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Any human to another	Do not go gentle...	Nocturne	Once

Any Human To Another

Countee Cullen

The ills I sorrow at
Not me alone
Like an arrow
pierce to the marrow,
Through the fat
And past the bone

Your grief and mine
Must intertwine
Like sea and river,
be fused and mingle,
Diverse yet single
Forever and forever

Let no man be so proud
And confident,
To think he is allowed
A little tent
Pitched in a meadow
Of sun and shadow
All his little own

Joy may be shy, unique
Friendly to a few,
Sorrow never scorned to speak
to any who
Were false or true

Your very grief
Like a blade
Shining and unsheathed
Must strike me down.
Of bitter aloes wreathed
My sorrow must be laid
On your head like a crown

NOCTURNE

COUNTEE CULLEN

Tell me all things false and true,
Bittersweet, that fools are wise;
I will not doubt or question you;
I am in a mood for lies.

Tell me all things ill turn good;
thew and sinew will be stronger
Thriving on deadly food
Love proffers for their hunger

Paint love lovely if you will;
Be crafty and deceptive;
Here is fertile land to till,
Sun-seeking, rain receptive

Hold my hand and lie to me;
I will not ask you how or why;
I see death drawing nigh to me
Out of the corner of my eye

DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

DYLAN THOMAS

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at the close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on it’s way,
Do not go gentle into that good night

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night
Rage, rage against the dying of the light

ONCE

Once on a yellow paper with green lines
He wrote a poem
And called it "skip"
Because that was the name of his dog
And that was what it was all about
And the teacher gave him an A and a gold star
And his mother pinned it to the kitchen wall
And showed it to his aunt
And that was the year his sister was born
And his parents kissed all the time
And the little girl around the corner
Sent him a postcard signed with rows of X’s
And his father tucked him into bed every night
And was always there

Then on a white paper with blue lines he wrote another poem
And he called it "autumn" because that was the season it was
And that was what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A and told him to write more clearly
And his mother told him not to pin it on the kitchen wall
Because it had just been painted
And that was the year his sister got glasses
And his parents never kissed anymore
And the little girl around the corner
Laughed when he fell with his bike
And his father got mad when he cried to be tucked in

On a piece of paper from a notebook he tried another poem
And he called it "question mark" because that was his concern
And his professor gave him an A and a hard searching look
And his mother didn’t say anything at all
Because he never showed it to her
And that was the year he caught his sister necking on the back porch
And the girl around the corner wore too much make-up
So that he laughed when he kissed her, but he kissed her anyway
And he tucked himself in at three in the morning
While his father slept soundly in the next room

And that’s why on the back of a matchbook cover he tried another poem
And he called it " absolutely nothing"
Because that was what it was all about
And he gave himself an A
And a slash on each wrist,
And hung it on the bathroom door
Because he couldn’t make it to the kitchen