All Poems
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Invisible Dreams
© Toi Derricotte
La poesie vit d’insomnie perpetuelle
—René Char
There’s a sickness in me. During
the night I wake up & it’s brought
Song: How sweet I roam'd from field to field
© William Blake
How sweet I roam'd from field to field,
And tasted all the summer's pride,
'Till I the prince of love beheld,
Who in the sunny beams did glide!
Benlomond
© Thomas Campbell
Hadst thou a genius on thy peak,
What tales, white-headed Ben,
Could'st thou of ancient ages speak,
That mock th' historian's pen!
I Eat My Peas with Honey
© Pierre Reverdy
I eat my peas with honey;
I've done it all my life.
It makes the peas taste funny,
But it keeps them on the knife.
I'm
© Emily Dickinson
I'm "wife"I've finished that
That other state
I'm CzarI'm "Woman" now
It's safer so
The Wheelchair Butterfly
© James Tate
concentrate long enough
on the history book of rodents
in this underground town
Lines Written In London
© Frances Anne Kemble
Struggle not with thy life!the heavy doom
Resist not, it will bow thee like a slave:
Willow Catkins
© Xue Tao
In February, light, fine willow catkins
play with people's clothes in spring breeze;
they are heartless creatures,
flying south one moment, then north again.
The Bungalows
© John Ashbery
Impatient as we were for all of them to join us,
The land had not yet risen into view: gulls had swept the gray steel towers away
So that it profited less to go searching, away over the humming earth
Than to stay in immediate relation to these other things—boxes, store parts, whatever you wanted to call them—
Whose installedness was the price of further revolutions, so you knew this combat was the last.
And still the relationship waxed, billowed like scenery on the breeze.
The Aquittal Of Phryne
© Alfred Austin
When Athens challenged Phryne to confess
Eleusis' self sufficed not to appal
Its Like This
© Stephen Dobyns
for Peter Parrish
Each morning the man rises from bed because the invisible
cord leading from his neck to someplace in the dark,
the cord that makes him always dissatisfied,
has been wound tighter and tighter until he wakes.
The Lepracaun Or Fairy Shoemaker
© William Allingham
Little Cowboy, what have you heard,
Up on the lonely rath's green mound?
Helen Of Troy
© Sara Teasdale
Wild flight on flight against the fading dawn
The flames' red wings soar upward duskily.
This is the funeral pyre and Troy is dead
That sparkled so the day I saw it first,
Here And There: Or This World And The Next: Being Suitable Thoughts For A New Year
© Hannah More
Here bliss is short, imperfect, insincere,
But total, absolute, and perfect there.
Lost In The Mist
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
THE thin white snow-streaks pencilling
That mountain's shoulder gray,
While in the west the pale green sky
Smiled back the dawning day,
Christabel
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
She stole along, she nothing spoke,
The sighs she heaved were soft and low,
And naught was green upon the oak
But moss and rarest misletoe:
She kneels beneath the huge oak tree,
And in silence prayeth she.
How?
© Franklin Pierce Adams
How can I work when you play the piano,
Feminine person above?
How can I think, with your ceaseless soprano
Singing: "Ah, Love--"?
