Jan. 25th, 2011

The Romans

Jan. 25th, 2011 09:48 pm
bardachd: (Default)
Listen up. This is how
We're about to count from now on.

We got a one: I. We got a five: V.
We got a ten: X. We got a fifty: L.
We got a hundred: C. We got a five hundred: D.
Also plus we got a thousand: M.

That's it. That's all we need.
The fuck with dealing out letters
to two three four six seven eight nine,
eleven twelve thirteen etcetera.

Those motherfuckers can go eat shit.
The rule is: you add the little fish
if it comes after the big fish
because the big fish eats it, right?

When the little fish comes before
the big fish, you take it away -
on account of the big fish ain't
ate it yet, okay? Any questions?

Whaddya mean howdya write
one hundred and sixty-four?
Am I talking to myself here?
CLXIV. Dumbfuck.

This means Tony the Scribe
only needs to know seven letters
to run any number we tell him.
Okay, let's go eat Chinese.

(from: Brian McCabe, Zero, Edinburgh: Polygon, 2009.)
bardachd: (Default)
love is a deep and a dark and a lonely
and you take it deep take it dark
and take it with a lonely winding
and when the winding gets too lonely
then may come the windflowers
and the breath of wind over many flowers
winding its way out of many lonely flowers
waiting in rainleaf whispers
waiting in dry stalks of noon
wanting in a music of windbreaths
so you can take love as it comes keening
as it comes with a voice and a face
and you make a talk of it
talking to yourself a talk worth keeping
and you put it away for a keen keeping
and you find it to be a hoarding
and you give it away and yet it stays hoarded

like a book read over and over again
like one book being a long row of books
like leaves of windflowers bending low
and bending to be never broken

Carl Sandburg
bardachd: (Default)
There's something about the wind coming off
the ocean, the waves washing the rocks

that makes a person who is quickly annoyed
by cigarette smoke and men
putting nails into roofs

forgetful and unconcerned.

If you are easily disturbed
you need to get an ocean.
bardachd: (Default)
It's occasionally been found in speeding taxis and Paris
hotel rooms. Alpine meadows and mourning doves are
rich in it, though can be hard to find. Forget about
fountains and rainbows, they're myths. Rarely it falls from
geese flying north. Sometimes sunlight on water contains
trace amounts. Check in the attic and under the peonies,
but it moves fast and is hard to catch. Now and then it
has been stolen from babies sleeping on airplanes. From
girls reading in parks. From headlines and editorials. If
you never take a water aerobics class, you'll have more
time than some. Give up all hope, and you might get a
little more. Say no. Smile. Read. Read even when you
should be sleeping. That time counts double. I-95 is a
gold mine, though you'll have to fight others for the time
found there. Take the bus. Follow the river. Don't be
afraid to be late. Read poetry. Poetry gives time back,
but most people don't know it. Never watch television.
Movies are fine. Documentaries are better. Sometimes,
read novels in translation. Just consider it. Don't remodel
your kitchen. Don't remodel anything. Don't even think
about it! Hire a babysitter, or not. Make do. Let your
spouse help. Stay calm. Go to New York. Leave New
York. Again, never take a water aerobics class. Don't
get a dog. Decorate minimally, including holidays.
Maintain no position on Halloween costumes or
children's birthday parties. Use gift bags. Shop rarely.
Spot clean. Keep a notebook. Copy. Borrow. Mimic.
Steal. Never offer to be class parent. Volunteer
elsewhere, if you must. Do not scrapbook. Avoid
cooking. Bake once in a while. Rewrite, repeat. Listen to
music. Have a drink.

If you do all this, one day you might find a package on
your doorstep. Open it carefully. Inside will be time, tied
in bundles of a thousand, smelling of jasmine.
Congratulations! It's all yours. Now hide it well.
bardachd: (Default)
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
bardachd: (Default)
Cross the hands over the breast here-so.
Straighten the legs a little more-so.
And call for the wagon to come and take her home.
Her mother will cry some and so will her sisters and
But all of the others got down and they are safe and
this is the only one of the factory girls who
wasn't lucky in making the jump when the fire broke.
It is the hand of God and the lack of fire escapes.
bardachd: (Default)
Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word!
Give 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.


bardachd: (Default)

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios