Whispers of Immortality - T.S. Eliot
March 7th 2008 09:03
Poetry of T. S. Eliot
Whispers of Immortality
Webster was much possessed by death
And saw the skull beneath the skin;
And breastless creatures under ground
Leaned backward with a lipless grin.
Daffodil bulbs instead of balls
He knew that thought clings round dead limbs
Tightening its lusts and luxuries.
Donne, I suppose, was such another
Who found no substitute for sense;
To seize and clutch and penetrate,
Expert beyond experience,
He knew the anguish of the marrow
The ague of the skeleton;
No contact possible to flesh
Allayed the fever of the bone.
. . . . .
Grishkin is nice: her
Russian eye is underlined for emphasis;
Uncorseted, her friendly bust
Gives promise of pneumatic bliss.
The couched Brazilian jaguar
Compels the scampering marmoset
With subtle effluence of cat;
Grishkin has a maisonette;
The sleek Brazilian jaguar
Does not in its arboreal gloom
Distil so rank a feline smell
As Grishkin in a drawing-room.
And even the Abstract Entities
Circumambulate her charm;
But our lot crawls between dry ribs
To keep our metaphysics warm.
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Comment by tlcorbin
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Comment by katyzzz
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Certainly the little local poetry club generally would not be much help.
They would just clasp their breasts/ chests, their own, hopefully not each others and declare how wonderful it all is.
Won't attract too many votes with that one.
Comment by tlcorbin
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A Global Citizen
Paranormal Paranormal
Is Why
Alaska Chronicle
Comment by katyzzz
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Poetry Lighthouse
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Actually I'm thinking of becoming Bill Gates, that'd be cool, as techno likes to say.
Comment by katyzzz
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