Saturday, February 21, 2015

Poetry about Escape: Playlist for February 20, 2015


Prose Poem ("The morning coffee.")

By  Ron Padgett  


The morning coffee. I'm not sure why I drink it. Maybe it's the ritual

of the cup, the spoon, the hot water, the milk, and the little heap of

brown grit, the way they come together to form a nail I can hang the

day on. It's something to do between being asleep and being awake.

Surely there's something better to do, though, than to drink a cup of

instant coffee. Such as meditate? About what? About having a cup of

coffee. A cup of coffee whose first drink is too hot and whose last drink

is too cool, but whose many in-between drinks are, like Baby Bear's por-

ridge, just right. Papa Bear looks disgruntled. He removes his spectacles

and swivels his eyes onto the cup that sits before Baby Bear, and then,

after a discrete cough, reaches over and picks it up. Baby Bear doesn't

understand this disruption of the morning routine. Papa Bear brings

the cup close to his face and peers at it intently. The cup shatters in his

paw, explodes actually, sending fragments and brown liquid all over the

room. In a way it's good that Mama Bear isn't there. Better that she rest

in her grave beyond the garden, unaware of what has happened to the

REFLECTIVE MUSIC: Coffee and Cakes by Charles Chaplin




By  Thomas Traherne  



To walk abroad is, not with eyes,


But thoughts, the fields to see and prize;


         Else may the silent feet,


                Like logs of wood,


Move up and down, and see no good


         Nor joy nor glory meet.



Ev’n carts and wheels their place do change,


But cannot see, though very strange


         The glory that is by;


                Dead puppets may


Move in the bright and glorious day,


         Yet not behold the sky.



And are not men than they more blind,


Who having eyes yet never find


         The bliss in which they move;


                Like statues dead


They up and down are carried


         Yet never see nor love.



To walk is by a thought to go;


To move in spirit to and fro;


         To mind the good we see;


                To taste the sweet;


Observing all the things we meet


         How choice and rich they be.



To note the beauty of the day,


And golden fields of corn survey;


         Admire each pretty flow’r


                With its sweet smell;


To praise their Maker, and to tell


         The marks of his great pow’r.



To fly abroad like active bees,


Among the hedges and the trees,


         To cull the dew that lies


                On ev’ry blade,


From ev’ry blossom; till we lade


         Our minds, as they their thighs.



Observe those rich and glorious things,


The rivers, meadows, woods, and springs,


         The fructifying sun;


                To note from far


The rising of each twinkling star


         For us his race to run.



A little child these well perceives,


Who, tumbling in green grass and leaves,


         May rich as kings be thought,


                But there’s a sight


Which perfect manhood may delight,


         To which we shall be brought.



While in those pleasant paths we talk,


’Tis that tow’rds which at last we walk;


         For we may by degrees


                Wisely proceed


Pleasures of love and praise to heed,


         From viewing herbs and trees.
REFLECTIVE MUSIC: Walking Tune by Percy Grainger

Ave Maria


By  Frank O'Hara  



Mothers of America


                                     let your kids go to the movies!


get them out of the house so they won’t know what you’re up to  


it’s true that fresh air is good for the body


                                                                             but what about the soul  


that grows in darkness, embossed by silvery images


and when you grow old as grow old you must


                                                                                they won’t hate you  


they won’t criticize you they won’t know


                                                                         they’ll be in some glamorous country  


they first saw on a Saturday afternoon or playing hookey



they may even be grateful to you


                                                            for their first sexual experience  


which only cost you a quarter


                                                       and didn’t upset the peaceful home  


they will know where candy bars come from


                                                                                 and gratuitous bags of popcorn  


as gratuitous as leaving the movie before it’s over


with a pleasant stranger whose apartment is in the Heaven on Earth Bldg  


near the Williamsburg Bridge


                                                       oh mothers you will have made the little tykes


so happy because if nobody does pick them up in the movies  


they won’t know the difference


                                                         and if somebody does it’ll be sheer gravy  


and they’ll have been truly entertained either way


instead of hanging around the yard


                                                                 or up in their room


                                                                                                     hating you


prematurely since you won’t have done anything horribly mean yet  


except keeping them from the darker joys


                                                                             it’s unforgivable the latter  


so don’t blame me if you won’t take this advice


                                                                                      and the family breaks up  


and your children grow old and blind in front of a TV set




movies you wouldn’t let them see when they were young
REFLECTIVE MUSIC: Music for Movies by Aaron Copland



The Kiss 

By  Kurt Brown  



That kiss I failed to give you.


How can you forgive me?


The kiss I would have spent on you is still


There, within me. It will probably die there.


But it will be the last of me to die.
REFLECTIVE MUSIC: Love Theme from "Cinema Paradiso" by Andrea Morricone

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