Untitled by Liam Roche
It hangs upon angelic
architecture, upon the lonely prayer,
upon all our hard-earned art and literature
as it hangs delicately upon the butt of the half-smoked cigarette
flicked with a curse before the bar fight.
architecture, upon the lonely prayer,
upon all our hard-earned art and literature
as it hangs delicately upon the butt of the half-smoked cigarette
flicked with a curse before the bar fight.
Poem by Liam Roche
Untitled by Liam Roche
Where shall we meet,
sweet ghost father?
In the quiet contemplation of an empty church?
In a drunken sprawl?
Or when tossed to the edges of this earthen bowl
in the embrace of the deepest dive?
In the quiet contemplation of an empty church?
In a drunken sprawl?
Or when tossed to the edges of this earthen bowl
in the embrace of the deepest dive?
God follows me everywhere
and so can you.
Poem by Liam Roche
Untitled by Liam Roche
Ease into your instincts
of death, of meaningful life, lust,
God’s paternity and the kinship of evil.
God’s paternity and the kinship of evil.
Let these things raise up
your spirit and give you some small
dominion in this large space.
dominion in this large space.
These are yours alone and
all that is required.
Poem by Liam Roche
In the Spirit of Whitman
by Liam Roche
I now take upon myself the name “enemy.”
Suspect any man and suspect me.
I now take upon myself the name “enemy.”
Suspect any man and suspect me.
Degrade any man, I am
degraded.
Torture me in western
civility and
I weep western tears.
I weep western tears.
I will channel all our
long-buried American insurgents:
Our dark slaves, our natives, our Chinamen.
Irish and Italian and Poles and Russians
Our dark slaves, our natives, our Chinamen.
Irish and Italian and Poles and Russians
Flesh given, and flesh
taken.
The colors of their flags
Mixed with blood
Mixed with blood
Make industry and stars
on a blue field
Stolen.
Stolen.
Poem by Liam Roche
Untitled by Liam Roche
Good father, release me!
I’m not learning or becoming.
I’m not learning or becoming.
Silent, warm and
descending,
No harm in my nature.
Make me mud again!
My nature.
Make me mud again!
My nature.
Poem by Liam Roche
Untitled by Liam Roche
You will be ridiculed,
roughed up,
ignored.
roughed up,
ignored.
You will be alone most of
the time with our ideas.
Now, instead of some
bitter man,
I stand here with you
and share in the gold you made.
I stand here with you
and share in the gold you made.
This poem is quite provocative- I like angelic architecture...
ReplyDeleteIt hangs upon angelic
architecture, upon the lonely prayer,
upon all our hard-earned art and literature
as it hangs delicately upon the butt of the half-smoked cigarette
flicked with a curse before the bar fight.
Also this one-it speaks of the bullied, down-trodden, picking oneself up and realizing we all have value.
ReplyDeleteYou will be ridiculed,
roughed up,
ignored.
You will be alone most of the time with our ideas.
Now, instead of some bitter man,
I stand here with you
and share in the gold you made.