A POEM THOUGHT UP THIS MORNING BY THE SCARRIET EDITORS

THE CLOISTER

Beds are coffins,
Hallways are coffins,
Rooms are coffins.
In the subway tunnel,
going to work,
I am happy or sad,
happy or sad,
talking to a friend in the lighted train,
happy or sad.
I am not allowed to complain
Of the coffin that is my mind.
All we may do is write our name in the book
And be kind.

Advertisements

3 Comments

  1. David said,

    December 24, 2011 at 6:20 pm

    I could be bounded in a nutshell, and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.

    ~ Hamlet, Scene II

  2. David said,

    December 24, 2011 at 6:25 pm

    It is sad to eat in dinner clothes,
    like eating in a coffin,
    but eating in convents
    is like eating underground.

    ~ From “The Great Tablecloth” by Pablo Neruda

    With whom I disagree, and to whom “I explain a few things”:

    http://anointedruins.wordpress.com/2011/06/12/in-reply-to-a-poem-by-neruda/

  3. tom said,

    December 26, 2011 at 8:31 am

    Great poem, Scarriet. That old photograph of the dead communards looks suspiciously ‘futuristic’.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: