Anne Pennington
Until her last breath she enlarges
Her Oxford house
Built in Slavonic
Vowels and consonants
She polishes the corner-stones
Until their Anglo-Saxon shine
Begins to sing
Her death is like a short breath-stop
Under the distant limetrees of her friends
Trans. by Peter Jay, Anthony Rudolf, and Daniel Weissbort
Anonymous submission.
poem by Vasko Popa
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Related quotes
In A Breath
Life is only one breath after another,
We are the ones who control our breaths, not oneanother.
A breath is all it takes,
To make a breath.
In a breath you could stop,
In a breath you could drop,
In a breath anything could happen,
In a breath anything could happen.
Life is the journey down a pathway,
Of which stones are breaths that show you the way.
A path to eternity, to forever.
Where you shall stay forever and ever.
In a breath you could die,
In a breath you could fly,
In a breath anything could happen,
In a breath anything could happen.
Tomorrow is yet a turn,
A turn you may not reach, but only a breath can determine,
You don't know when your final turn comes.
You do not know what you will become.
In a breath you could win,
In a breath you could sin.
In a breath anything could happen,
anything could happen.
Life is but a breath,
Air is but a breath,
In life you will find the truth,
And find air is the proof.
In a breath you could find nothing,
In a breath you could find everything,
In a breath anything could happen,
In a breath anything could happen.
You travel down a river,
Where bubbles are breaths and you are the giver.
The giver of ripples, of currents,
Of which for endurence.
In a breath you could loose,
In a breath you could choose.
In a breath anything could happen
In a breath anything could happen.
Follow the river of dreams to the sea.
This is eternity you will see.
Breath avery breath,
As if it were your last breath.
In a breath you could sail.
In a breath you could fail.
In a breath anything could happen,
anything could happen.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With A Few Good Friends
(Carly Simon)
With a few good friends
And a stick or two
A house is built at a corner called Pooh
With a friend and a stick
Or three or four
A house is built where it wasn't before
With a window here
And there a door
And a nail and peg
For the coat of Eeyore
With a few good friends
And a stick or two
A house is built at a corner called Pooh
With a friend and a stick
Or three or four
A house is built where it wasn't before
Dress it down
Or dress it up
Invite Tigger for tea
And Owl for supper
With a few good friends
And a stick or two
A house is built at a corner called Pooh
With a friend and a stick
Or three or four
A house is built where it wasn't before
With a few good friends...
[Repeat and fade]
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The First Dream
The Wind is ghosting around the house tonight
and as I lean against the door of sleep
I begin to think about the first person to dream,
how quiet he must have seemed the next morning
as the others stood around the fire
draped in the skins of animals
talking to each other only in vowels,
for this was long before the invention of consonants.
He might have gone off by himself to sit
on a rock and look into the mist of a lake
as he tried to tell himself what had happened,
how he had gone somewhere without going,
how he had put his arms around the neck
of a beast that the others could touch
only after they had killed it with stones,
how he felt its breath on his bare neck.
Then again, the first dream could have come
to a woman, though she would behave,
I suppose, much the same way,
moving off by herself to be alone near water,
except that the curve of her young shoulders
and the tilt of her downcast head
would make her appear to be terribly alone,
and if you were there to notice this,
you might have gone down as the first person
to ever fall in love with the sadness of another.
poem by Billy Collins
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Out of the simple consonants of the alphabet and our eleven vowels and diphthongs all possible syllables of a certain sort were constructed, a vowel sound being placed between two consonants.
quote by Hermann Ebbinghaus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Rendezvous on Champs-Elysees
Leave Paris in the morning on T.E.E.
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
In Vienna we sit in a late-night cafe
Straight connection, T.E.E.
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
From station to station
back to Dusseldorf City
Meet Iggy Pop and David Bowie
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
Trans-Europe Express
song performed by by Kraftwerk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Morning
We are what we repeatedly do.
