All Poems

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Sugar Weather

© Peter McArthur

WHEN snow-balls on the horses' hoofs

And the wind from the south blows warm,

The Joy Of Life.

© Robert Crawford

I have the man's-heart in me, and 'tis noble
To be alive, to think, to feel, to have
My part in all the precious come-and-go
Of all things here. My very blood's a-tune

Shakespeare's Kingdom

© Alfred Noyes

When Shakespeare came to London
He met no shouting throngs;
He carried in his knapsack
A scroll of quiet songs.

To Mr. Addison on His Tragedy of Cato

© Thomas Tickell

Too long hath love engross'd Britannia's stage,

And sunk to softness all our tragic rage:

The Helot

© Isabella Valancy Crawford

Low the sun beat on the land,
Red on vine and plain and wood;
With the wine-cup in his hand,
Vast the Helot herdsman stood.

I'm a wanderer

© Matsuo Basho

I'm a wanderer
so let that be my name
the first winter rain

Plaint

© Ebenezer Elliott

Dark, deep, and cold the current flows
Unto the sea where no wind blows,
Seeking the land which no one knows.

Madrigal In Time Of War

© John Frederick Nims

Beside the rivers of the midnight town
Where four-foot couples love and paupers drown,
Shots of quick hell we took, our final kiss,
The great and swinging bridge a bower for this.

Certain Books Of Virgil's AEneis: Book II

© Henry Howard

BOOK II

They whisted all, with fixed face attent,

Prelude

© George Wither

(From _The Shepherd's Hunting_)

Seest thou not, in clearest days,

Long, long ago in the woods of Gortnamona,
I thought the birds were singing in the blackthorn tree;
But oh, it was my heart that was ringing, ringing, ringing,
With the joy that you were bringing, oh my love, to me

Orpheus

© Emma Lazarus

ORPHEUS.
LAUGHTER and dance, and sounds of harp and lyre,
Piping of flutes, singing of festal songs,
Ribbons of flame from flaunting torches, dulled

April In The Huasteca

Dark on the gold west,

Mexico hung inscrutable like a curtain of heavy velvet

The Passionate Pilgrim

Her lips to mine how often hath she joined,
Between each kiss her oaths of true love swearing!
How many tales to please me bath she coined,
Dreading my love, the loss thereof still fearing!
Yet in the midst of all her pure protestings,
Her faith, her oaths, her tears, and all were jestings.

Echo by Robert West: American Life in Poetry #114 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

© Ted Kooser

Poetry can be thought of as an act of persuasion: a poem attempts to bring about some kind of change in its reader, perhaps no more than a moment of clarity amidst the disorder of everyday life. And successful poems not only make use of the meanings and sounds of words, as well as the images those words conjure up, but may also take advantage of the arrangement of type on a page. Notice how this little poem by Mississippi poet Robert West makes the very best use of the empty space around it to help convey the nature of its subject.

Echo