The eighth day of the week;
the thirty-second day of the month;
the thirteenth month of the year;
The day that’s not on the calendar,
Yet never off it in your mind;
The loneliest day of your life
which everyone shares;
The most unreal day
Yet most real;
The longest day
which hasn’t ended yet;
The day whose hurt you want to forget
Yet want to remember in every detail
So that it can hurt more;
Yes, how can I forget –
it’s the day you went away.
all my poems andcomment (you’ll enjoy them) ‘- whenyou haven’t the courtesyor even the guileto read just the odd poemof mine? Why should youtrust the judgement of a poetyou don’t even admire ordespise?OK I’ll have cooled tomorrow butI’m glad I’ve let off steamandby the way that first bit appliesto older acquaintances too.‘Lousy poet butgood for…
God smiles on him, would berabbit-stunned beyond reaction;but, inspect him thoroughly from toeto top (leaving aside his as yetcreditable carbon footprint; cash-strappedis carbon-friendly) :the trainers, sweat-made in the Third World,now look as if they’re back there; they’ve been knownto walk out of the room from under the bedin sheer self-disgust;the forever jeans, customised witha designer…
would acknowledge it – you were, and I guess still are,the most famous and popular poet ofthe 20th century – to Americans at least;though since we’re now into the 21st century,it’s appropriate that you’re being pushed hard, even overtaken,at least in the charts here on Poemhunter.comby the Afro-American and Spanish-American poets;and your ‘The Road Not…
fallone byoneuntil.backwardsfilmtherunNowa minor miracleof memoryin two dimensionsonce three.you.I.whoholdst he cameranow?
Suppose your spelling, dropp by droppran PCs short, all crashing, *lo*,and *oets had to write their *oetrywithout the strength to hold their *!It could reduce dear England’s languageand cause considerable *oetic anguish(and by ‘England’s language’, AJS,I do not mean… well, you can guess…)Would Doctor Nerd-like surgeryhelp remove that extrusive *?‘twould be a cut to *lease…
and saying how lucky they wereto meet each other at lastand said to me in a dream,‘Those clever people who saythat our poems in translationare nothing like the originalshould shut their mouths and writethe same poem in the two languageswhich they think they know so well…we’ll wait here for them…here where poetry and wineand fragrant…
