Age poems
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Here Lies Poor Nick
© Smith Sydney
Here lies poor Nick, an honest creature,Of faithful, gentle, courteous nature;A parlour pet unspoil'd by favour,A pattern of good dog behaviour
Fall
© Shields Carol
This is the time of year when golden-agersare taken on buses to view the autumn foliageas though the sight and scent of yellowed treeswill stuff them with beautiful thoughtsand keep them from knowing --
as if there were still a trace of undamagedhunger -- for simple beauty, for colours,the sun falling frail on the fretwork of every leaf, the trumpeting surpriseof the earth turning, returning
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Oh truant muse, what shall be thy amends
© William Shakespeare
Oh truant muse, what shall be thy amendsFor thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?Both truth and beauty on my love depends:So dost thou too, and therein dignified
A New Profession
© Seaman Owen
My hopeless boy! when I compare (Claiming a father's right to do so)Your hollow brain, your vacuous air,With all the time, and wealth and care Lavished upon your mental trousseau;
Rockall
© Sargent Epes
Pale ocean rock! that, like a phantom shape,Or some mysterious spirit's tenement,Risest amid this weltering waste of waves,Lonely and desolate, thy spreading baseIs planted in the sea's unmeasured depths,Where rolls the huge leviathan o'er sandsGlistening with shipwrecked treasures
The Old Sampler
© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
Out of the way, in a corner Of our dear old attic room,Where bunches of herbs from the hillside Shake ever a faint perfume,An oaken chest is standing, With hasp and padlock and key,Strong as the hands that made it On the other side of the sea
The Mirror for Magistrates: The Induction
© Thomas Sackville
The wrathful winter, 'proaching on apace,With blustering blasts had all ybar'd the treen,And old Saturnus, with his frosty face,With chilling cold had pierc'd the tender green;The mantles rent, wherein enwrapped been The gladsome groves that now lay overthrown, The tapets torn, and every bloom down blown
A Prayer for Yeats's Son
© Rowley Rosemarie
Once more the mob is howling and half hidUnder the cupola of the dustbin lidMy child screams on: there is no obstacleSave Paul's edict and the seven bare hillsWhereby the television, and unrestBred in the church for centuries, can be stayedAnd for an hour I have walked and prayedBecause there is no room for my kind
Flight into Reality
© Rowley Rosemarie
Dedicated to the memory of my best friend Georgina, (1942-74)and to her husband Alex Burns and their childrenNulles laides amours ne belles prison -Lord Herbert of Cherbury
Inaugural Poem
© Maya Angelou
A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon.
A Poem
© Majeed Amjad
On a heap of squalid unscrubbed pans
immersed in simmering scalding water
the toiling sweating hands do seek
the blessed home
for ages they have thought and dreamed.
Daily Bread
© Reibetanz John
We have cried often when we have given them the little victualling wehad to give them; we had to shake them, and they have fallen to sleepwith the victuals in their mouths many a time
Ampersand
© Reibetanz John
'He thought it had only been put thereto finish off th' alphabet, like, thoughampus-and (&) would ha' done as well.' (George Eliot: Adam Bede)
To a Child of Quality, Five Years Old, the Author Suppos'd Forty
© Matthew Prior
Lords, knights, and squires, the num'rous band, That wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters,Were summon'd by her high command, To show their passions by their letters.
