All Poems
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To Charles Lloyd: An Unexpected Visitor
© Charles Lamb
Alone, obscure, without a friend,
A cheerless, solitary thing,
Why seeks, my Lloyd, the stranger out?
What offering can the stranger bring
Dear Colette
© Erica Jong
Dear Colette,
I want to write to you
about being a woman
for that is what you write to me.
Flor Da Mocidade
© Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis
Eu conheço a mais bela flor;
És tu, rosa da mocidade,
Nascida aberta para o amor.
Eu conheço a mais bela flor.
Colder
© Erica Jong
He was six foot four, and forty-six
and even colder than he thought he was
James Thurber, The Thirteen Clocks
Climbing You
© Erica Jong
I climb into your eyes, looking.
The pupils are black painted stage flats.
They can be pulled down like window shades.
I switch on a light in your iris.
Your brain ticks like a bomb.
Beast, Book, Body
© Erica Jong
The white bed
in the green garden--
I looked forward
to sleeping alone
the way some long
for a lover.
Autumn Perspective
© Erica Jong
Now we plan, postponing, pushing our lives forward
into the future--as if, when the room
contains us and all our treasured junk
we will have filled whatever gap it is
that makes us wander, discontented
from ourselves.
Costanza
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
She knelt in prayer. A stream of sunset fell
Thro' the stain'd window of her lonely cell,
And with its rich, deep, melancholy glow
Flushing her cheek and pale Madonna brow,
After the Earthquake
© Erica Jong
After the first astounding rush,
after the weeks at the lake,
the crystal, the clouds, the water lapping the rocks,
the snow breaking under our boots like skin,
& the long mornings in bed. . .
Lullaby; By The Sea
© Eugene Field
Fair is the castle up on the hill-
Hushaby, sweet my own!
The night is fair, and the waves are still,
And the wind is singing to you and to me
In this lowly home beside the sea-
Hushaby, sweet my own!
The Christ upon the Hill
© William Cosmo Monkhouse
A couple old sat o'er the fire,
And they were bent and gray;
They burned the charcoal for their Lord,
Who lived long leagues away.
Polytheist
© Lesbia Harford
One comes to love the little saints,
As years go by.
One learns to love the little saints.
"O hear me sigh,
Freedom of Love
© André Breton
(Translated from the French by Edouard Rodti)My wife with the hair of a wood fire
With the thoughts of heat lightning
With the waist of an hourglass
With the waist of an otter in the teeth of a tiger
Always For The First Time
© André Breton
Always for the first time
Hardly do I know you by sight
You return at some hour of the night to a house at an angle to my window
A wholly imaginary house
By The Fireside : King Witlaf's Drinking-horn
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Witlaf, a king of the Saxons,
Ere yet his last he breathed,
To the merry monks of Croyland
His drinking-horn bequeathed,--
Le Verbe ?tre
© André Breton
Je connais le d?sespoir dans ses grandes lignes. Le d?sespoir n'a pas d'ailes, il ne
se tient pas n?cessairement ? une table desservie sur une terrasse, le soir, au bord de
la mer. C'est le d?sespoir et ce n'est pas le retour d'une quantit? de petits faits
comme des graines qui quittent ? la nuit tombante un sillon pour un autre. Ce n'est pas
