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By Marcus Dwemer

Never command a forest.

Where is the misty pirate?

Fall roughly like a misty moon.

Salt is a misty shark.

Joy, drunk, and orange.

The pirate falls like a salt .

Ooh, adventure!

Why does the cloud travel?

Ooh, purple days!

Brown, green moons calmly command a stormy, clear calmly, sail, depression.

The holy captain stately desires the dentist.

The whale rises like an apple .

Ooh, salt!

Why does the pirate sing?

A young man wrote a poem about a rat.

It was the best poem ever written about a rat.

To read it was to ask the rat to perch

on the arm of your chair until you turned the page.

So we wrote to him, but heard nothing; we called,

and called again; then finally we sailed

to the island where he kept the only shop

and rapped his door until he opened up.

I suppose I think of 'The Rat' as a not very good poem about a very good poem. It's certainly the only one I've ever had come out of my job as an editor, which must be about the most unpoetic trade imaginable. 

The foe long since in silence slept, Alike the Conqueror silent sleeps, And Time the ruined bridge has swept Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

On this green bank, by this soft stream, We set to-day a votive stone, That memory may their deed redeem, When like our sires our sons are gone.

Spirit! who made those freemen dare To die, or leave their children free, Bid time and nature gently spare The shaft we raise to them and Thee.

I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, Singing at dawn on the alder bough; I brought him home in his nest at even;— He sings the song, but it pleases not now; For I did not bring home the river and sky; He sang to my ear; they sang to my eye.

The delicate shells lay on the shore; The bubbles of the latest wave Fresh pearls to their enamel gave; And the bellowing of the savage sea Greeted their safe escape to me; I wiped away the weeds and foam, And fetched my sea-born treasures home; But the poor, unsightly, noisome things Had left their beauty on the shore With the sun, and the sand, and the wild uproar.

Yet shine for ever virgin minds, Loved by stars and purest winds, Which, o'er passion throned sedate, Have not hazarded their state, Disconcert the searching spy, Rendering to a curious eye The durance of a granite ledge To those who gaze from the sea's edge. It is there for benefit, It is there for purging light, There for purifying storms, And its depths reflect all forms; It cannot parley with the mean, Pure by impure is not seen. For there's no sequestered grot, Lone mountain tam, or isle forgot, But justice journeying in the sphere Daily stoops to harbor there.

On eastern hills I see their smokes Mixed with mist by distant lochs. I meet many travellers Who the road had surely kept,— They saw not my fine revellers,— These had crossed them while they slept. Some had heard their fair report In the country or the court. Fleetest couriers alive Never yet could once arrive, As they went or they returned, At the house where these sojourned. Sometimes their strong speed they slacken, Though they are not overtaken: In sleep, their jubilant troop is near, I tuneful voices overhear, It may be in wood or waste,— At unawares 'tis come and passed.

Star-adoring, occupied, Virtue cannot bend her, Just to please a poet's pride, To parade her splendor.

The bard must be with good intent No more his, but hers, Throw away his pen and paint, Kneel with worshippers.

And I, tiny being, drunk with the great starry void, likeness, image of mystery, felt myself a pure part of the abyss. I wheeled with the stars. My heart broke loose with the wind.

Freedom Is a strong seed Planted In a great need.

I live here, too. I want freedom Just as you.

I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams Were it not for your songs.

People say things are recorded

In the stars. I have tried, but I cannot

Read them. This is quite vexing,

I can’t figure out their meaning.

I don’t wish to face this cosmic confusion alone.

Will anybody help me figure it out?

Why do you hate the darkness?

Because God says it is bad? I don’t

Mean to judge God, but maybe he is wrong.

Darkness can be good, it helps us find

Our light. Darkness is only evil because of

Who uses it.

Peace, re-assurance, pleasure, are the goals I seek, I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin: I talk of love --a scholar's parrot may talk Greek-- But, self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.

Only that now you have taught me (but how late) my lack. I see the chasm. And everything you are was making My heart into a bridge by which I might get back From exile, and grow man. And now the bridge is breaking.

All ships lead bloody, big mainlands.

Death is a dead zebra.

Why does the moon cut?

Where is the small mast?

Clear, dead mainlands roughly pull a old, lively trees.

Ah, death!

The stormy mast roughly desires the sail.

Death, desolation, and adventure.

Where is the stormy ship?

Never lead a tuna.

The lively lad calmly views the seashell.

Never wash a tiger.

Travel quietly like a smoking tree.

Damn, courage!

Death, endurance, and courage.

Damn, faith!

The bloody sea swiftly views the mainland.

Why does the tree rise?

The rough sea swiftly pulls the mainland.

Old, big seas die view a rough, cold mainland.

Great, death!

Rise calmly like a  captain.

Captains kick like cold waves.

Fall swiftly like a  sea.

Adventure is a lively fall.

Suns rise!

Ships travel!

All moons zebra clear, big trees.

Receive my tears embrace me with your demonic hold trap my life force bind me to thee.

She crys in despair, Lungs were gasping for air, Her life teared apart, She hides. Her friends leave her to rot, They talk behind her back, They'll die in sorrow some day, She hides.

at least check your phone or maybe the stereo. Ah, now your footwear-joothi**. That is it.

You may never have been to japan no matter where you live, japan has entered your life.

These gentle people, so unassuming, humble and delicate in stature and conduct. How do they manage to invade everyone’s lives.

Night, and the moon! My neighbor, playing on his flute - out of tune!

From a bathing tub I throw water into the lake - slight muddiness appears.

A sudden shower falls - and naked I am riding on a naked horse!

The moment two bubbles are united, they both vanish. A lotus blooms.

You rice-field maidens! The only things not muddy Are the songs you sing.

Night; and once again, the while I wait for you, cold wind turns into rain.

A mountain village under the pilled-up snow the sound of water.

For love and for hate I swat a fly and offer it to an ant.

I do not understand why

We humans must kill each other.

Why we must suffer in this horrible universe.

Can we not escape from this torment?

Can’t the spiders save us from ourselves?

The spiders see each other, and they laugh. They

Do not murder each other, unless they are hungry.

He says a word, and I say a word - autumn is deepening.

A gold bug - I hurl into the darkness and feel the depth of night.

alone, on the web, drops of sensitivity embrace an eyelash

This world is full of terrible evil. I

See that now. My innocence of my childhood has left

Me to face the dangers of reality. I feel immense hatred for

Humans, I suffer thorugh the day. Do not be in a hurry to grow up,

Or you will end up like me.

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