—Aristotle
You know how it is waking
from a dream certain you can fly
and that someone, long gone, returned
and you are filled with longing,
for a brief moment, to drive off
the road and feel nothing
or to see the loved one and feel
everything. Perhaps one morning,
taking brush to hair you'll wonder
how much of your life you've spent
at this task or signing your name
or rising in fog in near darkness
to ready for work. Day begins
with other people's needs first
and your thoughts disperse like breath.
In the in-between hour, the solitary hour,
before day begins all the world
gradually reappears car by car.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Deborah Ager
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Reaction Paper
Michael Rose
English 101
'Fender Bender' Short Response
September 29,2009
The short story, 'Fender Bender, ' by Ramon 'Tiangus' Perez,
portrays the prejudiced state in which the contemporary society in
America regards illegally immigrated peoples. The anecdotal
experience which Perez divulges furthermore demonstrates an inter-
cultural conflict between Mexican immigrants: those who have become
Americanized and those who have clung onto the the cultural
idiosyncrosies of Mexico. In the short story, this conflict is catalyzed
over language-preference divergencies between a 'Chicano' cop and
a Mexican semaritan. On the other hand, however, the role which is
carried out by the 'Anglo-saxon' male, who is involved in the fender
bender with Perez, semphores a present-day change which is taking
place in those outlooks held by the base, Caucasian population within
America; the 'Anglo-saxon' insists against those legal complications
with which the 'Chicano' cop desires to have pass upon Perez.
Ultimately, the corruption of the system succeeds, however; the cop
forces Perez to lock his car keys within the vehicle, and proceed to
walk away from the vehicle, into the distance and down the block.
Perez is rescued by a meager hanger on a a street corner.
poem by Michael Timothy Rose
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Danish Language
With vowels and consonants
like English or Cebuano
but with ø, å and æ,
strange vowels to read
What is seen or read
is not the same as heard or said.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oxford Town
Oxford town, oxford town
Evrybodys got their heads bowed down
The sun dont shine above the ground
Aint a-goin down to oxford town
He went down to oxford town
Guns and clubs followed him down
All because his face was brown
Better get away from oxford town
Oxford town around the bend
He come in to the door, he couldnt get in
All because of the color of his skin
What do you think about that, my frien?
Me and my gal, my gals son
We got met with a tear gas bomb
I dont even know why we come
Goin back where we come from
Oxford town in the afternoon
Evrybody singin a sorrowful tune
Two men died neath the mississippi moon
Somebody better investigate soon
Oxford town, oxford town
Evrybodys got their heads bowed down
The sun dont shine above the ground
Aint a-goin down to oxford town
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unable To Link...
your inability to link
even to the simplest vowel
have given birth
to more consonants
and being so
the world cannot anymore speak
and now no one hears
what ought to be said...
it is always a series of departures
a train not stopping
and without breaks it falls on a deep ravine
without the vowels
you shout for help and now it comes back to you
the misfortunes that you are giving
the consonants bury you
soundlessly.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Trans Europa Express
Trans Europa Express
Trans Europa Express
Trans Europa Express
Trans Europa Express
Rendez-vous auf den Champs Elysees
Verlass Paris am Morgen mit dem TEE
Trans Europa Express
Trans Europa Express
Trans Europa Express
Trans Europa Express
In Wien sitzen wir im Nachtcafe
Direkt Verbindung TEE
Trans Europa Express
Trans Europa Express
Trans Europa Express
Trans Europa Express
Wir laufen 'rein in Duesseldorf City
Und treffen Iggy Pop und David Bowie
song performed by by Kraftwerk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mortification
How soon doth man decay!
When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets
To swaddle infants, whose young breath
Scarce knows the way;
Those clouts are little winding-sheets,
Which do consign and send them unto Death.
When boyes go first to bed,
They step into their voluntarie graves;
Sleep binds them fast; onely their breath
Makes them not dead:
Successive nights, like rolling waves,
Convey them quickly who are bound for Death.
When Youth is frank and free,
And calls for musick, while his veins do swell,
All day exchanging mirth and breath
In companie,
That musick summons to the knell
Which shall befriend him at the house of Death.
When man grows staid and wise,
Getting a house and home, where he may move
Within the circle of his breath,
Schooling his eyes,
That dumbe inclosure maketh love
Unto the coffin, that attends his death.
When Age grows low and weak,
Marking his grave, and thawing ev'ry year,
Till all do melt and drown his breath
When he would speak,
A chair or litter shows the biere
Which shall convey him to the house of Death.
Man, ere he is aware,
Hath put together a solemnitie,
And drest his hearse, while he has breath
As yet to spare;
Yet, Lord, instruct us so to die,
That all these dyings may be LIFE in DEATH.
poem by George Herbert
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My Song
I have no song
But still I sing
I let my voice
Fly on wing
For even though
My heart is bare
I have a song
Yet to spare
The song I sing
It has not one word
But far and wide
It's ever heard
My song is
Universal see
Song of wild
Always free
Sung by many
Sung by one
Sung beneath
A dying sun
Song of joy
Yet song of pain
Song of long nights
In the rain
Song of battles
Song of strife
Song of death
But also life
I'll sing untill
I have no breath
And then I'll sing
My song in death
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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If You Can't Dig Me
Do them not me like your enemy.
To lock me tight to stop the very breath I breathe!
Do them not me like your enemy.
To lock me tight to stop the very breath I breathe!
I'm not your property...
A dangled piece of meat.
No trophy to exploit,
To sneeze away like sleaze.
I'm not your property,
Or an ego tease.
With shine to rust or tarnish,
By neglect that bleeds.
Do them not me like your enemy.
To lock me tight to stop the very breath I breathe!
Do them not me like your enemy.
To lock me tight to stop the very breath I breathe!
I'm not a dropp you pop!
Just to say you've got.
If you can't dig me...
I wont break down in shock!
If you can't dig me...
I wont wither and rot!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Far Within Us #6
From the wrinkle between my brows
You watch till day breaks
On my face
The waxen night
Is beginning to singe
The fingers of dawn
Black bricks
Have already tiled
The whole dome of the sky
Trans. by Anne Pennington
Anonymous submission.
poem by Vasko Popa
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Give Me Back My Rags
Just come to my mind
My thoughts will scratch out your face
Just come into my sight
My eyes will start snarling at you
Just open your mouth
My silence will smash your jaws
Just remind me of you
My remembering will paw up the ground under your feet
That's what it's come to between us
Trans. by Anne Pennington
Anonymous submission.
poem by Vasko Popa
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Death seems to provide the minds of the Anglo-Saxon race with a greater fund of amusement than any other single subject.
quote by Dorothy L. Sayers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Last Breath
Don't take it now
Your last breath
Wondering how
Your last breath
All that it means
And all that it does
Your last breath
Fitting everything in
Just before you take
Your last breath
Want to take mine
Before you've taken yours
Your last breath
Shutting your already opened doors
Your last breath
Don't do it yet
There's plenty to do
If you take yours
I'll take mine too
Your last breath
Please don't
Your not ready yet
Your very last breath
poem by Lucy Vernezze
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Far Within Us #5
The nights are running out of darkness
Steel branches grasp
The arms of passers-by
Only anonymour chimneys
Are free to walk the streets
Which slice across our sleeplessness
In the gutters our stars decay
Trans. by Anne Pennington
Anonymous submission.
poem by Vasko Popa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Far Within Us #4
Green gloves rustle
On the avenue's branches
The evening carries us under its arm
By a path which leaves no trace
The rain falls on its knees
Before the fugitive windows
The yards come out of their gates
And stand looking after us
Trans. by Anne Pennington
Anonymous submission.
poem by Vasko Popa
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