Find and share the perfect poems.
Even when I was a little boy
I was always alone
with my guardian angel
Playing Tarzan
An icicle fell on me
& cut my arm
I had a rope around my neck
I was hanged in Innifree
Had my hand cut off in Perfidee
Never had my fill
of Thee
ST MICHAEL IN THE CORNER,
NINE FEET TALL
From Book of Blues. Copyright © 1995 by Jack Kerouac. Reprinted by permission of SLL/Sterling Lord Literistic, Inc.
There's a middlewestern prurience about Greeks.— Your little earth-nut, O potato war, riots mama dears around papap's paternal root S i l k y b o o
( o o ! ) Found the Sound
Got up and dressed up
and went out & got laid
Then died and got buried
in a coffin in the grave,
Man—
Yet everything is perfect,
Because it is empty,
Because it is perfect
with emptiness,
Because it's not even happening.
Everything
Is Ignorant of its own emptiness—
Anger
Doesn't like to be reminded of fits—
You start with the Teaching
Inscrutable of the Diamond
And end with it, your goal
is your startingplace,
No race was run, no walk
of prophetic toenails
Across Arabies of hot
meaning—you just
numbly don't get there
The Essence of Existence
is Buddhahood—
As a Buddha
you know
that all the sounds
that wave from a tree
and the sights
from a sea of fairies
in Isles of Blest
and all the tastes
in Nectar Soup
and all the odors
in rose arbour
—ah rose, July rose—
bee-dead rose—
and all the feelings
in the titwillow's
chuckling throat
and all the thoughts
in the raggedy mop
of the brain—
one dinner