Day: April 5, 2023

Beautiful Poetry by Camille Guthrie | Poetry Foundation

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/56201/beautiful-poetry

I see you are wondering what this is all about. Don’t mind

me, I’m talking to myself again. Yes, poetry is nice and often beautiful,

yet it doesn’t beget much attention, money, or even a simple thanks

for placing the best words in the best order. That’s when I forget all about your

incessant demands, and the restless subject leaps the stream in Technicolor—

until the Remembrancer appears and says, Stop this wasteful life.

Thank you for your funny face

Thanks for all those calls and letters
Thanks for caring that I’m here.
In my darkest, lonesome moments
These replies will keep you near.

Thanks for answering all my emails
Thank you for the hours you give.
Thanks for sharing heartfelt thoughts
And being so generous with your love.

Thank you for your wit and grace,
Thank for your funny face.
Thank you for your deep blue gaze and
Thank you for your warm embrace.

Thank you,thank you,thank you,thank.
Love you,love you,love you,Love.
Thank you,thank you,thanks to you,
Because,because,because,Because

I am a gleaming aubergine

I am a gleaming aubergine
in an oval dish
My purple skin is polished
Like BBC English.

I await my fate for I am ripe
My seeds fulfil my wish
Soon,soon the knife will cut me up
As corn in fields is threshed.

I’d rather lie in Egypt’s soil
By birds and insects bit
But here I am in England
Where irony is wit.

After cutting comes the salt
As in a bowl I sit
For I am moist like lady’s parts
As poets have much writ.

Moussaka is my destiny
And as you bite and chew
I shall be what Jesus was
And give my grace to you

I am fried in olive oil
To give me flavour ripe.
Dried in cloth and placed in pot
Atop the meat I ride.

My colour brings all eyes to me
As I lie in a heap.
Some like carrot heads so bright
Royal purple is my state.

So better than a lamb I am
For a sacrifice.
I am proud and gleam like gold
As Caesar-like I’m knifed.

My seeds through sewers deep shall pass
And somewhere come to grief.
I shall grow again and be
Portrayed by a leaf.

There is a space or void in our intent

Between the world and how we represent
The nameless by a name and even place,
There is a space or void in our intent.

What mother saw, what father really meant
How love and hate might intertwine in space?
In our own world, what can we represent?

In writing, there is lack and letters bent
Ancient writing often was erased
There is a space or void in our intent.

Today the sun is golden, gods descend.
With love, for moments, we are all embraced
Of the felt, what can we represent?

Our willingness unblinds the heart so rent
And then we see the face within his face
The space or void is in our interest.

I cross my face with fingers interlaced:
The crucifix, the love, the death of Christ
Between the world and what we may attempt
There is a space or void where he was sent.