All Poems

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Inniskeen Road: July Evening

© Patrick Kavanagh

The bicycles go by in twos and threes -

There's a dance in Billy Brennan's barn to-night,

'Atkins'

© George Meredith

Yonder's the man with his life in his hand,

Legs on the march for whatever the land,

Morituri Salutamus: Poem for the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Class of 1825 in Bowdoin College

Tempora labuntur, tacitisque senescimus annis,
Et fugiunt freno non remorante dies.
Ovid, Fastorum, Lib. vi.
"O Cæsar, we who are about to die
Salute you!" was the gladiators' cry
In the arena, standing face to face
With death and with the Roman populace.

An Opium Fantasy

© Maria White Lowell

SOFT hangs the opiate in the brain,
And lulling soothes the edge of pain,
Till harshest sound, far off or near,
Sings floating in its mellow sphere.

The Tree

© Karle Wilson Baker

My life is a tree,

Yoke-fellow of the earth;

Futility in Key West

© Mark Strand

I was stretched out on the couch, about to doze off, when I imagined a small figure asleep on a couch identical to mine

Driving West in 1970

© Robert Bly

My dear children, do you remember the morning
When we climbed into the old Plymouth
And drove west straight toward the Pacific?

What I Have Seen #2

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

I saw a maid with her chivalrous lover:
He was both tender and true;
He kissed her lips, vowing over and over,
"Darling, I worship you."
Sing, sing, bird of the spring,
Tell of the flowers the summer will bring.

Darkling Summer, Ominous Dusk, Rumorous Rain

© Delmore Schwartz

1

A tattering of rain and then the reign

Allegro Maestoso

© William Ernest Henley

Spring winds that blow

As over leagues of myrtle-blooms and may;

The Owl and the Pussy-Cat

© Edward Lear

I

The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea

In A/C with Ghosts

© Kenneth Slessor

You can shuffle and scuffle and scold,

You can rattle the knockers and knobs,

Nature's Praise

© John Austin

Hark, my soul, how everything
Strives to serve our bounteous King:
Each a double tribute pays,
Sings its part, and then obeys.

The Calling Motherland

On the lone height of some untrodden hill

The shadowy mother goes,

I Dreamed That in a City Dark as Paris

I dreamed that in a city dark as Paris
I stood alone in a deserted square.
The night was trembling with a violet
Expectancy. At the far edge it moved
And rumbled; on that flickering horizon
The guns were pumping color in the sky.