Skunk Hour
Oct. 17th, 2004 06:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tmcgFrom ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lnhammer and janni (and before I posted I saw ferragus and fionagh partaking too):
When you see this, post a bit of poetry in your own journal.
One dark night,
my Tudor Ford climbed the hill's skull;
I watched for love-cars. Lights turned down,
they lay together, hull to hull,
where the graveyard shelves on the town. . . .
My mind's not right.
A car radio bleats,
"Love, O careless Love. . . ." I hear
my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell,
as if my hand were at its throat. . . .
I myself am hell;
nobody's here--
only skunks, that search
in the moonlight for a bite to eat.
--From "Skunk Hour," by Robert Lowell
I posted my favorite stanzas of my favorite poem a while ago, here.
lnhammer and janni (and before I posted I saw ferragus and fionagh partaking too):When you see this, post a bit of poetry in your own journal.
One dark night,
my Tudor Ford climbed the hill's skull;
I watched for love-cars. Lights turned down,
they lay together, hull to hull,
where the graveyard shelves on the town. . . .
My mind's not right.
A car radio bleats,
"Love, O careless Love. . . ." I hear
my ill-spirit sob in each blood cell,
as if my hand were at its throat. . . .
I myself am hell;
nobody's here--
only skunks, that search
in the moonlight for a bite to eat.
--From "Skunk Hour," by Robert Lowell
I posted my favorite stanzas of my favorite poem a while ago, here.
