All Poems
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An Exercise in Love
© Diane di Prima
Many have brought the gifts
I use for his pleasure
silk, & green hills
& heron the color of dawn
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 54
© Alfred Tennyson
Oh, yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final end of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;
Tenebrae
© Geoffrey Hill
Veni Redemptor, but not in our time.
Christus Resurgens, quite out of this world.
‘Ave’ we cry; the echoes are returned.
Amor Carnalis is our dwelling-place.
Sonnet CXXXVIII: When my love swears that she is made of truth
© William Shakespeare
When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
Leaves
© Gerald Stern
He was cleaning leaves for one at a time
was what he needed and a minute before the two
The Men
© Pablo Neruda
The era's beginning: are these ruined shacks,
these poor schools, these people still in rags and tatters,
this cloddish insecurity of my poor families,
is all this the day? the century's beginning, the golden door?
1914 II. Safety
© Rupert Brooke
Dear! of all happy in the hour, most blest
He who has found our hid security,
Old Folks at Home
© Stephen C. Foster
All de world am sad and dreary,
Ebry where I roam,
Oh! darkeys how my heart grows weary,
Far from de old folks at home.
To Robert Browning
© Heather Fuller
There is delight in singing, tho’ none hear
Beside the singer; and there is delight
Blues Chant Hoodoo Revival
© Yusef Komunyakaa
let’s pour the river’s rainbow
into our stone water jars
bad luck isn’t red flowers
crushed under jackboots
Teaching English from an Old Composition Book
© Gary Soto
My chalk is no longer than a chip of fingernail,
Chip by which I must explain this Monday
Let the Light Enter
© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
The Dying Words of Goethe
“Light! more light! the shadows deepen,
Lines to Accompany Flowers for Eve
© John Betjeman
who took heroin, then sleeping pills, and who lies in a New York hospital
The florist was told, cyclamen or azalea;
Holy Sonnets: Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?
© John Donne
Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay?
Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste,
