All Poems
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Man Alone
© Louise Bogan
It is yourself you seek
In a long rage,
Scanning through light and darkness
Mirrors, the page,
Scarlet Flowers
© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
A tired shop girl hurries by;
Their color seems to catch her eye;
She pauses, starts, and wistfully
She gazes up. It seems to me
That I can hear her longing sigh. . . .
A little shop girl hurries by.
Knowledge
© Louise Bogan
Now that I know
How passion warms little
Of flesh in the mould,
And treasure is brittle,--
To a Waterfowl
© William Cullen Bryant
Whither, midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?
Epitaph For A Romantic Woman
© Louise Bogan
She has attained the permanence
She dreamed of, where old stones lie sunning.
Untended stalks blow over her
Even and swift, like young men running.
A Tale
© Louise Bogan
This youth too long has heard the break
Of waters in a land of change.
He goes to see what suns can make
From soil more indurate and strange.
The Man I Like
© Edgar Albert Guest
I like the man who stands right up
And takes his share of praise or blame,
And then, unchanged by loss or gain,
Treats all his neighbors just the same!
Juan's Song
© Louise Bogan
When beauty breaks and falls asunder
I feel no grief for it, but wonder.
When love, like a frail shell, lies broken,
I keep no chip of it for token.
Thumbsucker
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Ill tell you what them thumbsuckers like to do.
They suck your thumb till its wrinkled like a prune
Theyll say youve got the sweetest thumb of all
But then they suck the thumb of the guy livin down the hall
Thats why I aint gonna let no thumbsucker suck my thumb
Foul Air in My Stuffy Room
© Sukasah Syahdan
foul air in my stuffy room
screech of a stuck window
a lizards dash
At Her Grave
© Alfred Austin
Lo, here among the rest you sleep,
As though no difference were
'Twixt them and you, more wide, more deep,
Than such as fondness loves to keep
Round each lone sepulchre.
Grass
© Alice Guerin Crist
The world is all one smother of grass,
Waves of it rolling deep and green,
Natalias Resurrection: Sonnet XXIII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
But, when the church was hushed in the night wind,
And all were gone who might his zeal disclaim,
Or hinder the firm purpose of his mind,
A silent man among the tombs he came,
At Times Spoony Sometimes
© Sukasah Syahdan
at times spoony sometimes
forky our concupiscence
to life is such
Tears Hang on Her Eyes
© Sukasah Syahdan
the ones on the right
imbued with thoughts
of her faraway mom
The Houses Setting
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
HERE is no hedge of yewe to hold in griefe,
No cypresse nor long willow for despaire.
But the young birch displayes his cheerfulle leaf
In tracerie most faire.
