All Poems
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[Sonnet] name address date
© Bernadette Mayer
name address date
I cannot remember
an eye for an eye
then and there my
To a Grey Dress
© Ogden Nash
There's a flutter of grey through the trees:
Ah, the exquisite curves of her dress as she passes
Fleet with her feet on the path where the grass is!
Peter Quince at the Clavier
© Edwin Muir
Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,
Is music. It is like the strain
Waked in the elders by Susanna;
The Errancy
© Jorie Graham
Then the cicadas again like kindling that won’t take.
The struck match of some utopia we no longer remember
Saving Minutes
© Jonathan Galassi
to this,
and put it away
to be lived on another night,
your wedding night or some other night
that needed all the luck,
all the saved-up minutes you could bring it.
Nick and the Candlestick
© Sylvia Plath
I am a miner. The light burns blue.
Waxy stalactites
Drip and thicken, tears
Walter Llywarch
© Ronald Stuart Thomas
I am, as you know, Walter Llywarch,
Born in Wales of approved parents,
Well goitred, round in the bum,
Sure prey of the slow virus
Bred in quarries of grey rain.
The Local Language
© Ralph Angel
The way she puts her fingers to his chest when she greets him.
The way an old man quiets himself,
A Map of the Western Part of the County of Essex in England
© Denise Levertov
Something forgotten for twenty years: though my fathers
and mothers came from Cordova and Vitepsk and Caernarvon,
So they stood
© Samuel Menashe
So they stood
Upon ladders
With pruning hooks
Backs to the king
Who took his leave
Of gardening
Testing on Steel and Glass
© Carl Rakosi
Well put, anatomist.
We are all careful, men of earth
(a blind man can sense a post).
After the Pleasure Party: Lines Traced Under an Image of Amor Threatening
© Arvind Krishna Mehrotra
Fear me, virgin whosoever
Taking pride from love exempt,
Fear me, slighted. Never, never
Brave me, nor my fury tempt:
Downy wings, but wroth they beat
Tempest even in reason's seat.
Sonnet XXXV: No more be grieved at that which thou hast done
© William Shakespeare
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done:
Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud,
Taking Down the Tree
© Jane Kenyon
"Give me some light!" cries Hamlet's
uncle midway through the murder
of Gonzago. "Light! Light!" cry scattering
courtesans. Here, as in Denmark,
it's dark at four, and even the moon
shines with only half a heart.
Daddy
© Sylvia Plath
You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or Achoo.
