You may not be the greatest thing on earth, but you're different. Now, I've heard some say you're crazy, they being excessively calm themselves to my mind, and other crazy poets think that you're a boring reactionary. Just keep on like I do and pay no attention. You'll find that people always will complain about the atmosphere, either too hot or too cold too bright or too dark, days too short or too long.
If you don't appear at all one day they think you're lazy or dead. Just keep right on, I like it.
And don't worry about your lineage poetic or natural. The Sun shines on the jungle, you know, on the tundra the sea, the ghetto. Wherever you were I knew it and saw you moving. I was waiting for you to get to work. And now that you are making your own days, so to speak, even if no one reads you but me you won't be depressed. Not everyone can look up, even at me. It hurts their eyes. It's easier for me to speak to you out here. I don't have to slide down between buildings to get your ear.
Frank O'nifaquniky.cf - Poems
I know you love Manhattan, but you ought to look up more often. And always embrace things, people earth sky stars, as I do, freely and with the appropriate sense of space. That is your inclination, known in the heavens and you should follow it to hell, if necessary, which I doubt. Maybe we'll speak again in Africa, of which I too am specially fond. Go back to sleep now Frank, and I may leave a tiny poem in that brain of yours as my farewell.
They're calling to you too. First, down the sidewalk where laborers feed their dirty glistening torsos sandwiches and Coca-Cola, with yellow helmets on. They protect them from falling bricks, I guess. In early , the Sunday Tribune chose Jude: Level 1 as their Irish Novel of the Decade. Read more Read less.
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It was all dark everyone was in bed so it must have been really late but I got out of bed, crept out of the door there's always a creaky floorboard, isn't there? Past Mum and Dad's room, careful not to tread on bits of broken toys or bits of Lego you know what it's like treading on Lego with your bare feet, yowwww shhhhhhh downstairs into the kitchen open the cupboard and there it is all shining. So I take it out of the cupboard put it on the table and I see that there's a few crumbs lying about on the plate, so I lick my finger and run my finger all over the crumbs scooping them up and put them into my mouth.
Then I look again and on one side where it's been cut, it's all crumbly. So I take a knife I think I'll just tidy that up a bit, cut off the crumbly bits scoop them all up and into the mouth oooooommm mmmm nice. Look at the cake again. That looks a bit funny now, one side doesn't match the other I'll just even it up a bit, eh? Take the knife and slice. This time the knife makes a little cracky noise as it goes through that hard icing on top. A whole slice this time, into the mouth.
Oh the icing on top and the icing in the middle ohhhhhh oooo mmmmmm.
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But now I can't stop myself Knife - 1 just take any old slice at it and I've got this great big chunk and I'm cramming it in what a greedy pig but it's so nice, and there's another and another and I'm squealing and I'm smacking my lips and I'm stuffing myself with it and before I know I've eaten the lot. I look at the plate. Oh no they're bound to notice, aren't they, a whole chocolate cake doesn't just disappear does it?
What shall 1 do? I'll wash the plate up, and the knife and put them away and maybe no one will notice, eh? So I do that and creep creep creep back to bed into bed doze off licking my lips with a lovely feeling in my belly. In the morning I get up, downstairs, have breakfast, Mum's saying, 'Have you got your dinner money? She's looking at me just below my mouth.