Okay, ready here come master poems
The Soul selects her own Society —
Then — shuts the Door —
To her divine Majority —
Present no more —
Unmoved — she notes the Chariots — pausing —
At her low Gate —
Unmoved — an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat —
I’ve known her — from an ample nation —
Choose One —
Then — close the Valves of her attention —
Like Stone —
Miss Emily says piss off- you have no interest in my talent, you've not shunned me, nor have I shunned you.
My world is immense, forest, flowers, pain, confusion, but you have no interest. Therefore, I've written a bill of divorce:
I will stay in my world, you yours. Pay heed to the sign on the door: Private, no trespassing..
Now for grit:
Death of the Ball Turret Gunner" is a five-line poem by
Randall Jarrell published in 1945. It is about the death of a
gunner in a
Sperry ball turret on a World War II
American bomber aircraft.
From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
Number 2
Now an oldie, but goodie:
THE Eagle
By
Alfred, Lord Tennyson
How’s this for imagery
He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ring'd with the azure world, he stands.
The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.
NUNBER 3
Death of the Ball Turret Gunner" is a five-line poem by
Randall Jarrell published in 1945. It is about the death of a
gunner in a
Sperry ball turret on a World War II
American bomber aircraft.
From my mother's sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
Wow, line one and two, his passage down the birth canal, still wet with afterbirth, just an innocent,,,
This newborn knows nothing of war: Yet the state grabs him, but him in a bomber where the NIGHTMARE FIGHTERS fine him.
A grateful nation honors him by washing him out of his sanctuary with a hose.
The brevity of the poem emphasizes it's power. You'll not find better.
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