Children poems

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244

The Lighthouse at Honfleur

© Meyer Bruce

"Georges," they said, "blue is a sad colour

Woman

© McLachlan Alexander

When my gloomy hour comes on me, And I shun the face of man,Finding bitterness in all things, As vex'd spirits only can:

Oh, come and listen while I sing A song of human nature;For, high or low, we're all akin To ev'ry human creature:We're all the children of the same, The great, the "mighty mother,"And from the cradle to the grave We lean on one another

The Death of the Ox

© McLachlan Alexander

And thou art gone, my poor dumb friend! thy troubles all are past;A faithful friend thou wert indeed, e'en to the very last!And thou wert the prop of my house, my children's pride and pet,--Who now will help to free me from this weary load of debt?

Here, single-handed, in the bush I battled on for years,My heart sometimes buoyed up with hope, sometimes bowed down with fears

Jottings of New York: A Descriptive Poem

© William Topaz McGonagall

Oh mighty City of New York! you are wonderful to behold,Your buildings are magnificent, the truth be it told,They were the only thing that seemed to arrest my eye,Because many of them are thirteen storeys high

Li-Lo (Blazon)

© McGimpsey David

The Fully Loaded, Freaky Friday smasherholed up in rehab but still looking smart

B- / C+

© McGimpsey David

This is a most interesting paper,David

Reynard the Fox; or, The Ghost Heath Run

© John Masefield

PART I

Prairie Graveyard

© Marriott Anne

Wind mutters thinly on the sagging wirebinding the graveyard from the gouged dirt road,bends thick-bristled Russian thistle,sifts listless dustinto cracks in hard grey ground

Eve

© MacDonagh Thomas

I am Eve, great Adam's wife,I that wrought my children's loss,I that wronged Jesus of life,Mine by right had been the cross.

Ode Recited at the Harvard Commemoration

© James Russell Lowell

Power

© Audre Lorde

The difference between poetry and rhetoricis being ready to killyourselfinstead of your children.

The Sonnets of Ishtar

© Lodge George Cabot

I am the world's imperishable desire;Life is because I will, for hope of meLife is, nor all the dark depths of the seaCould quench mine eyes' light nor my body's fire

Piers Plowman: The Prologue

In a somer sesun, whon softe was the sonne,I schop me into a shroud, as I a scheep were;In habite as an hermite unholy of werkesWente I wyde in this world wondres to here;Bote in a Mayes morwnynge on Malverne hullesMe bifel a ferly, of fairie, me-thoughte