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So this is a poem that was written by my english teacher, he was a great guy and i will miss him bunches. To me he just didn't seem like your normal everyday teacher, he was different, he had some crazy ideas and ways of teaching that were helpful and entertaining at the sametime. I hope you all like his poem as much as i do!



After Stealing a Line from John Ashbery

By: Steve Smith





In the medium--size city of my awareness

voles are building colossi.

They burrow into my corpus collosum

And there on the shores

Of my memories of you

They scurry to erect the stones

Of yesturday's "what if's."

They reported to the construction site

As soon as I walked into the coffee shop restroom,

Stood in front of the toilet,

Looked up at a poster of an Italian stamp

Colored green, cream and crimson with three men on camelback

Transporting coffee beans across a desert,

Transporting me to a train station

Between Rome and Brindisi in the middle of

A summer night thirty years ago,

Transporting me so instantly that I wonder

If the poster Italianne Postale is a portal

For some space/time continuum of then and now?





I try to recall the name of the town that triggered

This memory. Its name is gone, just like the memory

I should still have of where I went and

How far I got after I left your room in Montpelier

That morning fresh off the Paris Express

After a six month absence.

I cannot remember walking back to your

Room or if you came after me.

Maybe I did not leave at all

But moved as if to leave while

You, still moist from his departing kisses,

Implored me to stay.





And the voles lay down their trowels

And trudge sadly homeward.

I hear the whistle as

the train pulls in the station

"We loved with a love that was more than love."



"Men of genius are far more abundant than is supposed in fact, to appreciate throughly the work of what we call genius, is to possess all genius by which the work was produced."



"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity."



"All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream."



"Those who dream by day are cognizant of many things that escape those who dream only at night."



"Deep into the darkness peering, long i stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."



"All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry."



"True genius shudders at incompleteness-and usually prefers silence to saying something which is not everything it should be."



"words have no power to impress the mind with the exquisite horror of their reality."