sometimes i take a Showerwith the lights off.but before i even finish showering, i turn the lights back On,because i remember how afraid of the dark i am. sometimes i go to the Airportand just sit in there for a few hours.because i like watching people Reunite. sometimes i cut my Fingernails way too short.like, down to the quicks.because it’s an odd feeling, the way my fingertips Hurtevery time i touch something. sometimes i go out in public without my Shoes,because i like feeling the Real ground,not just the inside of my shoes. sometimes i re-arrange my Bedroom,but then i change it right back because everyone knows that there isn’t a single person in the world that isn’t afraid of Change. sometimes i try reading books Upside-downbecause i think thats what it would be like if i couldn’tRead at all.
"A Working List of Things I Will Never Tell You"Jon Sands When I said I wasn’t with another girlthe January after we fell in love for the 3rd time,it’s because it wasn’t actual sex. In the February that began our radio silence,it was actual sex. I hate the tight shirtsthat go below your waistline. Not only do they make you look too young,but then your torso is a giraffe’s neck attached to tiny legs.I screamed at myself in the subway for writing poems about you still.I made a scene.
accent: emphasis given a syllable in ordinary usage, as provided by a pronouncing dictionary. See also stress. accentual-syllabic: the prosodic mode that dominated English-language poetry 1400-1900, and that this tutorial exclusively addresses. Alike distinct from verse that is quantitative (measuring duration, as in classical Greek and Latin), accentual (counting only beats, as in Old English), and syllabic (counting only syllables, as in certain: 20th-cy. experiments), accentual-syllabic verse is based on recurrent units (feet) that combine slacks and stresses in fixed sequence.
I could have kissed you under cherry blossoms, pale petals drifting down like the trees wanted to pretend they could be snowclouds. I could have kissed you in the rain, drenched to our bones and not even caring that the skies opened up above us and tried to wash us out. I could have kissed you in a clearing in the most secluded woods, with just the sound of wind rustling through the leaves and a few voyeuristic finches peeping at us. Instead, I kissed you in the parking lot of a Waffle House, just shy of 2 a.m. in the middle of a hectic week, with our waitress grinning at us from the other side of the window, because, honestly, how could I not?
A selection of great poems from centuries of brillant authors and poets. Whether you are new to the world of poetry and wish to savor it, or a well-versed poetry connoisseur, either way you will probably enjoy the classics of world poetry. The poems are sorted by vote. To vote for a poem, click on the
Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep is a poem written in 1932 by Mary Elizabeth Frye. Although the origin of the poem was disputed until later in her life, Mary Frye's authorship was confirmed in 1998 after research by Abigail Van Buren, a newspaper columnist. Full text Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there; I do not sleep.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. "Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!" He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought-- So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought.