All Poems
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Foreward
© Madison Julius Cawein
_And one, perchance, will read and sigh:
"What aimless songs! Why will he sing
Of nature that drags out her woe
Through wind and rain, and sun, and snow,
From miserable spring to spring?"
Then put me by._
Hamlet As Told On The Street
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Well, that was the end of our sweet prince,
He died in confusion and nobodys seen him since.
And the moral of the story is bells do get out of tune
And you can find shit in a silver spoon
And an old mans revenge can be a young mans ruin
Oh and never look too close
at what your mamma is doin.
A Dead Sea-Gull
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
LACK-LUSTRE eye, and idle wing,
And smirchèd breast that skims no more,
White as the foam itself, the wave--
Hast thou not even a grave
Upon the dreary shore,
Forlorn, forsaken thing?
The Golden Apple
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
She saw on the far bank a golden apple,
A glowing apple, poor little Eve,
Remembering An Account Executive
© Alan Dugan
He had a back office in his older brothers
advertising agency and understood the human asshole.
Wallpapering by Sue Ellen Thompson: American Life in Poetry #109 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004
© Ted Kooser
One big test of the endurance of any relationship is taking on a joint improvement project. Here Sue Ellen Thompson offers an account of one such trial by fire.
Wallpapering
My parents argued over wallpaper. Would stripes
make the room look larger? He
would measure, cut, and paste; she'd swipe
the flaws out with her brush. Once it was properly
Ernst Of Edelsheim
© John Hay
I'll tell the story, kissing
This white hand for my pains:
No sweeter heart, nor falser
E'er filled such fine, blue veins.
Matinee by Patrick Phillips: American Life in Poetry #124 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
Here is a lovely poem about survival by Patrick Phillips of New York. People sometimes ask me "What are poems for?" and "Matinee" is an example of the kind of writing that serves its readers, that shows us a way of carrying on.
Matinee
After the biopsy,
after the bone scan,
after the consult and the crying,
Imprisoned
© Celia Thaxter
LIGHTLY she lifts the large, pure, luminous shell,
Poises it in her strong and shapely hand.
The Gardener
© Roderic Quinn
WITHIN this garden space are set
Sweet mignonette and violet,
Sunk in rich mould; at dawn and night
Their leaves dew-wet.
A Face
© Robert Browning
If one could have that little head of hers
Painted upon a background of pure gold,
To My First Love
© Hristo Botev
Put aside that song of love,
do not fill my heart with pain -
I'm young but I don't know of youth
and if I did I wouldn't claim
Song At Capri
© Sara Teasdale
When beauty grows too great to bear
How shall I ease me of its ache,
For beauty more than bitterness
Makes the heart break.
On the Paroo
© Henry Kendall
AS WHEN the strong stream of a wintering sea
Rolls round our coast, with bodeful breaks of storm,
Battle Of Hastings - I
© Thomas Chatterton
From Chatelet hys launce Erle Egward drew,
And hit Wallerie on the dexter cheek;
Peerc'd to his braine, and cut his tongue in two.
There, knyght, quod he, let that thy actions speak --
Sydney Exhibition Cantata
© Henry Kendall
A gracious morning on the hills of wet
And wind and mist her glittering feet has set;
The life and heat of light have chased away
Australia's dark, mysterious yesterday.
A great, glad glory now flows down and shines
On gold-green lands where waved funereal pines.
