E.E. Cummings

"it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when(being fool to fancy)i have deemed

with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds

the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;

moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination,when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:

one pierced moment whiter than the rest

-turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep."

Miacrocosm

The path which leads therein,

quite long and winding,

steep

Leads down to dark within,

quite long and winding,

deep



Without the path leads too,

so high and climbing,

bright

immense orbs move through skies,

locked in celestial flight.

Linguistic Restrictions

In attempting to describe a slice of toast, I might begin by breaking down it's immediately perceivable qualities. The following is a tentative list:

1.) texture
2.) flavor
3.) appearance
4.) aroma

The bread which I've toasted (and am using in this phenomenological 'experimentation' i.e. literary exercise) is of the whole wheat variety and I've spread a good layer of blueberry jam over its surface. Now, for the tasting!

1.) A bit rough, though softens upon dissolving, seemingly melts. I've apparently swallowed, though the whole process seems to have escaped my attention.
2.) Sweet. Lacks the acidity of many jams and the blueberry is blatantly steeped in sugar. This is followed by a cut of 'nuttiness', which is an interaction of the bread and jam. The 'melting' as described in (1) tastes almost buttery, though I've not buttered this toast.
3.) Well... I've eaten the toast. This experiment was not long-lived.


And that's what happens when your subject is toast.

Seasons

I was once in love with everything,

then, the moment passed.

Darkness swept over me.

Yet…

The night, as day,

will twist and fade,

into another dawning’s softly lighted morning rays.

A Multiplicity

While some paint, some sew, some sing and some pluck a bow,

others gaze and others see, there are those who write that they perceive.

Turn your eyes and thoughts that a way-toward the stars, the earth, the light of dawning days,

For through the filtering of leafed trees, each mind will find that which it seeks.

Transient

A sad little feeling,
All day's been creeping,
and now is tinting
my world in blue.

Oh sad little feeling,
I hope you're fleeting,
and will swiftly

pass on through,
bid 'adieu!'