All Poems
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Fatigue
© Hilaire Belloc
I'm tired of Love: I'm still more tired of Rhyme.
But Money gives me pleasure all the time.
There Was One
© Dorothy Parker
There was one a-riding grand
On a tall brown mare,
And a fine gold band
He brought me there.
To John Donne
© Benjamin Jonson
Donne, the delight of Phoebus and each Muse
Who, to thy one, all other brains refuse;
To-- Oh! there are spirits of the air
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Oh! there are spirits of the air,
And genii of the evening breeze,
And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fair
As star-beams among twilight trees:
Such lovely ministers to meet
Oft hast thou turned from men thy lonely feet.
The Candidate
© Charles Churchill
This poem was written in , on occasion of the contest between the
Earls of Hardwicke and Sandwich for the High-stewardship of the
To the Memory of My Beloved the Author, Mr. William Shakespeare
© Benjamin Jonson
To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name,
Am I thus ample to thy book and fame;
First turn to me. . . .
© Bernadette Mayer
First turn to me after a shower,
you come inside me sideways as always
The Annihilation of Nothing
© Thom Gunn
Nothing remained: Nothing, the wanton name
That nightly I rehearsed till led away
To a dark sleep, or sleep that held one dream.
Moon From the Porch
© Annie Finch
Moon has dusks for walls,
October’s days for a floor,
crickets for rooms, windy halls.
Only one night is her door.
Above The Gaspereau
© Bliss William Carman
How still through the sweet summer sun, through the soft summer rain,
They have stood there awaiting the summons should bid them attain
The freedom of knowledge, the last touch of truth to explain
The great golden gist of their brooding, the marvellous train
Of thought they have followed so far, been so strong to sustain,
The white gospel of sun and the long revelations of rain!
In Chandler Country
© Dana Gioia
Relentlessly the wind blows on. Next door
catching a scent, the dogs begin to howl.
Lean, furious, raw-eyed from the storm,
packs of coyotes come down from the hills
where there is nothing left to hunt.
Click Go The Shears, Boys
© Anonymous
Out on the board the old shearer stands,
Grasping his shears in his long, bony hands,
Fixed is his gaze on a bare-bellied 'joe'
Glory if he gets her, won't he make the ringer go.
A Salutation
© Louise Imogen Guiney
High-hearted Surrey! I do love your ways,
Venturous, frank, romantic, vehement,
Inscribed
© James Whitcomb Riley
To the Elect of Love,--or side-by-side
In raptest ecstasy, or sundered wide
By seas that bear no message to or fro
Between the loved and lost of long ago.
Where the Blue Begins
© Sonia Sanchez
In the southern Adriatic, where the blue begins,
We came to rest awhile and play
