All Poems
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The Letters
© Eileen Carney Hulme
I wonder if
you keep the letters still,
spidery and blotted
now, like old days
just withered away.
Small Breaths
© Eileen Carney Hulme
No matter that my heart sinks,
sighs, with the weight of skeletons-paths I forgot to follow
have slowly sealedrooms go unrecognised
for fear of changeand I cry at the uncertainty of rainbows.All the daydreams I stole,
Rhythm of Life
© Eileen Carney Hulme
The clock is silent
nowadays clocks no longer
need to make
that rhythmic sound of life.
Que Diria With Translation
© Alfonsina Storni
¿Irían a mirarme cubriendo las aceras?
¿Me quemarían como quemaron heciceras?
¿Campanas tocarían para llamar a misa?
Indian Summer
© Eileen Carney Hulme
Like a deep blue wave
of passion
you shore into the room
where I sit waiting quietly,
open-booked.
Zoheyr
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Woe is me for 'Ommi 'Aufa! Woe for the tents of her
lost on thy stony plain, Durráj, on thine, Mutethéllemi!
In Rákmatéyn I found our dwelling, faint lines how desolate,
tent--markstraced like the vein--tracings blue on the wrists of her.
The Swan Of Dijon
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
I was in Dijon when the war's wild blast
Was at its loudest; when there was no sound
Portrait Number Five: Against A New York Summer
© Jack Gilbert
I'd walk her home after work
buying roses and talking of Bechsteins.
She was full of soul.
Her small room was gorged with heat
Fragment
© Rupert Brooke
I strayed about the deck, an hour, to-night
Under a cloudy moonless sky; and peeped
In at the windows, watched my friends at table,
Or playing cards, or standing in the doorway,
Or coming out into the darkness. Still
No one could see me.
Searching For Pittsburgh
© Jack Gilbert
The fox pushes softly, blindly through me at night,
between the liver and the stomach. Comes to the heart
and hesitates. Considers and then goes around it.
Trying to escape the mildness of our violent world.
The Jews
© George Herbert
Poore nation, whose sweet sap and juice
Our eyens have purloin'd, and left you drie:
Whose streams we got by the Apostles' sluce,
And use in baptisme, while ye pine and die:
Who by not keeping once, became a debter;
And now by keeping lose the letter:
Recovering Amid The Farms
© Jack Gilbert
Every morning the sad girl brings her three sheep
and two lambs laggardly to the top of the valley,
past my stone hut and onto the mountain to graze.
She turned twelve last year and it was legal
In Dispraise Of Poetry
© Jack Gilbert
When the King of Siam disliked a courtier,
he gave him a beautiful white elephant.
The miracle beast deserved such ritual
that to care for him properly meant ruin.
Yet to care for him improperly was worse.
It appears the gift could not be refused.
The Forgotten Dialect Of The Heart
© Jack Gilbert
How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,
God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words
get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according
Tear It Down
© Jack Gilbert
We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. By redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
Maud II
© Alfred Tennyson
O that 'twere possible
After long grief and pain
To find the arms of my true love
Round me once again!
The Abnormal Is Not Courage
© Jack Gilbert
The Poles rode out from Warsaw against the German
Tanks on horses. Rode knowing, in sunlight, with sabers,
A magnitude of beauty that allows me no peace.
And yet this poem would lessen that day. Question
