All Poems
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Psalm 111 part 1
© Isaac Watts
Songs of immortal praise belong
To my almighty God;
He has my heart, and he my tongue,
To spread his name abroad.
Midsummer, Tobago
© Derek Walcott
Broad sun-stoned beaches.White heat.
A green river.A bridge,
scorched yellow palmsfrom the summer-sleeping house
drowsing through August.Days I have held,
Harry Pearce
© David Campbell
I sat beside the red stock route
and chewed a blade of bitter grass
and saw in mirage on the plain
a bullock wagon pass.
Old Harry Pearce was with his team.
"The flies are bad," I said to him.
Blues
© Derek Walcott
You know they wouldn't kill
you. Just playing rough,
like young Americans will.
Still it taught me somthing
about love. If it's so tough,
forget it.
Before the Curtain
© Francis Bret Harte
Behind the footlights hangs the rusty baize,
A trifle shabby in the upturned blaze
Of flaring gas and curious eyes that gaze.
In The Virgins
© Derek Walcott
You can't put in the ground swell of the organ
from the Christiansted, St.Croix, Anglican Church
behind the paratrooper's voice: "Turned cop
after Vietnam. I made thirty jumps."
There's No To-Morrow
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
The Tale's a Jest, the Moral is a Truth;
To-Morrow and To-Morrow, cheat our Youth:
In riper Age, To-Morrow still we cry,
Not thinking, that the present Day we Dye;
Unpractis'd all the Good we had Design'd;
There's No To-Morrow to a Willing Mind.
Nine O'Clock
© Robert Graves
Good-night to the meadow, farewell to the nine o'clock Sun,
"He loves me not, loves me, he loves me not" (O jealous one!)
"He loves me, he loves me not, loves me"--O soft nights of June,
A bird sang for love on the cherry-bough: up swam the Moon.
A City's Death By Fire
© Derek Walcott
After that hot gospeller has levelled all but the churched sky,
I wrote the tale by tallow of a city's death by fire;
Under a candle's eye, that smoked in tears, I
Wanted to tell, in more than wax, of faiths that were snapped like wire.
Rose D'Amour
© Mathilde Blind
Oh haste while roses bloom below,
Oh haste while pale and bright above
The sun and moon alternate glow,
To pluck the rose of love.
Bankside: (Home Of Edmund Quincy Dedham)
© James Russell Lowell
I
I christened you in happier days, before
A Far Cry From Africa
© Derek Walcott
A wind is ruffling the tawny pelt
Of Africa, Kikuyu, quick as flies,
Batten upon the bloodstreams of the veldt.
Corpses are scattered through a paradise.
A Serious and Pathetical Contemplation of the Mercies of God
© Thomas Traherne
For all the mysteries, engines, instruments, wherewith the world is filled, which we are able to frame and use to thy glory.
For all the trades, variety of operations, cities, temples, streets, bridges, mariner's compass, admirable picture, sculpture, writing, printing, songs and music; wherewith the world is beautified and adorned.
Five For Country Music
© Lisel Mueller
The bulb at the front door burns and burns.
If it were a white rose it would tire of blooming
through another endless night.
Small Poem About The Hounds And The Hares
© Lisel Mueller
After the kill, there is the feast.
And toward the end, when the dancing subsides
and the young have sneaked off somewhere,
the hounds, drunk on the blood of the hares,
Scenic Route
© Lisel Mueller
Someone was always leaving
and never coming back.
The wooden houses wait like old wives
along this road; they are everywhere,
abandoned, leaning, turning gray.
Love
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
A life was mine full of the close concern
Of many-voiced affairs. The world sped fast;
All Night
© Lisel Mueller
All night the knot in the shoelace
waits for its liberation,
and the match on the table packs its head
with anticipation of light.
