All Poems
/ page 2549 of 3210 /
From: An Evening Revery
© William Cullen Bryant
FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM
The summer day is closed--the sun is set:
Digging
© Seamus Justin Heaney
Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
The Heremite Toad
© Madison Julius Cawein
A human skull in a church-yard lay;
For the church was a wreck, and the tombstones old
On the graves of their dead were rotting away
To the like of their long-watched mould.
Mid-Term Break
© Seamus Justin Heaney
I sat all morning in the college sick bay
Counting bells knelling classes to a close.
At two o'clock our neighbors drove me home.
Blue
© May Swenson
Blue, but you are Rose, too,
and buttermilk, but with blood
dots showing through.
A little salty your white
Grandmothers Teaching
© Alfred Austin
``Grandmother dear, you do not know; you have lived the old-world life,
Under the twittering eaves of home, sheltered from storm and strife;
Rocking cradles, and covering jams, knitting socks for baby feet,
Or piecing together lavender bags for keeping the linen sweet:
Daughter, wife, and mother in turn, and each with a blameless breast,
Then saying your prayers when the nightfall came, and quietly dropping to rest.
A Watch Sent Home To Mrs. Eliz: King, Wrapt In Theis Verses
© William Strode
Goe and count her better houres;
They more happie are than ours.
This Beautiful Black Marriage
© Diane Wakoski
Photograph negative
her black arm: a diving porpoise,
sprawled across the ice-banked pillow.
Head: a sheet of falling water.
Her legs: icicle branches breaking into light.
Juliet After The Masquerade. By Thompson
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
SHE left the festival, for it seem'd dim
Now that her eye no longer dwelt on him,
Gravestone
© Ivan Donn Carswell
But I am not yet dead and yet I rest my head
sweetly on the bare gravestones of great poets,
I am not yet dead though I sleep soundly
in the graveyards with their bones;
The Reformers
© Rudyard Kipling
Not in the camp his victory lies
Or triumph in the market-place,
Who is his Nation's sacrifice
To turn the judgement from his race.
Your Voices Joined Is All It Takes
© Ivan Donn Carswell
They came in masted wooden ships across
an unindentured sea and cast their lot in ocean
swells to chance at history, and Sovereign power
commanded thus they rot in purgatory.
Your noble reign
© Ivan Donn Carswell
The man whose term we would remember as our longest,
constant serving Head of State, besides the late Sir Robert
Gordon Menzies, turned 67 yesterday. Congratulations John,
youve run a long and torrid race, kept up a frenzied pace
"Ours was a friendship in secret, my dear"
© Lesbia Harford
Ours was a friendship in secret, my dear,
Stolen from fate.
I must be secret still, show myself calm
Early and late.
Worthy Places
© Ivan Donn Carswell
There were some worthy places where we could escape,
avoid the heavy weight of living in a densely
peopled space; the first was to the outside loo
(the only loo but where at least the toilet paper
The Death Of Nelson
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
'TWAS midst the battle's echoing din
And the cannon's thundering roar,
