by phillipw | Sep 17, 2019 | LO
What Region Will I Be In What region will I be in when I take Long walks with you in days when you are dead? What will we call this special, spectral lake We stroll around, remarking what we’ve shed? A Tidal Basin fringed with cherry trees It’s not. No...
by phillipw | Sep 17, 2019 | GO, HE, SO
Everlasting Godfire I wish that God had killed the angels whom He sent to Sodom and Gomorrah, not The men–the husbands, fathers, sons in bloom Of youthful beauty, bachelors with hot Prospects–and not the women, children, mules, And donkeys, braying in the...
by phillipw | Sep 16, 2019 | EL, PH
A 0.000000000000000000000000001cm Deviation ‘Perfect Round: The electron is almost a perfect sphere, a study has found. The elementary particle—a basic building block of matter—deviates from absolute roundness by less than 0.00000000000000000000000001cm. If the...
by phillipw | Sep 16, 2019 | RE
Christians and Muslims in Britain The rain pours down upon another May. We joke about it here in London. Tom, Dick and Harry cast eyes about the grey Streets, past the asphalt, looking for the bomb Some Islamist is carrying on his back, Or Irish Protestant fanatic...
by phillipw | Sep 16, 2019 | BI
On Suave India Paper . My mother’s mother gave to me a fine Blue King James Version of the Bible. Blue Morocco leather, subtle blue, benign With tastefulness (as if refinement drew More power to truth) bound up a classic book In cultured holiness. The...
by phillipw | Sep 16, 2019 | Ta
December 10, 1788, Talleyrand’s Elevation to the Bishopric of Autun; His Consecration, January 16, 1789 If one were looking for a throne tres bon, The bishopric of Autun could be worse. It came with titles (old) , Baron Tuillon, Baron...
by phillipw | Sep 16, 2019 | Ta
To Represent Autun in the Estates-General of 1789 The disappointed prelate whipped up wine Selections and the best cuisine to set Before the people of Autun to dine On at the bishop’s table. Out to get The power he wanted, he put suavest cloths...
by phillipw | Sep 16, 2019 | PO, TR
I Want to Go to Sleep, but Poems… I want to go to sleep, but poems keep On brushing with their wings against my eye. I want to take a fatal nap, but sleep Is flicked away by angel pinions high Above such cowardly retreat. Feather Upon feather brushes up against...
