My daughter tells me her white shepherd
Swallows, with food, one pill each morning
To settle its nerves through another
New York City day. Someone, she says,
Is always outside, drunk or angry
Or loud to themselves on the sidewalk.
While I’m gone, there’s traffic, repairmen,
The tenants who shut and open doors.
She named that dog for the white shepherd
In a novel, romantic, perhaps,
Or sentimental, but she tells me,
This summer, the light comes so early,
Her lover rises with the dog’s moans
And the tongue that insists on comfort.
That after walks failed, after music
From bluegrass to jazz to the sadness
Of Billie Holliday changed nothing,
He played the voice of Jack Kerouac
Reading from The Subterraneans
And On the Road, the long sentences
Sending her dog back to the light sleep
Of listening, the man she’ll marry
Using the oldest home remedy
For anxiety. “Listen, Clem,†he says, “good boy,â€
The benevolent words of the dead beginning.
Gary Fincke
Tell a Friend
My love is of a birth as rare
As ’tis for object strange and high;
It was begotten by Despair
Upon Impossibility.
Magnanimous Despair alone
Could show me so divine a thing
Where feeble Hope could ne’er have flown,
But vainly flapp’d its tinsel wing.
And yet I quickly might arrive
Where my extended soul is fixt,
But Fate does iron wedges drive,
And always crowds itself betwixt.
For Fate with jealous eye does see
Two perfect loves, nor lets them close;
Their union would her ruin be,
And her tyrannic pow’r depose.
And therefore her decrees of steel
Us as the distant poles have plac’d,
(Though love’s whole world on us doth wheel)
Not by themselves to be embrac’d;
Unless the giddy heaven fall,
And earth some new convulsion tear;
And, us to join, the world should all
Be cramp’d into a planisphere.
As lines, so loves oblique may well
Themselves in every angle greet;
But ours so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.
Therefore the love which us doth bind,
But Fate so enviously debars,
Is the conjunction of the mind,
And opposition of the stars.
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By:::Andrew Marvell
Tell a Friend
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Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature’s changing course untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;
Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:
  So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
  So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Tell a Friend
