Alone And Drinking Under The Moon

Amongst the flowers I am alone with my pot of wine drinking by myself; then lifting my cup I asked the moon to drink with me, its reflection and mine in the wine cup, just the three of us; then I sigh for the moon cannot drink, and my shadow goes emptily along with me never saying a word;

Drinking Alone

I take my wine jug out among the flowers to drink alone, without friends. I raise my cup to entice the moon. That, and my shadow, makes us three. But the moon doesn't drink, and my shadow silently follows. I will travel with moon and shadow,

A Deep-Sworn Vow

Others because you did not keep That deep-sworn vow have been friends of mine; Yet always when I look death in the face, When I clamber to the heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, Suddenly I meet your face.

Crossing The Border

Senescence begins And middle age ends The day your descendents Outnumber your friends.

First Fig

My candle burns at both ends; It will not last the night; But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends— It gives a lovely light.

Tower Of Song

Well my friends are gone and my hair is grey I ache in the places where I used to play And I'm crazy for love but I'm not coming on I'm just paying my rent every day Oh in the Tower of Song

From Sunset To Star Rise

Go from me, summer friends, and tarry not: I am no summer friend, but wintry cold, A silly sheep benighted from the fold, A sluggard with a thorn-choked garden plot. Take counsel, sever from my lot your lot, Dwell in your pleasant places, hoard your gold; Lest you with me should shiver on the wold, Athirst and hungering on a barren spot. For I have hedged me with a thorny hedge, I live alone, I look to die alone:

The Good, Great Man

'How seldom, friend! a good great man inherits Honour or wealth with all his worth and pains! It sounds like stories from the land of spirits If any man obtain that which he merits Or any merit that which he obtains.' Reply to the Above For shame, dear friend, renounce this canting strain! What would'st thou have a good great man obtain?

Before They Were Mothers

Before they were mothers Leto and Niobe had been the most devoted of friends

Friendship

Good friends are rare, Especially those, That really care, Who keep you, In their thoughts and heart, And never let you fall apart.

Money

When I had money, money, O! I knew no joy till I went poor; For many a false man as a friend Came knocking all day at my door. Then felt I like a child that holds A trumpet that he must not blow Because a man is dead; I dared Not speak to let this false world know. Much have I thought of life, and seen How poor men's hearts are ever light;

Happiness

Happiness is silent, or speaks equivocally for friends, Grief is explicit and her song never ends, Happiness is like England, and will not state a case, Grief, like Guilt, rushes in and talks apace.

My Friends

My friends without shields walk on the target It is late the windows are breaking My friends without shoes leave What they love Grief moves among them as a fire among Its bells My friends without clocks turn On the dial they turn

Travel

The railroad track is miles away, And the day is loud with voices speaking, Yet there isn't a train goes by all day But I hear its whistle shrieking. All night there isn't a train goes by, Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming, But I see its cinders red on the sky, And hear its engine steaming.

Days I Enjoy

Days I enjoy are days when nothing happens, When I have no engagements written on my block, When no one comes to disturb my inward peace, When no one comes to take me away from myself And turn me into a patchwork, a jig-saw puzzle, A broken mirror that once gave a whole reflection, Being so contrived that it takes too long a time To get myself back to myself when they have gone. The years are too strickly measured, and life too short For me to afford such bits of myself to my friends.

Ballad Of Dead Friends

As we the withered ferns By the roadway lying, Time, the jester, spurns All our prayers and prying -- All our tears and sighing, Sorrow, change, and woe -- All our where-and-whying For friends that come and go. Life awakes and burns,

♥ Friends ♥

Friends stay together through good and through bad Friends stay together through happy and sad Friends stay together through break-ups and tears Friends stay together over the years Friends stay together when different or alike

So Does Everybody Else, Only Not So Much

O all ye exorcizers come and exorcize now, and ye clergymen draw nigh and clerge, For I wish to be purged of an urge. It is an irksome urge, compounded of nettles and glue, And it is turning all my friends back into acquaintances, and all my acquaintances into people who look the other way when I heave into view. It is an indication that my mental buttery is butterless and my mental larder lardless, And it consists not of "Stop me if you've heard this one," but of "I know you've heard this one because I told it to you myself, but I'm going to tell it to you again regardless," Yes I fear I am living beyond my mental means. When I realize that it is not only anecdotes that I reiterate but what is far worse, summaries of radio programs and descriptions of caroons in newspapers and magazines. I want to resist but I cannot resist recounting the bright sayins of celebrities that everybody already is familiar with every word of; I want to refrain but cannot refrain from telling the same audience on two successive evenings the same little snatches of domestic gossip about people I used to know that they have never heard of. When I remember some titlating episode of my childhood I figure that if it's worth narrating once it's worth narrating twice, in spite of lackluster eyes and dropping jaws, And indeed I have now worked my way backward from titllating episodes in my own childhood to titillating episodes in the childhood of my parents or even my parents-in-laws, And what really turns my corpuscles to ice, I carry around clippings and read them to people twice. And I know what I am doing while I am doing it and I don't want to do it but I can't help doing it and I am just another Ancient Mariner, And the prospects for my future social life couldn't possibly be barrener. Did I tell you that the prospects for my future social life couldn't be barrener?

The Chipmunk

My friends all know that I am shy, But the chipmunk is twice and shy and I. He moves with flickering indecision Like stripes across the television. He's like the shadow of a cloud, Or Emily Dickinson read aloud.

'Poetic Pizza' Pieces For Poemhunter Pals....[fantasy Poem/Pizza Creation; Personal]

Kanav Justa suggested I share my pizza with PoemHunter friends, but I’ve found, when trying to send real pizza, my wife’s computer bends. So you PoemHunter friends will have to settle for.... slices of my thoughts. You’ll have to settle for “Poetic Pizza” Pieces my mind and pen have wrought. Instead of dough for its foundation, I use what I see and hear and think. Instead of an oven for baking, I bake on notebook pages (or paper scraps) with ink. Instead of tomato or pesto sauce I spread a layer of imagination and/or knowledge.