By William Matthews
This can be the touchingly entitled choice of poems William Matthews had accomplished almost immediately sooner than death, simply after his fifty-fifth birthday in November 1997. Is dying ever totally unforeseen? no longer, maybe, by means of a collector of expertise, a connoisseur of language, who can seek advice from "death flickering in you love a pilot light." In in spite of everything, Matthews looks having a look his final on all issues attractive: tune, nutrients and wine, love. within the gorgeous imperative poem, "Dire Cure," which types one of those backbone to the ebook, he describes the notable implications of the "heroic measures" that kept the existence and restored the well-being of his spouse from "a children's melanoma (doesn't that possessive holiday your heart?)." He inspires the dying of his favourite jazz musician, Charles Mingus. He speaks of cats, canine, pigs, sheep, of the prior, of background, of joys proposed, yet in particular, together with his attribute comfortable wit, of language and its quiddities: "My love says i feel too rattling a lot and perhaps she's right." in the end is the ultimate from essentially the most pensive and scrumptious of all our poets.
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Haunted By William Shakespeery Gaunt and ghastly, Greta Lynn Is scarcely bone with paper skin. Her breath is stale and cold as snow, And when she walks, the ravens crow. Poor Greta was a lonely child— She had no friends, she never smiled. In school I called her shameful things— I shouted cruel and painful things. Now every night at twelve o’clock, I hear her shuffling up the block. And every night, she tries my lock, Then gives my door a hollow knock. She calls my name, then thumps the wall. My bedroom quakes and pictures fall.
But where shall I begin my tales? I’ve seen much from this lonely post. Come closer; look me in the eyes, And hear what you should fear the most. Too late! I’ve cast my spell on you! Now you’re a gargoyle just like me; For those who gaze into my eyes Are doomed to keep me company. The Wishing Well By Laura Wynkoop Throughout the dark and creeping woods, there lies a hidden trail That wanders to a wishing well within a misty vale. The local townsfolk, young and old, all know the well is cursed, And those who dare to make a wish had best expect the worst.
We’re grim and gaunt, We love to haunt, We slither through the night. So bite your nails, lock your doors, And hug your pillows tight! 34 Zombie Kid Blues By Edna Cabcabin Moran Being a zombie is cool, And normally I like school. But today’s not my day, I’m sorry to say, I’m falling apart like a fool. While playing baseball outside, I ended up wanting to hide. Though I borrowed a mitt That perfectly fit, It came off with my hand still inside. At lunch, we lined up at the door, Where I was embarrassed once more.