My Generation Reading The Newspapers
We must be slow and delicate; return the policeman's stare with some esteem, remember this is not a shadow play of doves and geese but this is now the time to write it down, record the words— I mean we should have left some pride of youth and not forget the destiny of men who say goodbye to the wives and homes they've read about at breakfast in a restaurant: "My love."—without regret or bitterness obtain the measure of the stride we make, the latest song has chosen a theme of love delivering us from all evil—destroy. . . ? why no. . . this too is fanciful. . . funny how hard it is to be slow and delicate in this, this thing of framing words to mark this grave I mean nothing short of blood in every street on earth can fitly voice the loss of these.
Kenneth Patchen
Other author posts
The Snow Is Deep On The Ground
The snow is deep on the ground Always the light falls Softly down on the hair of my belovèd This is a good world The war has failed
The Deer And The Snake
The deer is humble, lovely as God made her I watch her eyes and think of wonder owned These strange priests enter the cathedral of woods And seven Marys clean their hands to woo her Foot lifted, dagger-sharp—her ears Poised to their points like a ...
The Rites Of Darkness
The sleds of the children Move down the right slope To the left, hazed in the tumbling air, A thousand lights smudge Within the branches of the old forest, Like colored moons in a well of milk
We Go Out Together In the Staring Town
We go out together into the staring And buy cheese and bread and little jugs withflowered Everywhere is a tent where we put on our whirling showA great deal has been said of the handless Which war has set loose in the gay milk of
