Dreams poems
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The Last Gift
© Hyde Robin
I have taken so much of your beauty, oh deep kind Earth,Face on your soft old face, heart on your warm heart lying --Scent of rain in leaves and the small stream's bubble of mirth,Hush of the sad-eyed pool that is dark with night-birds' crying,
Stars drowned deep in the lake, sunset's flame in a pine,Secret clutching fingers of baby ferns, close-curled --These are a stain of scent from a cool old perfumed wineThat sleeps in a carven chalice blue-glazed in the dawn of the world
In Darkness
© Hyde Robin
Lying awake in the darkI have suddenly thought(At the clasp of unseen fingers under my head),"God is no moreThan any apple-bough, then,Where the birds of the air have nest --Than the little, hardly-soughtHome of the field-mouse, high in the tawny grain,Where the spoiler looks in vain;Than the lowly earthen doorWhere the vixen runs to hide, as the bold hunt passesIn flurry of blood-red music and blood-crazed men;Than the bending meadow grassesUnder the breast of the lark
Hanmer Woods
© Hyde Robin
Autumn will walk there, with a breath of stardust,With the burnt brown fronds of bracken in her hair;Autumn will come with the frost on briar berries,And clean blue mornings, and smoke-hazed air.
Growing Old
© Hyde Robin
This it is to grow old,That I shall loseThe gift of laughter at small and simple things;And, if ever old dreams fly past me, the brush of wings,Damp with Elysian dews,Will seem strange and cold
America
© Hovey Richard
We came to birth in battle; when we pass,It shall be to the thunder of the drums
Love Canal
© Hamilton Jane Eaton
Medical wasteand the spawned babiesof industrial parksare starting to talk back.It's not the terrible two's --it's adolescent urges withwet dreams and blood.
Sex
© Guiterman Arthur
Amœbas at the start Were not complex;They tore themselves apart And started Sex.
Rags and Robes
© Whitney Adeline Dutton Train
"Hark, hark! The dogs do bark;Beggars are coming to town: Some in rags, Some in tags,And some in velvet gowns!"
Palliative Care
© Greene Richard
The journey goes past healing to placeslike this, where Demerol and morphineseparate the last of our consciousnessfrom a body shrinking away to pain
Ordinary, Moving
© Gotlieb Phyllis
is the name of the gamelaughing, talking where the ball bouncesin the forgotten schoolyardone hand, the other hand; one foot, the other footyou know the one(Saturday Afternoon Kidblackball-cracker, scotchmint-muncherhandkerchief-chewer extraordinary)clap front, clap backballthwack on the boardfencefront and back, back and frontarms of old beeches reaching over drop theirsawtooth leaves in your hair (as I was sitting beneath a tree a birdie sent his love to me and as I wiped it from my eye I thought: thank goodness cows can't fly)tweedle, twydlecurtsey, saluteand roundaboutuntil you're out
the shadows turn, the light is longand while you're out you sing this song
this year, next year, sometime, never en roule-en ma boule roule-en we'll be friends for ever and ever
Pimperroquet, le roi des papillons se faisant la barbe, il se coupa le menton une, une, c'est la lune deux, deux, c'est le jeuseven, eight trois, trois -- c'est à toi!nine, a-lauraten a-laura echod, shtaimSecord hamelech bashomayim echod, shtaim, sholosh, ar-ba
Resurge
© William Gay
Come forth, O Man, from darkness into light,Renounce the dust, break through thy sordid bars,For ever leave the crawling shapes of Night,And move erect among thy native stars:No longer grovel in a foetid cellWhen all the spaces of the sky are thine,With Sloth and Want no more a beggar dwellWhen thou canst claim a heritage divine;Awake and live! nor dream the dreams of deathThat brood, fantastic, fearful, o'er thy grave,Thou art not of the stuff that perisheth,Nor unto Fate and Time art thou a slave;Thy power extends beyond the starry Pole,And worlds and suns revolve within thy soul
Gascoigne's Lullaby
© George Gascoigne
Sing lullaby, as women do,Wherewith they bring their babes to rest;And lullaby can I sing to,As womanly as can the best
The Puff-adder
© Fairbridge Kingsley
Here where the grey rhenoster clothes the hill, Drowsing beside a boulder in the sun,Slumbrous-inert, so gloomy and so still, On the warm steep where aimless sheep-paths run,A short thick length of chevron-pattern's skin, A wide flat head so lazy on the sand,Unblinking eyes that warn of power within, Lies he, -- the limbless terror of the land
Retrospect
© Doyle Arthur Conan
There is a better thing, dear heart, Than youthful flush or girlish grace
Isis: Dorothy Eady, 1924
© Mark Doty
I was never this beautiful.I don't know if anyone can see how much moreI've become tonight, when the boys hired to play Nubians still the peacock fans, and another girl and I,
A Song of the Bar
© Dolben Digby (Mackworth)
She is only an innkeeper's daughter -- I know it, I own it with tears,And her eyes are accustomed to slaughter The ranks of the Builth volunteers.
Cowboy on Horse in Desert
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
Little cowboy, painted ona paint-by-numbers picturefound in a junk shop
Delia XLV
© Samuel Daniel
Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,Brother to Death, in silent darkness born:Relieve my languish, and restore the light,With dark forgetting of my cares, return;And let the day be time enough to mournThe shipwreck of my ill-adventur'd youth:Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn,Without the torment of the night's untruth
