Allen Ginsberg›Poezii

I I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn

Drinking my tea Without sugar- No difference. The sparrow shits upside down --ah! my brain & eggs Mayan head in a Pacific driftwood

Whom bomb? We bomb\'d them! Whom bomb? We bomb\'d them! Whom bomb? We bomb\'d them! Whom bomb? We bomb\'d them! Whom bomb? We bomb

Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is

I hope my good old asshole holds out 60 years it\'s been mostly OK Tho in Bolivia a fissure operation survived the altiplano hospital-- a

Millions of babies watching the skies Bellies swollen, with big round eyes On Jessore Road--long bamboo huts Noplace to shit but sand

The weight of the world is love. Under the burden of solitude, under the burden of dissatisfaction the weight, the weight we

I What new element before us unborn in nature? Is there a new thing under the Sun? At last inquisitive Whitman a modern epic,

And the Communists have nothing to offer but fat cheeks and eyeglasses and lying policemen and the Capitalists proffer Napalm and money in

I In the depths of the Greyhound Terminal sitting dumbly on a baggage truck looking at the sky waiting for the Los Angeles Express to

Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village. downtown Manhattan, clear

I walked outside & the bomb\'d dropped lots of plutonium all over the Lower East Side There weren\'t any buildings left just iron

I -- A Pleasant Afternoon for Michael Brownstein and Dick Gallup One day 3 poets and 60 ears sat under a green-striped Chau- tauqua

Please master can I touch your cheek please master can I kneel at your feet please master can I loosen your blue pants please master can I

Homage to Kenneth Koch If I were doing my Laundry I\'d wash my dirty Iran I\'d throw in my United States, and pour on the Ivory

Elan that lifts me above the clouds into pure space, timeless, yea eternal Breath transmuted into words Transmuted back to breath in one

Is that the only way we can become like Indians, like Rhinoceri, like Quartz Crystals, like organic farmers, like what we imagine Adam &

At gauzy dusk, thin haze like cigarette smoke ribbons past Chrysler Building\'s silver fins tapering delicately needletopped, Empire State\'s

Now I\'ll record my secret vision, impossible sight of the face of God: It was no dream, I lay broad waking on a fabulous couch in

Pigeons shake their wings on the copper church roof out my window across the street, a bird perched on the cross surveys the city\'s

railroad yard in San Jose I wandered desolate in front of a tank factory and sat on a bench near the switchman\'s shack. A flower

I came home and found a lion in my room... [First draft of \"The Lion for Real\" CP 174-175] A lion met America in the road they stared

Cool black night thru redwoods cars parked outside in shade behind the gate, stars dim above the ravine, a fire burning by the side porch

For Carl Solomon I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging