All Poems
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The Plain
© Jean Hans Arp
The plain was flawlessly paved.
Nothing, absolutely nothing but the chair and I
were there.
Broken Wings
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
GRAY-HEADED POETS, whom the full years bless
With life and health and chance still multiplied
To hold your forward course fame and success
Close at your side;
The Mountain Maid
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Half seated on a mossy crag,
Half crouching in the heather;
Das Bild An Hrn. H.
© Gotthold Ephraim Lessing
Das, Maler, ist dein Meisterstuecke!
Ja, H**, ja; an Anmut reich,
Sieht dies Kind meinem Kinde gleich.
Das ist sein Haar; dies seine Blicke;
Das ist sein Mund; das ist sein Kinn.
They Look At Us
© Eli Siegel
Martin Luther King
Is with John Brown.
Look up: you'll see them both
Looking down
Deep and so wide
At us.
A Serenade To My Mother
© Yeghishe Charents
I remember your old face
My precious mother and very sweet
With light wrinkles and lines
My precious one and very sweet.
Constance
© Madison Julius Cawein
Beyond the orchard, in the lane,
The crested red-bird sings again--
The Mother Who Died Too
© Edith Matilda Thomas
SHE was so littlelittle in her grave,
The wide earth all around so hard and cold
Kites
© William Rose Benet
High on the telephone wires, the paltry pitiful thing
Hangs in rags and tatters and loops of string.
A slight breeze shakes it, but cannot shake it down.
It flutters and flutters forgotten above the town.
Suche Waiwarde Waies Hath Love That Moste Parte In Discorde
© Henry Howard
Suche waiwarde waies hath love that moste parte in discorde;
Our willes do stand wherby our hartes but seldom dooth accorde.
The Breasts of Mnasidice
© Pierre Louys
Carefully she opened her tunic with one
hand and offered me her warm soft breasts as
one offers a pair of living pigeons to the
goddess. 'Love them well,' she said to me,
Verses - Spoken to Lady Henrietta Cavendish Holles-Harley, Countess of Oxford
© Matthew Prior
Madam, Since Anna visited the muse's seat,
(Around her tomb let weeping angels wait)
Little Boatie
© Henry Van Dyke
A Slumber Song For The Fishermans Child
Furl your sail, my little boatie;
To The Returned Girls
© Franklin Pierce Adams
Will you read my little pome,
O you girls returnéd home
From a summertime of sport
At the Jolliest Resort,
From a Heated Term of joys
Far from urban dust and noise?
Weighing The Baby
© Ethel Lynn Eliot Beers
"How many pounds does the baby weigh -
Baby who came but a month ago?
How many pounds from the crowning curl
To the rosy point of the restless toe?"
