Poems begining by C
/ page 96 of 99 /
Curtain
© Charles Bukowski
the final curtain on one of the longest running
musicals ever, some people claim to have
seen it over one hundred times.
I saw it on the tv news, that final curtain:
Cut While Shaving
© Charles Bukowski
I walked away from the mirror.
it was morning, it was afternoon, it was
night
Consummation Of Grief
© Charles Bukowski
I even hear the mountains
the way they laugh
up and down their blue sides
and down in the water
Cause And Effect
© Charles Bukowski
the best often die by their own hand
just to get away,
and those left behind
can never quite understand
Casting
© Howard Nemerov
The waters deep, the waters dark,
Reflect the seekers, hide the sought,
Whether in water or in air to drown.
Between them curls the silver spark,
Childhood
© Richard Aldington
How dull and greasy and grey and sordid it was!
On wet days -- it was always wet --
I used to kneel on a chair
And look at it from the window.
Chaucer
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
An old man in a lodge within a park;
The chamber walls depicted all around
With portraitures of huntsman, hawk, and hound,
And the hurt deer. He listeneth to the lark,
Changed
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
From the outskirts of the town,
Where of old the mile-stone stood,
Now a stranger, looking down
I behold the shadowy crown
Of the dark and haunted wood.
Carillon
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Thus dreamed I, as by night I lay
In Bruges, at the Fleur-de-Ble,
Listening with a wild delight
To the chimes that, through the night
Bang their changes from the Belfry
Of that quaint old Flemish city.
Christmas Bells
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!
Children
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Come to me, O ye children!
For I hear you at your play,
And the questions that perplexed me
Have vanished quite away.
Curfew
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Solemnly, mournfully,
Dealing its dole,
The Curfew Bell
Is beginning to toll.
Clown In The Moon
© Dylan Thomas
My tears are like the quiet drift
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows.
Crisis is sweet and yet the Heart
© Emily Dickinson
Crisis is sweet and yet the Heart
Upon the hither side
Has Dowers of Prospective
To Denizens denied
Crisis is a Hair
© Emily Dickinson
Crisis is a Hair
Toward which the forces creep
Past which forces retrograde
If it come in sleep
Count not that far that can be had,
© Emily Dickinson
Count not that far that can be had,
Though sunset lie between --
Nor that adjacent, that beside,
Is further than the sun.
Could that sweet Darkness where they dwell
© Emily Dickinson
Could that sweet Darkness where they dwell
Be once disclosed to us
The clamor for their loveliness
Would burst the Loneliness --
Could mortal lip divine
© Emily Dickinson
Could mortal lip divine
The undeveloped Freight
Of a delivered syllable
'Twould crumble with the weight.
