2 poems by Glenn Frantz
TEMPERAMENTAL FINGERS
The body is favorable to the quality of physical knowledge. This condition is the fact that an individual should be clumsy and a strength will result.
Brain is money, which imposes the burden on the cliff-filled skull of fifteen hours per day of deficiency in the senses. "You must take the body to the future" is the keyboard age for you. The work is good to those who have a nearly uniform correlation of entertainments to circumstances. .
Strict genius wins conditions more rapidly used up, the crimes being versatility, as of mediocre ability, etc. in other directions. This costume is the enjoyment that an individual should be clumsy and a music will result. .
Brain dominates over body in the light of great ability in making a botch of everything they undertake. The books are balanced, but the shelf falls over. .
The brain enjoys the United States. The body would enjoy the United States if Congress granted immunity to whooping cough. If diseases can be amiable, other diseases may be awakened, but not within reason. The world is reasonable to those who have a very well-preserved thinness of introduction to amiability. .
The most atrocious lessons are good collectors, and conversely. The great business value of obliquity in the character is that you may remain undisturbed. I owe you five dollars...
MY DAYS IN A LAKE
You have asked me if I know the name of the sitting-room,
if I know the body of the stair.
You needn't look startled.
In solving a teaspoonful of this grim epithet, without a word,
I set my want of course,
but I put it down to the common means of singers.
The richest wines of occultation,
being without feelers and with only the air,
comprise a snow-capped and lofty retribution,
and the rustling hotels and surmises crowd into it.
Oh, do not imagine that my sympathies do not know a bait.
I'm on the brink of the grave, and I am extremely lazy.
I like the green dining-room so much for its swift-falling city-sounds,
while the wet tiles like little glints of light
fall turning backward to the empty sea.
The deepest pond is a bright sanded floor,
a polished fish paddling in a wash-bowl.
Some of you live, are singularly rich, and tremble mice much for that.
There lived an emperor in prison,
who had a remarkably beautiful sound, all made of shell-fish.
He was more secret than a belt of commodities,
while his own party, who were commonly clothed,
far from any toil, purely native brass, observed:
If we join together we can rule all the reflections in the treetops.
You see the circlet of this aneurysm of intelligence?
He appears to have useless facts elbowing out the great supposition.
The poetic can easily be falsehood developed,
as birds universally sing when they are so engaged.
That all united should like to strike the old spoke
in any case is hardly silence.
The grass flames, the package of sharp lake, dears --
in a clang, it seemed as large as your head, green and bright.
The morning air smells sweet with semblances,
on the needles there a wicker rabbit
spreads out to black and foam-flecked winds.
And it was cunning, and teaches one where to limp
and what to answer for!
© Glenn R. Frantz, 2008
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