Respuestas

2012-02-16T00:40:00+01:00

hamlet                    to be or not to be:that is the question:           Whether'tis  nobler in the mind to suffer         The slings and arrows of outrageus fortune,       Or to take arm against a sea of troubles       And by  opposing end them?To die: to sleep;       No more :and by a sleep to say we end          The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks      That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation          Devoutle to be whis'd,to die to sleep        To sleep:perchance to deam ay,there's the rub          For is that  sleep of death what  dreams may come   When we have  shuffled  off this mortal coil,         Must give us pause :there's the respec   That  makes calamity of so long life:      For who would bear the wips and scorns of time,       the opressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,     the pangs of despised law's delay,    The insolence of office and the spurns     that patient merit of the unworthy takes       When he himself might his quietus make   with a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,         To grund and sweat under a weary life,             but that the dread of something after death,     The undiscover'd country from  whose bourn       no traveller retourns puzzles the will      And makes us rather bear those ills we have       than fly to others that we know not of? thus consciense does make cowards of us all and thus the native hue of resolution      is sicklied  o'er with the pale cast of thought      and enterprises of great pith and moment           with this regard their currents turn awry,      and lose the name of action.     

2012-02-16T01:17:14+01:00
I LOVE YOU

I SEE YOU EVERYDAY IN MY DREAMS
HOVERING AROUND MY FANTASY
THOUGH YOU ARE FAR BUT IT SEEMS
THAT YOU WONT BE JUST A WHIMSY
 
YOU FACE LIGHTS THE WHOLE WORLD
LIKE A MIGHTY LIGHTSOME ANGEL
IF I ONLY HAVE TO USE A SINGLE WORD   
YOUR ETERNAL MEMORY WONT DESPEL
 
I KNOW YOU ARE NOT HERE WITH ME
I CAN SEE MY HEART BEATS IN VAIN
I CAN HEAR MY VOICE INSIDE ME
SCREAMING WITH LOVE PAIN
 
I CHISELED YOU NAME ON LEAVES
I CHIRPED WITH BIRDS IN TRESS
I DANCED WITH A MOUND OF BEES
TO TELL YOU IN BRIEF
                    
                           I LOVE YOU MY DEAR

2012-02-16T02:46:14+01:00

Goya
Conrad (Potter) Aiken
Goya drew a pig on a wall.
The five-year-old hairdressers son
Saw, graved on a silver tray,
The lion; and sunsets were begun.

Goya smelt the bull-íight blood.
The pupil of the Carmelite
Gave his hands to a goldsmith, learned
To gild an aureole aright.

Goya saw the Puzzel's eyes:
Sang in the street (with a guitar)
And climbed the balcony; but Keats
(Under the halyards) wrote 'Bright star'.

Goya saw the Great Slut pick
The chirping human puppets up,
And laugh, with pendulous mountain lip,
And drown them in a corlee cup;

Or squeeze their little juices out
In arid hands, insensitive,
To make them gibber... Goya
went Among the catacombs to live.

He saw gross Ronyons of the air,
Harelipped and goitered, raped in flight
By hairless pimps, umbrella-winged:
Tumult above Madrid at night.

He heard the seconds in his clock
Crack like seeds, divulge, and pour
Abysmal filth of Nothingness
Between the pendulum and the floor:

Torrents of dead veins, rotted cells,
Tonsils decayed, and fmgernails:
Dead, hair, dead fur, dead claws, dead skin:
Nostrils and lids; and cauls and veils;

And eyes that still, in death, remained
(Unlidded and unlashed) aware
Of the foul core, and, fouler yet,
The región worm that ravins there.

Stench flowed out of the second's tick
And Goya swam with it through Space,
Sweating the fetor from his limbs,
And stared upon the unfeatured face

That did not see, and sheltered naught,
But was, and is. The second gone,
Goya returned, and drew the face;
And scrawled beneath it, 'This I have known'

And drew four slatterns, in an attic,
Heavy, with heads on arms, asleep:
And underscribed it, 'Let them slumber,
Who, if they woke, could only weep'..