FuzzyNibs on Nostr: What’s your favorite poem, Nostriches? Please share! I’m excited to share “The ...
What’s your favorite poem, Nostriches? Please share!
I’m excited to share “The Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls” by E.E. Cummings. One of his earlier poems, it critiques the spouses of Cambridge Massachusetts for shallow concerns and virtue signalling, while celebrating ominously the beauty of the natural world outside of the halls of gossip, a romantic flourish of thuggish style. Is there a # poetrystr or is it all under the wonderful umbrella of #bookstr ?
“the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls
are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds
(also, with the church's protestant blessings
daughters,unscented shapeless spirited)
they believe in Christ and Longfellow, both dead,
are invariably interested in so many things—
at the present writing one still finds
delighted fingers knitting for the is it Poles?
perhaps. While permanent faces coyly bandy
scandal of Mrs. N and Professor D
.... the Cambridge ladies do not care, above
Cambridge if sometimes in its box of
sky lavender and cornerless, the
moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy”
I’m excited to share “The Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls” by E.E. Cummings. One of his earlier poems, it critiques the spouses of Cambridge Massachusetts for shallow concerns and virtue signalling, while celebrating ominously the beauty of the natural world outside of the halls of gossip, a romantic flourish of thuggish style. Is there a # poetrystr or is it all under the wonderful umbrella of #bookstr ?
“the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls
are unbeautiful and have comfortable minds
(also, with the church's protestant blessings
daughters,unscented shapeless spirited)
they believe in Christ and Longfellow, both dead,
are invariably interested in so many things—
at the present writing one still finds
delighted fingers knitting for the is it Poles?
perhaps. While permanent faces coyly bandy
scandal of Mrs. N and Professor D
.... the Cambridge ladies do not care, above
Cambridge if sometimes in its box of
sky lavender and cornerless, the
moon rattles like a fragment of angry candy”