All Poems
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Before I got my eye put out – (336)
© Emily Dickinson
Before I got my eye put out –
I liked as well to see
As other creatures, that have eyes –
And know no other way –
Oh, Hope! thou soother sweet of human woes
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Oh, Hope! thou soother sweet of human woes!
How shall I lure thee to my haunts forlorn!
To James Fenton
© John Fuller
The poet’s duties: no need to stress
The subject’s dullness, nonetheless
Here’s an incestuous address
In Robert Burns’ style
To one whom all the Muses bless
At Great Turnstile.
from Totem Poem [Abandoned in a field near Yass]
© Luke Davies
Abandoned in a field near Yass a cobwebbed car once kept us warm
and when it rained, though we shivered with sickness,
A Shropshire Lad XXVI: Along the field as we came by
© Alfred Edward Housman
Along the field as we came by
A year ago, my love and I,
from Maud: O that 'twere possible
© Alfred Tennyson
O that twere possible
After long grief and pain
To find the arms of my true love
Round me once again!...
Morning of Drunkenness
© Arthur Rimbaud
O my good! O my beautiful! Atrocious fanfare where I won’t stumble! enchanted rack whereon I am stretched! Hurrah for the amazing work and the marvelous body, for the first time! It began amid the laughter of children, it will end with it. This poison will remain in all our veins even when, as the trumpets turn back, we’ll be restored to the old discord. O let us now, we who are so deserving of these torments! let us fervently gather up that superhuman promise made to our created body and soul: that promise, that madness! Elegance, knowledge, violence! They promised us to bury the tree of good and evil in the shade, to banish tyrannical honesties, so that we might bring forth our very pure love. It began with a certain disgust and ended—since we weren’t able to grasp this eternity all at once—in a panicked rout of perfumes.
Laughter of children, discretion of slaves, austerity of virgins, horror in the faces and objects of today, may you be consecrated by the memory of that wake. It began in all loutishness, now it’s ending among angels of flame and ice.
Little eve of drunkenness, holy! were it only for the mask with which you gratified us. We affirm you, method! We don’t forget that yesterday you glorified each one of our ages. We have faith in the poison. We know how to give our whole lives every day.
Behold the time of the Assassins.
A Bowl of Spaghetti
© Kimiko Hahn
“To find a connectome, or the mental makeup of a person,”
researchers experimented with the neurons of a worm
Greek Architecture
© Arvind Krishna Mehrotra
Not magnitude, not lavishness,
But Form—the Site;
Not innovating wilfulness,
But reverence for the Archetype.
When the Frost is on the Punkin
© James Whitcomb Riley
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale
© Alice Walker
Ay, beshrew you! by my fay,
These wanton clerks be nice alway!
A Poem For Dada Day At The Place April 1, 1958
© Jack Spicer
IV
The bartender is not the United States
Or the intellectual
Or the bartender
He is every bastard that does not cry
When he reads this poem.
Grandeur of Ghosts
© Siegfried Sassoon
When I have heard small talk about great men
I climb to bed; light my two candles; then
Consider what was said; and put aside
What Such-a-one remarked and Someone-else replied.
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 78
© Alfred Tennyson
Again at Christmas did we weave
The holly round the Christmas hearth;
The silent snow possess'd the earth,
And calmly fell our Christmas-eve:
