All Poems
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Honey At The Table
© Mary Oliver
It fills you with the soft
essence of vanished flowers, it becomes
a trickle sharp as a hair that you follow
from the honey pot over the table
Wild Geese
© Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
At Blackwater Pond
© Mary Oliver
At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled
after a night of rain.
I dip my cupped hands. I drink
a long time. It tastes
The Swan
© Mary Oliver
Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air -
An armful of white blossoms,
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
Poem (The spirit likes to dress up...)
© Mary Oliver
The spirit
likes to dress up like this:
ten fingers,
ten toes,
Next Time
© Mary Oliver
Next time what I'd do is look at
the earth before saying anything. I'd stop
just before going into a house
and be an emperor for a minute
and listen better to the wind
or to the air being still.
The Chance To Love Everything
© Mary Oliver
All summer I made friends
with the creatures nearby ---
they flowed through the fields
and under the tent walls,
Music
© Mary Oliver
I tied together
a few slender reeds, cut
notches to breathe across and made
such music you stood
shock still and then
Cold Poem
© Mary Oliver
I think of summer with its luminous fruit,
blossoms rounding to berries, leaves,
handfuls of grain.
Little Summer Poem Touching The Subject Of Faith
© Mary Oliver
Every summer
I listen and look
under the sun's brass and even
into the moonlight, but I can't hear
The Summer Day
© Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean--
A Meeting
© Mary Oliver
She steps into the dark swamp
where the long wait ends.The secret slippery package
drops to the weeds.She leans her long neck and tongues it
between breaths slack with exhaustionand after a while it rises and becomes a creature
The Journey
© Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
When Death Comes
© Mary Oliver
When death comes
like the hungry bear in autumn;
when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse
The Flask
© Charles Baudelaire
THERE are some powerful odours that can pass
Out of the stoppard flagon; even glass
To them is porous. Oft when some old box
Brought from the East is opened and the locks
To A Brown Beggar-maid
© Charles Baudelaire
WHITE maiden with the russet hair,
Whose garments, through their holes, declare
That poverty is part of you,
And beauty too.
