Courage poems/ page 7 of 77 /
"WHO but hails the sight with pleasure
When the wings of genius rise,
Their ability to measure
With great enterprise;
The young man strives to determine which are the truths or lies,
And the old man preaches his sermonand he takes to his bed and dies;
And the parson is there, and the nurse is (or the bread is there and the wine)
And the son of the minister curses as he dies in the firing line.
Through that night he uttered little, rambling were the words he spoke:
And he turned and died in silence, when the tardy morning broke.
Many memories come together whilst in sight of death we dwell,
Much of sweet and sad reflection through the weary mind must well.
As those long hours glided past him, till the east with light was fraught,
Who may know the mournful secret who can tell us what he thought?
Columbus Park by Anne Pierson Wiese: American Life in Poetry #130 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 200
A number of American poets are adept at describing places and the people who inhabit them. Galway Kinnell's great poem, âThe Avenue Bearing the Initial of Christ into the New Worldâ? is one of those masterpieces, and there are many others. Here Anne Pierson Wiese, winner of the Walt Whitman Award from the Academy of American Poets, adds to that tradition.
Now as Heaven is my Lot, they're the Pests of the Nation!
Wherever they can come
With clankum and blankum
'Tis all Botheration, & Hell & Damnation,
One Autumn night, in Sudbury town,
Across the meadows bare and brown,
The windows of the wayside inn
Gleamed red with fire-light through the leaves
Of woodbine, hanging from the eaves
Their crimson curtains rent and thin.