The Kiss I Miss – Poem by David Keig<\/strong><\/p>\n That kiss, that kiss <\/p>\n Invitation To Miss Marianne Moore – Poem by Elizabeth Bishop<\/strong><\/p>\n From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning, <\/p>\n Miss Rosie – Poem by Lucille Clifton<\/strong><\/p>\n when I watch you <\/p>\n Miss Loo – Poem by Walter de la Mare<\/strong><\/p>\n When thin-strewn memory I look through, <\/p>\n Miss Lloyd Has Now Went To Miss Green – Poem by Jane Austen<\/strong><\/p>\n Miss Lloyd has now sent to Miss Green, The Kiss I Miss – Poem by David Keig That kiss, that kiss That childlike kiss That pecky on the cheek kiss That I am here kiss That who the hell cares kiss That kiss, that kiss I miss Invitation To Miss Marianne Moore – Poem by Elizabeth Bishop From Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":13553,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1390],"tags":[37],"class_list":["post-8544","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-love","tag-featured"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8544","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=8544"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8544\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/13553"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=8544"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=8544"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/1lovepoems.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=8544"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nThat childlike kiss
\nThat pecky on the cheek kiss
\nThat I am here kiss
\nThat who the hell cares kiss
\nThat kiss, that kiss I miss<\/p>\n
\nplease come flying.
\nIn a cloud of fiery pale chemicals,
\nplease come flying,
\nto the rapid rolling of thousands of small blue drums
\ndescending out of the mackerel sky
\nover the glittering grandstand of harbor-water,
\nplease come flying.
\nWhistles, pennants and smoke are blowing. The ships
\nare signalling cordially with multitudes of flags
\nrising and falling like birds all over the harbor.
\nEnter: two rivers, gracefully bearing
\ncountless little pellucid jellies
\nin cut-glass epergnes dragging with silver chains.
\nThe flight is safe; the weather is all arranged.
\nThe waves are running in verses this fine morning.
\nPlease come flying.
\nCome with the pointed toe of each black shoe
\ntrailing a sapphire highlight,
\nwith a black capful of butterfly wings and bon-mots,
\nwith heaven knows how many angels all riding
\non the broad black brim of your hat,
\nplease come flying.
\nBearing a musical inaudible abacus,
\na slight censorious frown, and blue ribbons,
\nplease come flying.
\nFacts and skyscrapers glint in the tide; Manhattan
\nis all awash with morals this fine morning,
\nso please come flying.
\nMounting the sky with natural heroism,
\nabove the accidents, above the malignant movies,
\nthe taxicabs and injustices at large,
\nwhile horns are resounding in your beautiful ears
\nthat simultaneously listen to
\na soft uninvented music, fit for the musk deer,
\nplease come flying.
\nFor whom the grim museums will behave
\nlike courteous male bower-birds,
\nfor whom the agreeable lions lie in wait
\non the steps of the Public Library,
\neager to rise and follow through the doors
\nup into the reading rooms,
\nplease come flying.
\nWe can sit down and weep; we can go shopping,
\nor play at a game of constantly being wrong
\nwith a priceless set of vocabularies,
\nor we can bravely deplore, but please
\nplease come flying.
\nWith dynasties of negative constructions
\ndarkening and dying around you,
\nwith grammar that suddenly turns and shines
\nlike flocks of sandpipers flying,
\nplease come flying.
\nCome like a light in the white mackerel sky,
\ncome like a daytime comet
\nwith a long unnebulous train of words,
\nfrom Brooklyn, over the Brooklyn Bridge, on this fine morning,
\nplease come flying.<\/p>\n
\nwrapped up like garbage
\nsitting, surrounded by the smell
\nof too old potato peels
\nor
\nwhen I watch you
\nin your old man’s shoes
\nwith the little toe cut out
\nsitting, waiting for your mind
\nlike next week’s grocery
\nI say
\nwhen I watch you
\nyou wet brown bag of a woman
\nwho used to be the best looking gal in Georgia
\nused to be called the Georgia Rose
\nI stand up
\nthrough your destruction
\nI stand up<\/p>\n
\nI see most clearly poor Miss Loo,
\nHer tabby cat, her cage of birds,
\nHer nose, her hair — her muffled words,
\nAnd how she’d open her green eyes,
\nAs if in some immense surprise,
\nWhenever as we sat at tea,
\nShe made some small remark to me.
\nIt’s always drowsy summer when
\nFrom out the past she comes again;
\nThe westering sunshine in a pool
\nFloats in her parlour still and cool;
\nWhile the slim bird its lean wires shakes,
\nAs into piercing song it breaks
\nTill Peter’s pale-green eyes ajar
\nDream, wake; wake, dream, in one brief bar;
\nAnd I am sitting , dull and shy
\nAnd she with gaze of vacancy,
\nAnd large hands folded on the tray,
\nMusing the afternoon away;
\nHer satin bosom heaving slow
\nWith sighs that softly ebb and flow,
\nAnd her plain face in such dismay,
\nIt seems unkind to look her way:
\nUntil all cheerful back will come
\nHer cheerful gleaming spirit home:
\nAnd one would think that poor Miss Loo
\nAsked nothing else, if she had you.<\/p>\n
\nAs, on opening the box, may be seen,
\nSome years of a Black Ploughman’s Gauze,
\nTo be made up directly, because
\nMiss Lloyd must in mourning appear
\nFor the death of a Relative dear–
\nMiss Lloyd must expect to receive
\nThis license to mourn and to grieve,
\nComplete, ere the end of the week–
\nIt is better to write than to speak<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"