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wee people
wee people dwelling between serene day-light and god o make room…
Category e. e. Cummings
logeorge
logeorge lo wellifitisn’t eddy how’s the boy grandhave youheard …
A Girl’s Song
the round of goldtells me slenderly twinklingfauns pinkly leapingassembledto pipe-soband grapplingcymbals lunge thwart vistas buxomswaggering satyrs from thousand coverts smooth dryads peek eyes trail with merriment of spiraea
The awful darkness
The awful darkness of the towncrushes;in rowshouses every one a different shade of brown(unity in variety,I suppose).It almost snows:inside,the silly people are teaing with bread-and-butter sandwiches talking of the weather,and who married whom(the sons of b–s)—thin smiles gluethe pasteboard…
In Healey’s Palace I was sitting—
In Healey’s Palace I was sitting—Joe at the ivories, Irene spittingRag into the stinking dizzyMisbegotten Hall, while Lizzie,Like a she-demon in a riftOf Heil-smoke, toured the booths, half-piffed. I saw two rah-rahs—caps, soft shirts, Match-legs, the kind of face…
You shall sing my songs, O earth.
You shall sing my songs, O earth.With tilted lips and dancing throat shall you sing them,The songs my poems. You shall dream my dreams, O world.Locked in the shining house of beautiful sleep,Of the dreams my poems. You shall smile…
A painted wind has sprung
A painted wind has sprungClean of the rotten dark,Lancing the glutted wolves of rain. The sky is carried by a blue assault.Strident with sun the heights swarm,The vasts bulge with banners. Working angelsShovel light in heaven. To carnival, to carnival,In…
They have hung the sky with arrows,
They have hung the sky with arrows,Targes of jubilant flame, and helms of splendor,Knives and daggers of hissing light, and furious swords. They have hung the lake with moth-wings,Blurs of purple, and shaggy warmths of gold,Lazy curious wines, and curving…
O friend, who hast attained thyself in her,
S.T. O friend, who hast attained thyself in her,Thy wife, the almost woman whose tresses areThe stranger part of sunlight, in the farNearness of whose frail eyes instantly stir Unchristian perfumes more remote than myrrh,Whose smiling is the swiftly singularAdventure…
Softly from its still lair in Plympton Street
Softly from its still lair in Plympton Street It stole on silent pads, and, raping space, Shot onward in a fierce infernal race, And shivered townward on revolving feet, Skidded, fortuitously indiscreet; And now a lady doth its bosom grace,…