All Poems

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Child of a Day

© Heather Fuller

Child of a day, thou knowest not
The tears that overflow thy urn,
The gushing eyes that read thy lot,
Nor, if thou knewest, couldst return!

A Poem: To The Memory of Mrs. Oldfield

© Richard Savage

Oldfield's no more!-And can the Muse forbear,

O'er Oldfield's Grave to shed a grateful Tear?

Rose Aylmer

© Heather Fuller

Ah what avails the sceptred race,

Ah what the form divine!

Ode Read At The One Hundreth Anniversary Of The Fight At Concord Bridge

Summer Evening

© Eamon Grennan

A spear of zinc light wounds stone and water,

stripping the scarlet fuchsia bells and yellow buttercups

Towns in Colour

© Amy Lowell

I Red Slippers

Red slippers in a shop-window, and outside in the street, flaws of grey, windy sleet!

It often returns, in the slow rise from sleep,
that undone aroma of far-off flowers,
of barns and of sun. No man can know
the subtle caress of that sour memory.
No man can see, beyond that sprawled body,
that childhood passed in such clumsy anxiety.

Samhain

© Annie Finch

Now when dying grasses veil
earth from the sky in one last pale
wave, as autumn dies to bring
winter back, and then the spring,
we who die ourselves can peel
back another kind of veil

Coole Park 1929

© William Butler Yeats

I MEDITATE upon a swallow's flight,

Upon a aged woman and her house,

from Don Juan: Canto 1, Stanzas 47-48

© Lord Byron

47

Sermons he read, and lectures he endured,

The French Revolution as it appeared to Enthusiasts

© William Wordsworth

. Oh! pleasant exercise of hope and joy!

For mighty were the auxiliars which then stood

“Teach Us to Number Our Days”

© Rita Dove

In the old neighborhood, each funeral parlor
is more elaborate than the last.
The alleys smell of cops, pistols bumping their thighs,
each chamber steeled with a slim blue bullet.

The Alpaca

© Jim Carroll

She is harnessed for a long journey; on her back she carries an entire store of wool.
She walks without rest, and sees with eyes full of strangeness. The wool merchant has forgotten to come to get her, and she is ready.
In this world, nothing comes better equipped than the alpaca; ones is more burdened with rags than the next. Her sky-high softness is such that if a newborn is placed on her back, he will not feel a bone of the animal.
The weather is very hot. Today, large scissors that will cut and cut represent mercy for the alpaca.

The Splendour Falls

The splendour falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes dying, dying, dying.

A Summer Garden

© Louise Gluck

1
Several weeks ago I discovered a photograph of my mother
sitting in the sun, her face flushed as with achievement or triumph.
The sun was shining. The dogs
were sleeping at her feet where time was also sleeping,
calm and unmoving as in all photographs.

To the sagging wharf
few ships could come.
The population numbered
two giants, an idiot, a dwarf,

Poem 1 From Pierce Penilesse

© Thomas Nashe

Why ist damnation to dispaire and die,
When life is my true happinesse disease?
My soule, my soule, thy safetye makes me flie
The faultie meanes, that might my paine appease.