All Poems
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Middle Age
© Amy Lowell
Like black ice
Scrolled over with unintelligible patterns
by an ignorant skater
Is the dulled surface of my heart.
The Arrival
© Patricia Goedicke
Luggage first, the lining of his suit jacket dangling
As always, just when you’d given up hope
Nimbly he backs out of the taxi
The Young
© Roddy Lumsden
You bastards! It’s all sherbet, and folly
makes you laugh like mules. Chances
dance off your wrists, each day ready,
The Closed Door
© Madison Julius Cawein
SHUT it out of the heart this grief,
O Love, with the years grown old and hoary!
And let in joy that life is brief,
And give God thanks for the end of the story.
The Damned
© Roddy Lumsden
Kitten curious, or roaring down drinks
in Soho sumps, small hours tour buses,
satellite station green rooms, or conked
I See You've Travelled Some
© Edgar Albert Guest
Wherever you may chance to be wherever you may roam,
Far away in foreign lands; or just at home sweet home;
It always gives you pleasure, it makes your heart strings hum
Just to hear
The words of cheer,
"I see you've travelled some."
Holy Sonnets: This is my play's last scene
© John Donne
This is my play's last scene; here heavens appoint
My pilgrimage's last mile; and my race,
Finding the Space in the Heart
© Gary Snyder
I first saw it in the sixties,
driving a Volkswagen camper
London By Lamplight
© George Meredith
There stands a singer in the street,
He has an audience motley and meet;
Above him lowers the London night,
And around the lamps are flaring bright.
De Puero Et Praecone. Catul.
© Richard Lovelace
With a fair boy a cryer we behold,
What should we think, but he would not be sold?
The Murder of William Remington
© Howard Nemerov
It is true, that even in the best-run state
Such things will happen; it is true,
What’s done is done. The law, whereby we hate
Our hatred, sees no fire in the flue
But by the smoke, and not for thought alone
It punishes, but for the thing that’s done.
Lines in Reply to the Beautiful Poet Who Welcomed News of McGonagall's Departure from Dundee
© William Topaz McGonagall
Dear Johnny, I return my thanks to you;
But more than thanks is your due
For publishing the scurrilous poetry about me
Leaving the Ancient City of Dundee.
The Bwoat
© William Barnes
Where cows did slowly seek the brink
O' _Stour_, drough zunburnt grass, to drink;
To Mrs. Leonard on The Death of Her Husband
© Phillis Wheatley
GRIM Monarch! see depriv'd of vital breath,
A young Physician in the dust of death!
When I Am Asked
© Paul Eluard
When I am asked
how I began writing poems,
I talk about the indifference of nature.
To My Cottage
© John Clare
Thou lowly cot where first my breath I drew
Past joys endear thee childhoods past delight
