All Poems

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The Big Boots Of Pain

© Anne Sexton

There can be certain potions
needled in the clock
for the body's fall from grace,
to untorture and to plead for.

Did you ever hear the story of the loyal cat? Meyow!
Who was faithful to the flag, and ever follow'd that? Meyow!
Oh, she had a happy home beneath a southern sky,
But she pack'd her goods and left it when our troups came nigh,
And she fell into the collumn with a low glad cry, Meyow!

Rowing

© Anne Sexton

As the African says:
This is my tale which I have told,
if it be sweet, if it be not sweet,
take somewhere else and let some return to me.
This story ends with me still rowing.

The Break Away

© Anne Sexton

I pray it will know truth,
if truth catches in its cup
and yet I pray, as a child would,
that the surgery take.

To A Proud Beauty

© Adam Lindsay Gordon

"A Valentine"
Though I have loved you well, I ween,
And you, too, fancied me,
Your heart hath too divided been

The Poet Of Ignorance

© Anne Sexton

I had a dream once,
perhaps it was a dream,
that the crab was my ignorance of God.
But who am I to believe in dreams?

For Righteousness' Sake

© John Greenleaf Whittier

THE age is dull and mean. Men creep,

Not walk; with blood too pale and tame

The Civil War

© Anne Sexton

I am torn in two
but I will conquer myself.
I will dig up the pride.
I will take scissors

Doubtful Dreams

© Adam Lindsay Gordon

Aye, snows are rife in December,

And sheaves are in August yet,

For John, Who Begs Me Not To Enquire Further

© Anne Sexton

Not that it was beautiful,
but that, in the end, there was
a certain sense of order there;
something worth learning

Fate.

© Robert Crawford

O Thou, who knowest whence we came, and can
Endow a moment with the mood of Man,
When my wan moment like a dream is gone,
Destroy or take me then where I began.

The Black Art

© Anne Sexton

A woman who writes feels too much,
those trances and portents!
As if cycles and children and islands
weren't enough; as if mourners and gossips

Daydreams for Ginsberg

© Jack Kerouac

I lie on my back at midnight

hearing the marvelous strange chime

Elizabeth Gone

© Anne Sexton

1.You lay in the nest of your real death,
Beyond the print of my nervous fingers
Where they touched your moving head;
Your old skin puckering, your lungs' breath

Cripples And Other Stories

© Anne Sexton

My doctor, the comedian
I called you every time
and made you laugh yourself
when I wrote this silly rhyme...

© Anne Sexton

I am not lazy.
I am on the amphetamine of the soul.
I am, each day,
typing out the God

© Anne Sexton

"Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold." - From an essay by W. B. Yeats Big heart,
wide as a watermelon,
but wise as birth,
there is so much abundance