A Memory of the Players in a Mirror at Midnight
They mouth love's language. Gnash
The thirteen teeth
Your lean jaws grin with. Lash
Your itch and quailing, nude greed of the flesh.
Love's breath in you is stale, worded or sung,
As sour as cat's breath,
Harsh of tongue.
This grey that stares
Lies not, stark skin and bone.
Leave greasy lips their kissing. None
Will choose her what you see to mouth upon.
Dire hunger holds his hour.
Pluck forth your heart, saltblood, a fruit of tears.
Pluck and devour!
James Joyce's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (A Memory of the Players in a Mirror at Midnight by James Joyce )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
Did you read them?
- Heroin, S.D. TIWARI
- 728 Days, Tara Stano
- Why do I write, S.D. TIWARI
- Stream of life, S.D. TIWARI
- We Must Learn, Jaipal Singh
- गोरबो इसिँनिफ्राइ -67, Ronjoy Brahma
- Haiku, bonsai, S.D. TIWARI
- The Bloody Power Politics of The CPI(M), Bijay Kant Dubey
- Haiku, butterflies fly, S.D. TIWARI
- Live to Enjoy Life, Jaipal Singh