The spider in his own web entangles,
Struggles exstatically, then slowly strangles.
The fly sucks the spider dry.
Smiling sweetly, to see him die.
The spider in his own web entangles,
Struggles exstatically, then slowly strangles.
The fly sucks the spider dry.
Smiling sweetly, to see him die.
A thought provoking article in today’s guardian (10 August 2015). The author argues that in a world subject to multiple online distractions the way in which we read books is changing. Readers now flick between messages from friends back to their ebook rather than, as in times past devoting their whole attention to a book. In effect our attention span is less than was the case prior to the proliferation of technology, particularly mobile devices. The author also contends that ebooks are changing the way in which authors write. For the article please visit, http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/aug/10/ebooks-are-changing-the-way-we-read-and-the-way-novelists-write?CMP=share_btn_link
As obscene as the breaking of glass,
Or the whisper of gas from the past.
“The jews are mean” you said.
Dead bodies in a camp.
The lamp shines on the food divine.
You drink more wine.
A train somewhere in the distance passes,
Somewhere glass smashes.
Virgin white sheets.
His icey feet.
Two bodies meet.
“Why are you never warm?
I feel a storm coming.
I see dark clouds.
Do you hear the thunder’s voice angry and loud?
But no. though the sky is forlorn,
There will be no storm.
The weather needs to break.
This humidity I can not take.
I long for the cooling rain.
It will cleanse my fevered brain.
No, please,
your rough paws I do not need!”
Sense loses itself in desire.
Man burns on passion’s pyre.
Love’s heat inflames,
Befuddles his brains.
Come the cooling rain,
He feels only shame,
Yet will return again,
To joy and pain
Tentative knocking on a suburban door,
Innocence enters but departs no more.
Clothes scattered on the bedroom floor,
Dreams shattered to be dreamed no more.
Yeats is dead.
Poetry has fled.
Nonsense fills the collective head.
The falcon has flown.
Chaos is sown. .
We reap the whirlwind alone.
(http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172062?gclid=COymhN2TiscCFaYfwwodsmoO_Q).
Girls apply their masks.
No one asks.
A rumpled bed.
The words unsaid.
The night before
Is a closed door
To be opened no more.
The joyless kiss.
The passing lips.
The empty bliss.
No, not this!
Two girls hesitant to dance.
He seeking a kind of romance.
They with an eye to the main chance
Reluctantly advance.