All Poems

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Flossie Cabanis

© Edgar Lee Masters

From Bindle's opera house in the village
To Broadway is a great step.
But I tried to take it, my ambition fired
When sixteen years of age,

After The Storm

© Derek Walcott

There are so many islands!

As many islands as the stars at night

To be able to see every side of every question;
To be on every side, to be everything, to be nothing long;
To pervert truth, to ride it for a purpose,
To use great feelings and passions of the human family

Lowry Bay

© Hubert Church

I am not here alone. A hidden throng

Is round me in the vesper of the sky.

Constance Hately

© Edgar Lee Masters

You praise my self-sacrifice, Spoon River,
In rearing Irene and Mary,
Orphans of my older sister!
And you censure Irene and Mary

Rosie Roberts

© Edgar Lee Masters

I was sick, but more than that, I was mad
At the crooked police, and the crooked game of life.
So I wrote to the Chief of Police at Peoria:
"I am here in my girlhood home in Spoon River,

Fulfillment

© Madison Julius Cawein

Yes, there are some who may look on these

Essential peoples of the earth and air--

Ollie McGee

© Edgar Lee Masters

Have you seen walking through the village
A man with downcast eyes and haggard face?
That is my husband who, by secret cruelty
never to be told, robbed me of my youth and my beauty;

Sonnet VI.

© Christopher Pearse Cranch

AH, many a time our memory slips aside
And leaves the round of present cares and joys,
To live again the time when we were boys;
To call our parents back with love and pride;

Doctor Meyers

© Edgar Lee Masters

No other man, unless it was Doc Hill,
Did more for people in this town than l.
And all the weak, the halt, the improvident
And those who could not pay flocked to me.

Tom Merritt

© Edgar Lee Masters

At first I suspected something --
She acted so calm and absent-minded.
And one day I heard the back door shut,
As I entered the front, and I saw him slink

Morning

© Alaric Alexander Watts

Morn,
Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand
Unbars the gates of light. ~ MILTON.

Amelia Garrick

© Edgar Lee Masters

Yes, here I lie close to a stunted rose bush
In a forgotten place near the fence
Where the thickets from Siever's woods
Have crept over, growing sparsely.

Gigolo

© Sylvia Plath

Pocket watch, I tick well.
The streets are lizardly crevices
Sheer-sided, with holes where to hide.
It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac,

O Glorious France

You have become a forge of snow-white fire,
A crucible of molten steel, O France!
Your sons are stars who cluster to a dawn
And fade in light for you, O glorious France!

The House Of Dust: Part 01: 04:

© Conrad Aiken

Up high black walls, up sombre terraces,
Clinging like luminous birds to the sides of cliffs,
The yellow lights went climbing towards the sky.
From high black walls, gleaming vaguely with rain,
Each yellow light looked down like a golden eye.

Ami Green

Not "a youth with hoary head and haggard eye,"
But an old man with a smooth skin
And black hair!
I had the face of a boy as long as I lived,

That There Dog O' Mine

© Henry Lawson

Macquarie the shearer had met with an accident. To tell the truth, he had been in a drunken row at a wayside shanty, from which he had escaped with three fractured ribs, a cracked head, and various minor abrasions. His dog, Tally, had been a sober but savage participator in the drunken row, and had escaped with a broken leg.

Macquarie afterwards shouldered his swag and staggered and struggled along the track ten miles to the Union-Town Hospital. Lord knows how he did it. He didn't exactly know himself. Tally limped behind all the way on three legs. The doctors examined the man's injuries and were surprised at his endurance.

© May Swenson

In the pond in the park

all things are doubled;