All Poems
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To The One Of Fictive Music
© Wallace Stevens
Sister and mother and diviner love,
And of the sisterhood of the living dead
The Grave of the Hundered Head
© Rudyard Kipling
There's a widow in sleepy Chester
Who weeps for her only son;
There's a grave on the Pabeng River,
A grave that the Burmans shun,
And there's Subadar Prag Tewarri
Who tells how the work was done.
In The People's Park
© Edith Nesbit
Many's the time I've found your face
Fresh as a bunch of flowers in May,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings
© Rudyard Kipling
As I pass through my incarnations in every age and race,
Make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market-Place.
'eering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.
At The Executed Murderer's Grave
© James Wright
6.
Staring politely, they will not mark my face
From any murderer's, buried in this place.
Why should they? We are nothing but a man.
The Gipsy Trail
© Rudyard Kipling
The white moth to the closing bine,
The bee to the opened clover,
And the gipsy blood to the gipsy blood
Ever the wide world over.
Sleep Flies Me
© Robert Fuller Murray
Sleep flies me like a lover
Too eagerly pursued,
Or like a bird to cover
Within some distant wood,
Where thickest boughs roof over
Her secret solitude.
Giffen's Debt
© Rudyard Kipling
Imprimis he was "broke." Thereafter left
His Regiment and, later, took to drink;
Then, having lost the balance of his friends,
"Went Fantee" -- joined the people of the land,
Distant Voices
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
And dusky faces passed and woke
The echoes with the words they spoke
The same old tales as other folk.
A truce to roaming! Never more
I'll leave the home I loved of yore.
But strangers meet me at the door.
Gethsemane
© Rudyard Kipling
It didn't pass -- it didn't pass --
It didn't pass from me.
I drank it when we met the gas
Beyond Gethsemane.
Gentlmen-Rankers
© Rudyard Kipling
To the legion of the lost ones, to the cohort of the damned,
To my brethren in their sorrow overseas,
Sings a gentleman of England cleanly bred, machinely crammed,
And a trooper of the Empress, if you please.
Moonflowers by Karma Larsen: American Life in Poetry #8 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of poems have been written to express the grief of losing a parent. Many of the most telling of these attach the sense of loss to some object, some personal thing left behind, as in this elegy to her mother by a Nebraskan, Karma Larsen:
Moonflowers
Monologue Of A Commercial Fisherman
© Alan Dugan
If you work a body of water and a body of woman
you can take fish out of one and children out of the other
Gehazi
© Rudyard Kipling
Whence comest thou, Gehazi,
So reverend to behold,
In scarlet and in ermines
And chain of England's gold?"
Remembrance
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Friend of mine! whose lot was cast
With me in the distant past;
Where, like shadows flitting fast,
The Galley-Slave
© Rudyard Kipling
Oh gallant was our galley from her caren steering-wheel
To her figurehead of silver and her beak of hammered steel;
The leg-bar chafed the ankle and we gasped for cooler air,
But no galley on the waters with our galley could compare!
Fuzzy-Wuzzy
© Rudyard Kipling
(Soudan Expeditionary Force)
We've fought with many men acrost the seas,
An' some of 'em was brave an' some was not:
The Paythan an' the Zulu an' Burmese;
To Autum
© William Blake
O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stain'd
With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit
Beneath my shady roof; there thou may'st rest,
And tune thy jolly voice to my fresh pipe,
And all the daughters of the year shall dance!
Sing now the lusty song of fruits and flowers.
Four-Feet
© Rudyard Kipling
"THE WOMAN IN HIS LIFE"
I have done mostly what most men do,
And pushed it out of my mind;
But I can't forget, if I wanted to,
Four-Feet trotting behind.
