I like poetry. Here are some of my favorites.
Bluebeard, by Edna St. Vincent Milay This door you might not open, and you did; So enter now, and see for what slight thing You are betrayed. . . . Here is no treasure hid, No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain For greed like yours, no writhings of distress, But only what you see. . . . Look yet again-- An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless. Yet this alone out of my life I kept Unto myself, lest any know me quite; And you did so profane me when you crept Unto the threshold of this room to-night That I must never more behold your face. This now is yours. I seek another place.
Oh, Oh, You Will Be Sorry, by Edna St. Vincent Milay Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word! Give me back my book and take my kiss instead. Was it my enemy or my friend I heard, "What a big book for such a little head!" Come, I will show you now my newest hat, And you may watch me purse my mouth and prink! Oh, I shall love you still, and all of that. I never again shall tell you what I think. I shall be sweet and crafty, soft and sly; You will not catch me reading any more: I shall be called a wife to pattern by; And some day when you knock and push the door, Some sane day, not too bright and not too stormy, I shall be gone, and you may whistle for me.
My Lady's Law, by Rudyard Kipling The Law whereby my lady moves was never Law to me, But 'tis enough that she approves Whatever Law it be. For in that Law, and by that Law, My constant course I'll steer; Not that I heed or deem it dread, But that she holds it dear. 'Tho Asia sent for my content Her richest argosies, Those would I spurn, and bid return, If that should give her ease. With equal heart I'd watch depart Each spiced sail from sight; Sans bitterness, desiring less Great gear than her delight. Though Kings made swift with many a gift My proven sword to hire- I would not go nor serve 'em so - Except at her desire. With even mind, I'd put behind Adventure and acclaim, And clean give o'er, esteeming more Her favour than my fame. Yet such am I, yea, such am I - Sore bond and freest free, The Law that sways my lady's ways Is mystery to me!
FIGHTING WORDS Say my love is easy had, Say I'm bitten raw with pride, Say I am too often sad -- Still behold me at your side. Say I'm neither brave nor young, Say I woo and coddle care, Say the devil touched my tongue -- Still you have my heart to wear. But say my verses do not scan, And I get me another man! -- Dorothy Parker (1893-1967)
THEORY Into love and out again, Thus I went and thus I go. Spare your voice, and hold your pen: Well and bitterly I know All the songs were ever sung, All the words were ever said; Could it be, when I was young, Someone dropped me on my head? -- Dorothy Parker (1893-1967)
Hug O' War I will not play at tug o' war. I'd rather play at hug o' war, Where everyone hugs Instead of tugs, Where everyone giggles And rolls on the rug, Where everyone kisses, And everyone grins, And everyone cuddles, And everyone wins. -- Shel Silverstein
Chaucer and Shakespeare happened to die at the exact same instant, and therefore went to be admitted to heaven at the same time. Upon arriving at the Pearly Gates, they were met by St. Peter St. Peter: " Unfortunately, we only have one slot available. To be fair, I want you both to write a four line poem ending with the word "Timbuktu". Whoever writes the best poem will be admitted to heaven." Chaucer and Shakespeare, both being competitive by nature, readily agreed. It was decided that Chaucer would go first. Chaucer's poem: " I gazed across the blowing sand a very tired and thirsty man, A caravan came into view making its' way to Timbuktu." St. Peter and Shakespeare both agreed that that was a very good poem. Then it was Shakespeare's turn. Shakespeare's poem: " Tim and I a hunting went we found three damsels in a tent, as they were three, and we were two, I bucked one and Timbuktu" Chaucer suddenly began to feel very warm ...
Last Modified: The Closing Days of the Milleninum
Patri Friedman / patri@izzy.com