Home poems

Radiolatry

© Guiterman Arthur

The worst of all idolators Are zealous radiolatersWho wreck the peace of erstwhile happy homes With drool of variometers, Detectors, galvanometers,Antennae, switches, batteries and ohms.

Our Suburb

© Guiterman Arthur

Our Garden Spot is always bright and pretty (Of course it's rather soggy when it rains),And only thirty minutes from the city (Of course you have to catch the proper trains)

Poetical Epistle to Mrs. Green

© Grose Francis

Hoping no offence, my dear Madam Green,You're surely the strangest gentlewoman that ever was seen;Didn't you say you'd come and see my drawings, and eat some of my plumb cake,Here I've kept it above a week, and all for your sake,And now it's as hard as a stone, and not worth a pin,To waste so fine a cake is I'm sure both a shame and a sin

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content

© Robert Greene

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content; The quiet mind is richer than a crown;Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent; The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown:Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss

Whaler

© Greene Richard

Great-grandfather, whaler out of Nantucket,the harder sort who threw the harpoon, drew warm blood,made huge death on the open sea.

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

On Sherbourne Street

© Greene Richard

I am at home in a high-risewhere at night the voice of being humanis a siren blare or a drunk crying fucksomething or other on Sherbourne Street

Thirty-Six Ways of Looking at Toronto Ontario

© Gotlieb Phyllis

##.see my house, its angled street,east, north, west, south,southeast, northwest, there areno parking placeshere

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

A Discourse

© Gotlieb Phyllis

the skeleton's the most articu-late thing there is exceptabout Who made him

Ye Wearie Wayfarer Hys Ballad. Fytte 5. Lex Talionis

© Adam Lindsay Gordon

And if there's blood upon his hand,'Tis but the blood of deer. -- W. Scott.

The Deserted Village, A Poem

© Oliver Goldsmith

Sweet Auburn! loveliest village of the plain,Where health and plenty cheer'd the labouring swain,Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid,And parting summer's lingering blooms delay'd:Dear lovely bowers of innocence and ease,Seats of my youth, when every sport could please,How often have I loiter'd o'er thy green,Where humble happiness endear'd each scene!How often have I paus'd on every charm,The shelter'd cot, the cultivated farm,The never-failing brook, the busy mill,The decent church that topt the neighbouring hill,The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade,For talking age and whisp'ring lovers made!How often have I blest the coming day,When toil remitting lent its turn to play,And all the village train, from labour free,Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree;While many a pastime circled in the shade,The young contending as the old survey'd;And many a gambol frolick'd o'er the ground,And sleights of art and feats of strength went round;And still, as each repeated pleasure tir'd,Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspir'd;The dancing pair that simply sought renownBy holding out to tire each other down:The swain mistrustless of his smutted face,While secret laughter titter'd round the place;The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love,The matron's glance that would those looks reprove:These were thy charms, sweet village! sports like theseWith sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please:These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed,These were thy charms--but all these charms are fled

The Rising Village

© Oliver Goldsmith

Thou dear companion of my early years,Partner of all my boyish hopes and fears,To whom I oft addressed the youthful strain,And sought no other praise than thine to gain;Who oft hast bid me emulate his fameWhose genius formed the glory of our name;Say, when thou canst, in manhood's ripened age,With judgment scan the more aspiring page,Wilt thou accept this tribute of my lay,By far too small thy fondness to repay?Say, dearest Brother, wilt thou now excuseThis bolder flight of my adventurous muse? If, then, adown your cheek a tear should flowFor Auburn's Village, and its speechless woe;If, while you weep, you think the

To The Indifferent Women

© Gilman Charlotte Anna Perkins

You who are happy in a thousand homes,Or overworked therein, to a dumb peace;Whose souls are wholly centered in the lifeOf that small group you personally love;Who told you that you need not know or careAbout the sin and sorrow of the world?

Do you believe the sorrow of the worldDoes not concern you in your little homes? --That you are licensed to avoid the careAnd toil for human progress, human peace,And the enlargement of our power of loveUntil it covers every field of life?

The one first duty of all human lifeIs to promote the progress of the worldIn righteousness, in wisdom, truth and love;And you ignore it, hidden in your homes,Content to keep them in uncertain peace,Content to leave all else without your care

I Would Fain Die a Dry Death

© Gilman Charlotte Anna Perkins

The American public is patient, The American public is slow,The American public will stand as much As any public I know

Homeward Bound

© Gibbon Perceval

It's goodbye now to Africa, but kiss your hand againTo the upland trek and the old trade road and kop and kloof and plain; There's another trek instead for us, And a long strange road ahead for us,But never the old home outspan, however the team may strain

The War of the Ghosts

© William Gay

Three Ghosts that haunt me have I, Three Ghosts in my soul that fight,Three grandsire Ghosts in my soul, That haunt me by day and by night.

The Crazy World

© William Gay

The World did say to me, "My bread thou shalt not eat,I have no place for thee In house nor field nor street.

Trivia; or, the Art of Walking the Streets of London

© John Gay

Thus far the Muse has trac'd in useful laysThe proper implements for wintry ways;Has taught the walker, with judicious eyes,To read the various warnings of the skies

The Jewish Conscript

© Frank Florence Kiper

There are nearly a quarter of a million Jews in the Czar's army alone. (Newspaper clipping)