Recent content by Danny Rose

I read the first stanza and the words trail off into the melody of the line. Damn you, Keats! Damn you!

. The time has come for mixing: —Affluence Was ne’er so rough and tumble as this sheer Aggressive thrust of wit, this penitence, Despairing gravity its own despair, And doing so sets forth—( “O durst he dare?!” )— Into the clearing air a steaming load Which flush of violet might inspire a toad...

1) Despair is not a steed until it flies. It is despair. Rose is a rose E white, I read. Let us talk of a great ocean soaking earth with old sonnets the odor of a red, red rose: To be happy people hunger for the odor of old sonnets. To be healthy people hunger salad. Everybody hungers A U I O...

. Often when flowers bloom there are the green stems of roses that carry their own tragic intensity, and that sudden flush in the cheeks is a jealousy, creeping up from the spine. — Out of me, as a world, I might hope to include me in the text, supposing nothing but the link, between the...

east is earth- bound, God! when you look at the flickering bulb, or a reel of film on its spool, you can forget about the swell of the tide as being fixed, like some ritual held at 5’oclock Mass

a stripe for Rauschenberg is a stripe for me / what’s more America than a bucket of tools and a portrait of Lincoln? A Deep South reliquary plastering images of the old farmer, the shed and the carburetor on a flat wall. Fix a wire-screen door down and you’ve got a real piece The door would even...

The expectation was the worst of it. Lifting the left leg, placing the right thigh, Successive little phrases, bounds apart, Isolated in continuity, Tightly wound, then quickly trussed together As some metre cuts each second apart — A wakefulness, intent on catching sleep In the act of rising...

In every needle stitched and sowed, the sapling Of a soul within an iron vase: A voice within a word: Tower of industry! Whose steely chassis marks the very boundaries Of its own unbounding in the sounding Of the pillar of a phrase. And Built! The Tower Built! Careful, watch it waver On a turn...

Interesting. The only time the metre faulted for me was in the second to last line. I would chance to ask you, considering the nature of the poem, about a comment you left me yesterday. You said that my poetry would improve (on a professional level I suppose) if I confined myself to a metre...

NO! there isn’t any match I’d rather have I’d give all the cigarettes in Hell to see you naked just just just once I think myself a rather creep at times but then Fitzgerald reminds me we all stalk women now and again it’s mechanical like osmosis, or defecation there’s a real science to it and...

Flower-- Flowers of mysterious consciousness littered in asexual commune upon the gurgling banks of all illusion. Flowers of identical individual being, no different from a proton-- wilting and nodding in magnetism, with the indifference of an amoeba, floating along the current of the...

Here is a link to a more modern poet, Lawrence Ferlinghetti. http://www.think-ink.net/visit/waiting.htm The poem is called "I am Waiting." If you don't like it, there is no hope for your poetic future.

What could I say to the starry dynamo? He delivers packages and some people think that they’re bombs and they’re abominable and surreptitious and some think they might be filled with packaging materials and they could crack each one as if it was a flavored allegory. What could we do for the...

I think you've defeated the English language

a dog wanders maybe and he’s thinking about rabbits and bones without a language and he might die in a meadow that is very fertile where a tree grows one day and the leaves will bark with knowledge of the world but no one will hear or listen because it is unintelligible like poems in the breeze...