All Poems

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Order by :

Yourself

© Jones Very

Tis to yourself I speak; you cannot know

Him whom I call in speaking such an one,

Elegy

© Daisy Fried

In memory D.K., Scrovegni Chapel, Padua

“Even Duccio can’t match

IT was stiller, dimmer twilight - amber toornin' into gold,
Like young maidens' hairs get yellow und more dark as dey crow old;
Und dere shtood a high ruine vhere de Donau rooshed along,
All lofely, yet neclected - like an oldt und silent song.

The Woman In The Temple

© George MacDonald

A still dark joy! A sudden face!
Cold daylight, footsteps, cries!
The temple's naked, shining space,
Aglare with judging eyes!

The Mower

© Andrew Marvell

Luxurious man, to bring his vice in use,

Did after him the world seduce;

The Llama

© Hilaire Belloc

The Llama is a wooly sort of fleecy hairy goat,
With an indolent expression and an undulating throat
Like an unsuccessful literary man.

At the Galleria Shopping Mall

© Tony Hoagland

so we were turned into Americans
to learn something about loneliness.

A Song Of Roses

© Virna Sheard

'Tis time to sing of roses: of roses all ablow,
To every vagrant passing breeze they dip a courtesy low,
'Tis time to sing of roses! for June is here, you know.

Upon Playing At Ombre With Two Ladies

© Matthew Prior

I know that Fortune long has wanted sight,

And therefore pardon'd when she did not right;

The Visible Creation

© James Montgomery

The God of nature and of grace
In all His works appears;
His goodness through the earth we trace,
His grandeur in the spheres.

Good Friday, 1613. Riding Westward

© John Donne

Let mans Soule be a Spheare, and then, in this,

The intelligence that moves, devotion is,

Shame

© C. K. Williams

A girl who, in 1971, when I was living by myself, painfully lonely, bereft, depressed,

offhandedly mentioned to me in a conversation with some friends that although at first she’d found me—

What The Auld Fowk Are Thinkin

The bairns i' their beds, worn oot wi' nae wark,
Are sleepin, nor ever an eelid winkin;
The auld fowk lie still wi' their een starin stark,
An' the mirk pang-fou o' the things they are thinkin.

Two Years Later

HAS no one said those daring

Kind eyes should be more learn'd?

Jackfruit

My body is like a jackfruit swinging on a tree
My skin is rough, my pulp is thick
Dear prince, if you want me pierce me upon your stick
Don't squeeze, I'll ooze and stain your hands