According to Brueghel
when Icarus fell
it was spring
a farmer was ploughing
the whole pageantry
of the year was
the edge of the sea
sweating in the sun
the wings' wax
off the coast
a splash quite unnoticed
From Collected Poems: 1939-1962, Volume II by William Carlos Williams, published by New Directions Publishing Corp. © 1962 by William Carlos Williams. Reprinted by permission of New Directions Publishing Corp.
A sweet disorder in the dresse Kindles in cloathes a wantonnesse: A Lawne about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction: An erring Lace, which here and there Enthralls the Crimson Stomacher: A Cuffe neglectfull, and thereby Ribbands to flow confusedly: A winning wave (deserving Note) In the tempestuous petticote: A careless shooe-string, in whose tye I see a wilde civility: Doe more bewitch me, then when Art Is too precise in every part.
This poem is in the public domain.
The white bowls in the orderly cupboards filled with nothing. The sound of applause in running water. All those who've drowned in oceans, all who've drowned in pools, in ponds, the small family together in the car hit head on. The pantry full of lilies, the lobsters scratching to get out of the pot, and God being pulled across the heavens in a burning car. The recipes like confessions. The confessions like songs. The sun. The bomb. The white bowls in the orderly cupboards filled with blood. I wanted something simple, and domestic. A kitchen song. They were just driving along. Dad turned the radio off, and Mom turned it back on.
Copyright © 2002 by the University of Massachusetts Press. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
s no s laves s in nest/s with in come sir my lie ge lord it i s now y/ our turn co me b e me rains fa ll no wa ter in t me and p lay your p art the sun ros he t ub under sk in sin for ty days fo rty nigh ts forty ce dis for forty sins j'aim faim j'ai faim god of spire spes and p raise turn and turn the bo nes sing a son g of wa ter a wat er so ng sin g song sin g song de fend the d ead & sin n o sin sin g the bo nes h/o me what w ill my b ones say h ow do the y forty we eks come to t erm shh au di can you not he ar from the de ep the voi ces not sir ens we are a t sea the d art of my sto ry stings i me ant no harm no hurt res cue us rag and bone men in dict the a ge pears in g in in wine win ter wine and y ou Ruth this story ne sts in the ne t the we b of ti me tam p it down do use the flam e of this ta le what pro fit me if mon coeur non est we wind o ur way sub water o nly the bone s of the sh ip their e yes dart this way and th at soft so ft they ro am the ship their cri es grate on me y ears drag the dee p for the b ones of my so ul their sou ls cast the n et wide to the d eep men to the p and a tot of ru m...
From Zong! by M. NourbeSe Philip. Copyright © 2008 by M. NourbeSe Philip. Used by permission of Wesleyan University Press. All rights reserved.