Poetry Sunday

Whenever I don't have time to blog, I've decided to post one of my favourite poems. In university, I shared a tiny room with my French Canadian roomate. We had tiny wooden beds that pulled out from the wall and cupboards that hung out over the pushed in bed. My side of the room was plastered with printed poetry and scribbled poetry from my pen... Needless to say, i didn't get my damage deposit back at the end of the year even though they tore down those rooms the next year. haa! Here is one of my favourites...

W. H. Auden


Stop all the clocks,
cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.