HOLD ON TIGHT

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT And when we were children, staying at the archduke's, My cousin's, he took me out on a sled, And I was frightened. He said, Marie, Marie, hold on tight. And down we went. In the mountains, there you feel free. I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter. ~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot Tuesday, April 03, 2007 Revolution, Spring 2007 One by one, the onions in the kitchen began to talk. One unzipped his trousers and erupted in keen, green laughter. The others unveiled their hair and unpeeled their stockings, daring me to eat them. I stand over them with my chopping knife frozen like a comma in midsentence before deciding not to cook. Behind me, We all live in a yellow submarine strikes up, red-faced and belligerent in early afternoon. All night they have been singing. I shut the door and blast my radio. Their voices rise, insistent as buds, forcing their way into my poems. All day the room will reek of spring. posted by dawn # 9:44 PM Comments: i like this one. # posted by Anonymous : 2:25 AM thanks! i really havent cooked for ages # posted by Anonymous : 9:31 AM well cooking isn't fun unless you have someone to cook for. # posted by Anonymous : 1:11 PM no more midnight jiao zhi? :) # posted by Anonymous : 1:12 PM ahhh! i like this one! food poetry! =) love, nurul # posted by Anonymous : 2:23 PM hello nurul! food poetry! do you rmb when perry peeled an onion during lit class and read the onion poem! hello sam! actually, no more midnight jiaozis. # posted by dawn : 11:18 PM hahahah! yes i remember! do you know that mrs perry read the same poem to her rj classes on vday? # posted by coloured light : 1:50 AM i wonder who started the traditn first! perry will claim he did, duh. # posted by dawn : 10:00 PM Post a Comment << Home		[publishing] Publishers Weekly . Dystel & Goderich . New York Center for Independent Publishing . Association of American University Presses . Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators [people] clarisse . nurul . aunty zarina (ummi's bakery) . jeremy . pak . cyril . softblow . karen & kenny (booksactually) . eric . joel . [other loves] digitaljournalist . ballet dictionary . poetshouse . urbanwordnyc [me] dawn, singapore, new york city, ithaca. [yesterday] The elbalmer's art she tells me, he was heavy when he left . i can't... today was a hot day. unusually hot. spring is here... suddenly, she was excited, closed the book, with a... i found a room full of glass today. i read about t... mother called, left a voicemail. the snow is clear... in summer, i will take a flight to beijing, by mys... new paltz, new york. meeting poet ken french and his partner is lovely.... the paradox of pain (from the book of 5am stories) [archives] January 2007 February 2007 March 2007 April 2007 May 2007 July 2007 August 2007 September 2007 October 2007 November 2007 December 2007 January 2008 February 2008 March 2008 April 2008 May 2008 June 2008 July 2008 August 2008 September 2008 October 2008 November 2008 December 2008 January 2009 February 2009

HE SAID, MARIE, MARIE, HOLD ON TIGHT

And when we were children, staying at the archduke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

~ The Waste Land, "The Burial of The Dead", Eliot

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

Revolution, Spring 2007

One by one, the onions
in the kitchen
began to talk.

One unzipped his trousers
and erupted
in keen, green laughter.

The others unveiled their hair
and unpeeled their stockings, daring me
to eat them.

I stand over them
with my chopping knife

frozen
like a comma
in midsentence

before deciding not to cook.

Behind me, We all live in a yellow submarine
strikes up, red-faced and belligerent
in early afternoon.

All night they have been singing.
I shut the door and blast my radio.
Their voices rise, insistent

as buds, forcing
their way into my poems.
All day the room will reek of spring.

posted by dawn # 9:44 PM

Comments:

i like this one.

# posted by

Anonymous : 2:25 AM

thanks! i really havent cooked for ages

# posted by

Anonymous : 9:31 AM

well cooking isn't fun unless you have someone to cook for.

# posted by

Anonymous : 1:11 PM

no more midnight jiao zhi? :)

# posted by

Anonymous : 1:12 PM

ahhh! i like this one! food poetry! =)

love,
nurul

# posted by

Anonymous : 2:23 PM

hello nurul! food poetry! do you rmb when perry peeled an onion during lit class and read the onion poem!

hello sam! actually, no more midnight jiaozis.

# posted by

dawn : 11:18 PM

hahahah! yes i remember! do you know that mrs perry read the same poem to her rj classes on vday?

# posted by

coloured light : 1:50 AM

i wonder who started the traditn first! perry will claim he did, duh.

# posted by

dawn : 10:00 PM