All Poems
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A Song
© Helen Maria Williams
No riches from his scanty store
My lover could impart;
He gave a boon I valued more
He gave me all his heart!
Winter Dawn
© Kenneth Slessor
At five I wake, rise, rub on the smoking pane
A port to see—water breathing in the air,
The Cuckoo Song
© Pierre Reverdy
Sumer is i-cumin in—
Lhude sing, cuccu!
Groweth sed and bloweth med
And springth the wude nu.
Sing, cuccu!
Songs from The Beggars Opera: Air X-Thomas, I Cannot"
© John Gay
Act I, Scene viii, Air XThomas, I Cannot,
Polly. I like a ship in storms was tossed,
Sad Wine (I)
© Cesare Pavese
It was beautiful how he cried as he told it,
the way a drunk cries, his whole body to it,
and he hung on my shoulder saying, Between us,
always respect, and there I was, shaking with cold,
wanting to leave, and helping him walk.
I Saw in Louisiana A Live-Oak Growing
© Walt Whitman
I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,
Blackberrying
© Sylvia Plath
Nobody in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blackberries,
Blackberries on either side, though on the right mainly,
Eyes Like Leeks
© Michael Rosen
It had almost nothing to do with sex.
The boy
in his corset and farthingale, his head-
Opportunity
© Helen Hunt Jackson
I do not know if, climbing some steep hill,
Through fragrant wooded pass, this glimpse I bought,
As Children Know
© James Russell Lowell
Elm branches radiate green heat,
blackbirds stiffly strut across fields.
Nest
© Jeffrey Harrison
It wasn’t until we got the Christmas tree
into the house and up on the stand
that our daughter discovered a small bird’s nest
tucked among its needled branches.
Sweet Romanian Tongue
© James Schuyler
Drew down the curse of heaven on her umbrella
furled and smelling of wet cigarettes,
Jo ran off in rain one pitchy night,
one bloody a.m. found her staring, snoring.
Im thankful that my life doth not deceive
© Henry David Thoreau
Im thankful that my life doth not deceive
Itself with a low loftiness, half height,
Jesus Comforts His Mother
© Pierre Reverdy
A baby is borne us blis to bring;
A maidden, I hard, Loullay, sing:
Dere son, now leive thy wepping,
Thy fadere is the King of Blis.
Maud; A Monodrama (from Part I)
© Alfred Tennyson
Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the rose is blown.
The Photos
© Diane Wakoski
My sister in her well-tailored silk blouse hands me
the photo of my father
in naval uniform and white hat.
I say, “Oh, this is the one which Mama used to have on her dresser.”
Sonnet LXXVI: Why is my verse so barren of new pride
© William Shakespeare
Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Briefly It Enters, Briefly Speaks
© Jane Kenyon
When the young girl who starves
sits down to a table
she will sit beside me. . . .
