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Written by Timothy Sexton, Emily Warner and other people who wish to remainanonymous
Humanity I Love You
Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both
parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard
Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush pride keeps
you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house
Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down
on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity
i hate you
_______________________________________________________________________
"My Sweet Old Etcetera"
my sweet old etcetera
aunt lucy during the recent
war could and what
is more did tell you just
what everybody was fighting
for,
my sister
isabel created hundreds
(and
hundreds)of socks not to
mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers
etcetera wristers etcetera, my
mother hoped that
i would die etcetera
bravely of course my father used
to become hoarse talking about how it was
a privilege and if only he
could meanwhile my
self etcetera lay quietly
in the deep mud et
cetera
(dreaming,
et
cetera, of
Your smile
eyes knees and of your Etcetera)
________________________________________________________________
"(of Ever-Ever Land I speak"
(of Ever-Ever Land i speak
sweet morons gather roun'
who does not dare to stand or sit
may take it lying down)
down with the human soul
and anything else uncanned
for everyone carries canopeners
in Ever-Ever Land
(for Ever-Ever Land is a place
that's as simple as simple can be
and was built that way on purpose
by simple people like we)
down with hell and heaven
and all the religious fuss
infinity pleased our parents
one inch looks good to us
(and Ever-Ever Land is a place
that's measured and safe and known
where it's lucky to be unlucky
and the hitler lies down with the cohn)
down above all with love
and everything perverse
or which makes some feel more better
when all ought to feel less worse
(but only sameness is normal
in Ever-Ever Land
for a bad cigar is a woman
but a gland is only a gland)
___________________________________________________________________________________
"maggie and milly and molly and may"
maggie and milly and molly and may
went down to the beach(to play one day)
and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles,and
milly befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;
and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles:and
may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.
For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea
Thy fingers make early flowers of
Thy fingers make early flowers of
all things.
thy hair mostly the hours love:
a smoothness which
sings, saying
(though love be a day)
do not fear,we will go amaying.
thy whitest feet crisply are straying.
Always
thy moist eyes are at kisses playing,
whose strangeness much
says;singins
(though love be a day)
for which girl art though flowers bringing?
To be thy lips is a sweet thing
and small.
Death,Thee i call rich beyond wishing
if this thou catch,
else missing.
(though love be a day
and life be nothing,itshall not stop kissing).
in Just-
in Just-
spring when the worls is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman
whistles far and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring
when the world is puddle-wonderful
the queer
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyanddisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and
it's
spring
and
the
balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee
O sweet spontaneous
O sweet spontaneous
earth how often habe
the
doting
fingers of
prurient philosophers pinches
and
poked
thee
,has the naughty thumb
of science prodded
thy
beauty .how
often have religious taken
thee upon their scraggy knees
squeezing and
buffeting thee that thou mightiest conceive
gods
(but
true
to the incomparable
couch of death thy
rhythmic lover
thou answerest
them only with
spring)
Buffalo Bill's
Buffalo Bill 's
defunct
who used to
ride a watersmooth-silver
stallion
and break onetwothreefourfive pigeonjustlikethat
Jesus
he was a handsome man
and what i want to know is
how do you like your blueeyed boy
Mister Death
i sing of Olaf glas and big (excerpt)
i song of Olaf glad and big
whose warmest heart recoiled at war:
a conscientious object-or
his wellbelovéd colonel(trig
westpointer most succinctly bred)
took erring Olaf soon in hand;
but-though an host of overjoyed
noncoms(first, knocking on the head
him)do through icy eaters roll
that helplessness which others stroke
with brushes recently employed
anent this mussy toiletbowl,
while kindred intellects evoke
allegiance per blunt instruments-
Olaf(being to all intents
a corpse and wanting any rag
upon what God unto him gave)
responds,without getting annoyed
"I will not kiss your f*cking flag"
straightway the silver bird looked grave
(departing hurriedly to shave)
anyone lived in a pretty how town (excerpt)
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did.
Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain
children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grea
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more
when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she creid his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her
someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream
my father moved through dooms of love (excerpt)
my fahter moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of gice,
singing each morning out of each ngiht
my father moved through depths of height
this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that is(so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirk
newly as from unburied which
floats the first who,his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots
and should some why completely weep
my father's fingers brough her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.
Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved thorugh griefs of joy;
praising a forehead called the moon
singing desire into begin
-E.E. Cummings
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