All Poems
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To Catullus
© John Hall Wheelock
Would that you were alive today, Catullus!
Truth ’tis, there is a filthy skunk amongst us,
A rank musk-idiot, the filthiest skunk,
Of no least sorry use on earth, but only
Fit in fancy to justify the outlay
Of your most horrible vocabulary.
A Song from the Italian from Limberham: or, the Kind Keeper
© John Dryden
By a dismal cypress lying,
Damon cried, all pale and dying,
For Christmas Day: Hark! the Herald Angels Sing
© Charles Wesley
Hark! the herald Angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King,
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinner reconcild.
Hark! the herald Angels sing,
Glory to the new-born King.
Makeup on Empty Space
© Anne Waldman
I am putting makeup on empty space
all patinas convening on empty space
Amaryllis
© Connie Wanek
A flower needs to be this size
to conceal the winter window,
and this color, the red
of a Fiat with the top down,
to impress us, dull as we've grown.
“A peanut sat on a railroad track ...”
© Pierre Reverdy
A peanut sat on a railroad track,
His heart was all a-flutter.
The five-fifteen came rushing by--
Toot toot! Peanut butter!
Snow Day
© Billy Collins
Today we woke up to a revolution of snow,
its white flag waving over everything,
the landscape vanished,
not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness,
and beyond these windows
They eat out
© Margaret Atwood
As for me, I continue eating;
I liked you better the way you were,
but you were always ambitious.
from The People, Yes
© Carl Sandburg
Lincoln? Was he a poet?
And did he write verses?
“I have not willingly planted a thorn
in any man’s bosom.”
I shall do nothing through malice: what
I deal with is too vast for malice.”
"I saw my Lady weep"
© Pierre Reverdy
I saw my Lady weep,
And Sorrow proud to be advanced so
In those fair eyes, where all perfections keep;
Her face was full of woe,
But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts
Than mirth can do, with her enticing parts.
Love's Alchemy
© John Donne
Some that have deeper digg'd love's mine than I,
Say, where his centric happiness doth lie;
On the Gift of a Book to a Child
© Hilaire Belloc
Child! do not throw this book about!
Refrain from the unholy pleasure
Of cutting all the pictures out!
Preserve it as your chiefest treasure.
Goofer-Dust
© Thomas Lux
(dirt stolen from an infant’s grave around midnight)
Do not try to take it from my child’s grave, nor
A Letter
© Amrita Pritam
Me—a book in the attic.
Maybe some covenant or hymnal.
Or a chapter from the Kama Sutra,
or a spell for intimate afflictions.
But then it seems I am none of these.
(If I were, someone would have read me.)
from Silent is the House
© Emily Jane Brontë
Come, the wind may never again
Blow as now it blows for us;
And the stars may never again shine as now they shine;
Long before October returns,
Seas of blood will have parted us;
And you must crush the love in your heart, and I the love in mine!
