All Poems

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Free Verse

© Robert Graves

I now delight
In spite
Of the might
And the right

SCENE I.
[A place not far from the summit of Mount Psiloriti, in the Isle of Candia. Philota discovered with a basket of grapes upon her head; she looks eagerly upward. Time, a little before sunset.]
PHILOTA.

Love and Black Magic

© Robert Graves

To the woods, to the woods is the wizard gone;
In his grotto the maiden sits alone.
She gazes up with a weary smile
At the rafter-hanging crocodile,

At Twenty-Eight by Amy Fleury: American Life in Poetry #59 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

© Ted Kooser

Contrary to the glamorized accounts we often read about the lives of single women, Amy Fleury, a native of Kansas, presents us with a realistic, affirmative picture. Her poem playfully presents her life as serendipitous, yet she doesn't shy away from acknowledging loneliness.

At Twenty-Eight

The Cool Web

© Robert Graves

Children are dumb to say how hot the day is,
How hot the scent is of the summer rose,
How dreadful the black wastes of evening sky,
How dreadful the tall soldiers drumming by.

Parasites - With original language version

© Alfonsina Storni

I never thought that God had any form.

Absoute the life; and absolute the norm.

Lost Love

© Robert Graves

His eyes are quickened so with grief,
He can watch a grass or leaf
Every instant grow; he can
Clearly through a flint wall see,

Mans Discontent

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

And the languid breeze was perfumed by a rose's stolen breath;
'Twas the last white bud of Summer that escaped the hand of death,
And my sweet, I feared to meet her for my yesterday of scorn;
Then I flung myself beside her as she knelt amid the corn.
She only said To red and gold grew the green young leaf of Spring.
The rose filled the dead cowslip's throne; now poppy reigns a king.

A Dead Boche

© Robert Graves

To you whod read my songs of War
And only hear of blood and fame,
Ill say (youve heard it said before)
Wars Hell! and if you doubt the same,
Today I found in Mametz Wood
A certain cure for lust of blood:

Love Sonnet XXV

© Zora Bernice May Cross

I lifted up my bowed and weeping head,
Borrowing comfort from your arms and eyes.
I felt your lips, long-climbing to my own,
And knew the best of me was not all dead.
I, who had fallen out of Paradise,
Was placed by you upon my rightful throne.

Mermaid, Dragon, Fiend

© Robert Graves

In my childhood rumors ran
Of a world beyond our door
Terrors to the life of man
That the highroad held in store.

Forgotten

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

FORGOTTEN! Can it be a few swift rounds
Of Time's great chariot wheels have crushed to naught
The memory of those fearful sights and sounds,
With speechless misery fraught--
Wherethro' we hope to gain the Hesperian height,
Where Freedom smiles in light?

To Juan at the Winter Solstice

© Robert Graves

There is one story and one story only
That will prove worth your telling,
Whether as learned bard or gifted child;
To it all lines or lesser gauds belong
That startle with their shining
Such common stories as they stray into.

The Beast

© Sylvia Plath

He won't be got rid of:
Memblepaws, teary and sorry,
Fido Littlesoul, the bowel's unfamiliar.
A dustbin's enough for him.
The dark's his bone.
Call him any name, he'll come to it.

Call It a Good Marriage

Call it a good marriage -
For no one ever questioned
Her warmth, his masculinity,
Their interlocking views;

Counting The Beats

You, love, and I,
(He whispers) you and I,
And if no more than only you and I
What care you or I?

I'd Love To Be A Fairy's Child

Children born of fairy stock
Never need for shirt or frock,
Never want for food or fire,
Always get their hearts desire:

Down, Wanton, Down!

Down, wanton, down! Have you no shame
That at the whisper of Love's name,
Or Beauty's, presto! up you raise
Your angry head and stand at gaze?

About My Poetry

© Nazim Hikmet

I have no silver-saddled horse to ride,
no inheritance to live on,
neither riches no real-estate -
a pot of honey is all I own.
A pot of honey
red as fire!

Like Snow

She, then, like snow in a dark night,
Fell secretly. And the world waked
With dazzling of the drowsy eye,
So that some muttered 'Too much light',