All Poems
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The Holy Communion
© George Herbert
Not in rich furniture, or fine array,
Nor in a wedge of gold,
Thou, who from me wast sold,
To me dost now thyself convey;
For so thou should'st without me still have been,
Leaving within me sinne:
Foundations
© William Wilfred Campbell
So life and all its idols hath its hour,
Its fleet, ephemeral dream, its passing show,
Its pomp of fevered hopes that come and go:
Then stripped of vanity and folly's power,
Like some wide water bared to moon and star,
We know ourselves in truth for what we are.
The Ladder of St. Augustine
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Saint Augustine! well hast thou said,
That of our vices we can frame
A ladder, if we will but tread
Beneath our feet each deed of shame!
The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The Fifth
© William Lisle Bowles
Such are thy views, DISCOVERY! The great world
Rolls to thine eye revealed; to thee the Deep
Dupont’s Round Fight (November, 1861)
© Arvind Krishna Mehrotra
In time and measure perfect moves
All Art whose aim is sure;
Evolving rhyme and stars divine
Have rules, and they endure.
Captain Hook
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Captain Hook must remember
Not to scratch his toes.
Captain Hook must watch out
And never pick his nose.
Separation
© William Stanley Merwin
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
Grandfather Bridgeman
© George Meredith
'Heigh, boys!' cried Grandfather Bridgeman, 'it's time before dinner to-day.'
He lifted the crumpled letter, and thumped a surprising 'Hurrah!'
Up jumped all the echoing young ones, but John, with the starch in his throat,
Said, 'Father, before we make noises, let's see the contents of the note.'
The old man glared at him harshly, and twinkling made answer: 'Too bad!
John Bridgeman, I'm always the whisky, and you are the water, my lad!'
The Pity Of It
© Robert Laurence Binyon
I walked in loamy Wessex lanes, afar
From rail-track and from highway, and I heard
In field and farmstead many an ancient word
Of local lineage like "Thu bist," "Er war,"
“I have been a stranger in a strange land”
© Rita Dove
And there was no voice in her head,
no whispered intelligence lurking
in the leaves—just an ache that grew
until she knew she'd already lost everything
except desire, the red heft of it
warming her outstretched palm.
Scorn not the Sonnet
© André Breton
Scorn not the Sonnet; Critic, you have frowned,
Mindless of its just honours; with this key
Casa Sin Alma
© James Russell Lowell
Silencioso por la puerta
Voy de su casa desierta
Do siempre feliz entre,
Y la encuentro en vano abierta
Cual la boca de una muerta
Despues que el alma se fue.
Her my body
© Richard Jones
The dog licks my hand as I worry
about the left nipple
of the woman in the bathroom.
A Mystery
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The river hemmed with leaning trees
Wound through its meadows green;
A low, blue line of mountains showed
The open pines between.
New Magic
© Kenneth Slessor
At last I know—it’s on old ivory jars,
Glassed with old miniatures and garnered once with musk.
I’ve seen those eyes like smouldering April stars
As carp might see them behind their bubbled skies
In pale green fishponds—they’re as green your eyes,
As lakes themselves, changed to green stone at dusk.
Folk Tune
© Joseph Brodsky
It's not that the Muse feels like clamming up,
it's more like high time for the lad's last nap.
And the scarf-waving lass who wished him the best
drives a steamroller across his chest.
from The Congo: Section 1
© Roald Dahl
I. THEIR BASIC SAVAGERY
Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room,
