Burnside
Burnside, Burnside, whither doth thou wander?
Up stream, down stream, like a crazy gander?
- Read more about Burnside
- Log in or register to post comments
Burnside, Burnside, whither doth thou wander?
Up stream, down stream, like a crazy gander?
Of the modern versifications of
ancient legendary tales. - An impromptu.
The tender infant, meek and mild,
Fell down upon the stone:
The nurse took p the squealing child,
But still the child squeal'd on.
Things that go 'bump' in the night
Should not really give one a fright.
It's the hole in each ear
That lets in the fear,
That, and the absence of light!
Some in front rank will defiant
Boldly place the Poet Bryant.
Home alone, late at night, doing what I always do. I’m rowing. Sitting on my kitchen chair, chained to an oar, I’m one of a hundred slaves making sure that the galley keeps moving forward through a sea that is sometimes calm, sometimes raging. Forward, to that distant port where, so rumour has it, we’ll be set free, at long last, after all these years. The others, my brothers in chains, sitting in chairs in their own kitchens in this huge sprawl of public housing, rowing ceaselessly, with a strength they didn’t know they possessed.
Broderet paa et Guitarbaand
til en Kriger
Sang i Hjerte, Sværd i Haand,
Over Dig den danske Aand.
Bort med Taarer, bort med Suk!
Verden er kun lys og smuk!
Stjernen blinker fra det blaae,
Gud er med os hvor vi gaae!
Have I broken the smaller tabernacles, O Lord?
And in the destruction of these set up the greater and massive, the everlasting tabernacles?
I know nothing today, what I have done and why, O Lord, only I have broken and broken tabernacles.
They were beautiful in a way, these tabernacles torn down by strong hands swearing—
They were beautiful—why did the hypocrites carve their own names on the corner-stones? why did the hypocrites keep on singing their own names in their long noses every Sunday in these tabernacles?
Bread and milk for breakfast,
And woollen frocks to wear,
And a crumb for robin redbreast
On the cold days of the year.
Sunrise on the bridge
light splashing through the arches
joggers chasing dreams
(Previously published in Poems Md, Apr 2008)