Thursday, April 1, 2010

Poetry Blitz, One.


This post is the first installation of book ends'
National Poetry Month poetry blitz! Read about it here.


The Poet with His Face in His Hands
[Appeared in The New Yorker, reprinted in Best American Poetry 2006]

You want to cry aloud for your
mistakes. But to tell the truth the world
doesn't need anymore of that sound.
So if you're going to do it and can't
stop yourself, if your pretty mouth can't
hold it in, at least go by yourself across
the forty fields and the forty dark inclines
of rocks and water to the place where
the falls are flinging out their white sheets
like crazy, and there is a cave behind all that
jubilation and water fun and you can
stand there, under it, and roar all you
want and nothing will be disturbed; you can
drip with despair all afternoon and still,
on a green branch, its wings just lightly touched
by the passing foil of the water, the thrush,
puffing out its spotted breast, will sing
of the perfect, stone-hard beauty of everything.

L. Stacks

Image: weheartit

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