All Poems
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A Small Moment
© Cornelius Eady
I walk into the bakery next door
To my apartment. They are about
To pull some sort of toast with cheese
From the oven. When I ask:
What’s that smell? I am being
A poet, I am asking
August Afternoon
© Robert Laurence Binyon
Thump of a horse's hoof behind the hedge;
Long stripes of shadow, and green flame in the grass
Between them; discrowned, glaucous poppy--pods
On their tall stalks; a rose
How Is It That the Snow by Robert Haight: American Life in Poetry #193 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laurea
© Ted Kooser
The first two lines of this poem pose a question many of us may have thought about: how does snow make silence even more silent? And notice Robert Haight's deft use of color, only those few flecks of red, and the rest of the poem pure white. And silent, so silent. Haight lives in Michigan, where people know about snow.
How Is It That the Snow
How is it that the snow
amplifies the silence,
slathers the black bark on limbs,
heaps along the brush rows?
The Dead Fox Hunter
© Robert Graves
We found the little captain at the head;
His men lay well-aligned.
We touched his hand &mdash stone cold &mdash and he was dead,
And they, all dead behind,
Had never reached their goal, but they died well;
They charged in line, and in the same line fell.
The Icehouse in Summer
© Howard Nemerov
see Amos, 3:15
A door sunk in a hillside, with a bolt
thick as the boy’s arm, and behind that door
the walls of ice, melting a blue, faint light,
an air of cedar branches, sawdust, fern:
decaying seasons keeping from decay.
Hark To The Shouting Wind
© Henry Timrod
Hark to the shouting Wind!
Hark to the flying Rain!
And I care not though I never see
A bright blue sky again.
Paris and Helen
© Judy Grahn
He called her: mother of pearl
barley woman, rice provider,
millet basket, corn maid,
flax princess, all-maker, weef
Never to Dream of Spiders
© Elizabeth Daryush
Once the renegade flesh was gone
fall air lay against my face
sharp and blue as a needle
but the rain fell through October
and death lay a condemnation
within my blood.
If You Could Come
© Katharine Lee Bates
My love, my love, if you could come once more
From your high place,
I would not question you for heavenly lore,
But, silent, take the comfort of your face.
The Golden Mile-Stone. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Leafless are the trees; their purple branches
Spread themselves abroad, like reefs of coral,
Rising silent
In the Red Sea of the winter sunset.
The God Called Poetry
© Robert Graves
Now I begin to know at last,
These nights when I sit down to rhyme,
A Summer Wish
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Live all thy sweet life through,
Sweet Rose, dew-sprent,
In Flanders
© Eugene Field
Some folks contend that these oaths without end
Began among the commanders,
That, taking this cue, the subordinates, too,
Swore terribly in Flanders:
Twas "------!"
"----"
Backdrop addresses cowboy
© Margaret Atwood
Starspangled cowboy
sauntering out of the almost-
silly West, on your face
a porcelain grin,
tugging a papier-mâché cactus
on wheels behind you with a string,
Commemoration
© Sir Henry Newbolt
I sat by the granite pillar, and sunlight fell
Where the sunlight fell of old,
And the hour was the hour my heart remembered well,
And the sermon rolled and rolled
As it used to roll when the place was still unhaunted,
And the strangest tale in the world was still untold.
Replica
© Marvin Bell
The fake Parthenon in Nashville, Stonehenge reduced by a quarter
near Maryhill on the Columbia, the little Statue of Liberty
