All Poems

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Idea XIV

© Michael Drayton

If he from heaven that filched that living fire

Condemned by Jove to endless torment be,

Sonnet XCVIII: From you have I been absent in the spring

© William Shakespeare

From you have I been absent in the spring,

When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,

Ah! Why, Because the Dazzling Sun

© Emily Jane Brontë

Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
Restored my earth to joy
Have you departed, every one,
And left a desert sky?

The Way Of The World

© Edgar Albert Guest

IT'S ALL in the way that you look at the world,

It's all in the way that you do things,

Reading the Bible Backwards

© Hugo Williams

All around the altar, huge lianas

curled, unfurled the dark green

Ode on the Spring

© Thomas Gray

Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours,

Fair Venus' train appear,

The natural death we each night undergo
Should teach us that our passing's but a sleep,
Which we beyond the body's shadow may,
Even as a garment of the day we doff,
Put off for ever, being then no more
Nor less, indeed, than we have been before.

Self-Employed

© David Ignatow

For Harvey Shapiro

I stand and listen, head bowed,

How precious are thy thoughts of peace

© James Montgomery

How precious are thy thoughts of peace,
O God! to me; how great their sum!
New every morn, they never cease;
They were, they are, and yet shall come,
In number and in compass more
Than ocean's sand, or ocean's shore.

Still Start

© Kay Ryan

As if engine

parts could be

The Dont Believers

© Edgar Albert Guest

The new - fangled churches that don't believe I things

Aren't the churches that satisfy me;

I Would To Heaven That I Were So Much Clay

© George Gordon Byron

I would to heaven that I were so much clay,

As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, feeling -

Moonrise

© Sylvia Plath

Grub-white mulberries redden among leaves.
I'll go out and sit in white like they do,
Doing nothing. July's juice rounds their nubs.

from The Task, Book VI: The Winter Walk at Noon

(excerpt)

Thus heav’n-ward all things tend. For all were once

Chrismas Invitation

Come down to-morrow night; an' mind,
Don't leäve thy fiddle-bag behind;
We'll sheäke a lag, an' drink a cup
O' eäle, to keep wold Chris'mas up.

The Princess: Thy Voice is Heard

Thy voice is heard thro' rolling drums,

© Walt Whitman

Whoever you are holding me now in hand,
Without one thing all will be useless,
I give you fair warning before you attempt me further,
I am not what you supposed, but far different.