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An Old Man's Winter Night by Robert Frost



All out of doors looked darkly in at him
Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.
What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze
Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.
What kept him from remembering what it was
That brought him to that creaking room was age.
He stood with barrels round him -- at a loss.
And having scared the cellar under him
In clomping there, he scared it once again
In clomping off; -- and scared the outer night,
Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar
Of trees and crack of branches, common things,
But nothing so like beating on a box.
A light he was to no one but himself
Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,
A quiet light, and then not even that.
He consigned to the moon, such as she was,
So late-arising, to the broken moon
As better than the sun in any case
For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,
His icicles along the wall to keep;
And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt
Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,
And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.
One aged man -- one man -- can't keep a house,
A farm, a countryside, or if he can,
It's thus he does it of a winter night.

here

Date: 2006-02-08 01:17 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] poemtree.livejournal.com
The Quiet World
by Jeffrey McDaniel

In an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
the government has decided to allot
each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it
to my ear without saying hello.
In the restaurant I point
at chicken noodle soup. I am
adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long
distance lover and proudly say
I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn't respond, I know
she's used up all her words
so I slowly whisper I love you,
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.

Re: here

Date: 2006-02-08 01:28 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] vriad-lee.livejournal.com
i mean, it's a good poem

Re: here

Date: 2006-02-08 02:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] vriad-lee.livejournal.com
lindsay, making collages, sitting with her scissors, listening to songs about dying girls on repeat, she turns pages of her magazine and squints her eyes at the tall american soldiers fighting for freedom in a foreign land. soldiers squint back at her, they find her pretty, maybe not the prettiest girl in the world, but still. but it's time, time for coffee, time for a fuck, boys, let's wave to lindsay, let's wish her good luck. GOOD LUCK YOU BITCH GOOD FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK

Re: here

Date: 2006-02-08 03:22 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] poemtree.livejournal.com
i will marry the next man who tells me that i am the prettiest. or rather, his prettiest.

Re: here

Date: 2006-02-08 06:36 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] vriad-lee.livejournal.com
that prettiest girl business is the most ridiculous thing i know about you. 99% of men telling that to you, or anyone else, are shallow, cringing, manipulative nauseating liers. if you make a point of not marrying anyone capable of saying such abominable things, you'll be better off, and very much so, i think

Re: here

Date: 2006-02-08 06:42 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] vriad-lee.livejournal.com
did you like my POEM about you anyway. why do you never tell me?

Re: here

Date: 2006-02-08 03:34 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] poemtree.livejournal.com
yes regardless of it being cruel.

Re: here

Date: 2006-02-08 03:35 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] vriad-lee.livejournal.com
what, what's cruel about it??

Re: here

Date: 2006-02-08 06:18 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] vriad-lee.livejournal.com
yes i know, i'm being rude all the time. that's because you're so cool and liberal. please excuse me.

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