inspiration of frost agin.. I wore the new moon on my heart as you wear a jewel I shone it with my tears as you shine gold I showed it to the world as you show your beloved I brought it over the water as you see your image I saw the wonder of colors as you watch the rainbow.
— Anita_a
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I wore the new moon on my heart as you wear a jewel I shone it with my tears as you shine gold I showed it to the world as you show your beloved I brought it over the water as you see your image I saw the wonder of colors as you watch the rainbow.
Hello, Anita – no, I've never taught poetry! It must be a strange job, especially in the afternoon. You would have to avoid very regular poems, after lunch. Thomas Hardy you would need to save for winter evenings, when it gets dark early; and I'm not sure you'd want to read Keats mid morning. With Browning, you would have to call the students back after 10pm; probably with candles. (There often s
Well, well, I appreciate your genius for poems. How do u know so much about poems if u don't teach them. Or maybe u are a research scholar in poetry genre, right?
Would u please see 'unfinished poem' and comment on that?
I'm at crossroads of my this life one road to beauty one to the ugly death one leads to immense happiness one to the eternal myth how do I travel now which do I chose the best a road of innumerable worries, a road of eternal peace. I stopped at the bend I looked at the roads I walked along the
I started at the top of the board again and have only just reached Poetry. I have to disappear now, but tomorrow (when my synapses have repaired themselves) I'll start here first and read through everything!