That's good. I work with a guy called Pete Quinn. Not sure it is the same guy!
The poem reminded me of one of my favourite Nick Drake songs...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cche-h83qNQ
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That's good. I work with a guy called Pete Quinn. Not sure it is the same guy!
The poem reminded me of one of my favourite Nick Drake songs...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cche-h83qNQ
Mad Girl's Love Song
“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”
Sylvia Plath
You're
Slyvia Plath
Clownlike, happiest on your hands,
Feet to the stars, and moon-skulled,
Gilled like a fish. A common-sense
Thumbs-down on the dodo's mode.
Wrapped up in yourself like a spool,
Trawling your dark as owls do.
Mute as a turnip from the Fourth
Of July to All Fool's Day,
O high-riser, my little loaf.
Vague as fog and looked for like mail.
Farther off than Australia.
Bent-backed Atlas, our travelled prawn.
Snug as a bud and at home
Like a sprat in a pickle jug.
A creel of eels, all ripples.
Jumpy as a Mexican bean.
Right, like a well-done sum.
A clean slate, with your own face on.
oh is this about a pregnancy bump?
If you can keep your head,
When all about you are losing theirs,
Then why not treat yourself
To one of my exceedingly good cakes.
Kipling