[FOsen]

Larkin

To be, or reach the only end of being.
That’s not a question, it’s a way of seeing
clearly, what's really always been there: how
unresting death’s a whole act nearer now.
Procrastination does no good; it means
slouching about in tights for twelve more scenes.
Ends merely whinged at, though (don’t be mistaken),
beat any death that’s, you know, undertaken.
I think I’ll end this dark soliloquy;
it tangles like a cancerous peduncle.
It’s not enough my parents f—d up me;
we all got f—d up by my f—g uncle!


Hopkins

Blow, winds, and crack
your zephyr-flatulent, cumolo-corpulous cheeks! Wrack
all-in-a-raging, fissure-riven, river runnel downflying flow,
go!
Blue-blown cataracts and hurricanoes, - cor, I’m a little teapot – spout!
Out Out (O to be) Out!
Spit and stanch the stiff-standing, unquenched spires,
drown the cocks!
You sylphs of sulphurous thought-ex-
ecuting, flame-flickered fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving lightning,
Singe my, what with the hoary hair hided heap of it, white head! And thou, frightening,
all-shaking-shook foil fall of thunder’s van
hurl!
Fell me! Fall and smite mite-flat the ring-round-rotundity o' (Oh, the all of it) world!
Wreck, and rock nature's moulds, and gerbils hurl at once, that make ingrateful man!


Frank