Poems begining by I
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Indifference
© Studdert Kennedy Geoffrey Anketell
When Jesus came to Golgotha they hanged Him on a tree,They drave great nails through hands and feet, and made a Calvary;They crowned Him with a crown of thorns, red were His wounds and deep,For those were crude and cruel days, and human flesh was cheap
Insect Heads
© Robert Bly
These insects golden
And Arabic sailing in the husks of galleons
Their octagonal heads also
Hold sand paintings of the next life.
In Rainy September
© Robert Bly
In rainy September when leaves grow down to the dark
I put my forehead down to the damp seaweed-smelling sand.
What can we do but choose? The only way for human beings
is to choose. The fern has no choice but to live;
for this crime it receives earth water and night.
In a Train
© Robert Bly
There has been a light snow.
Dark car tracks move in out of the darkness.
I stare at the train window marked with soft dust.
I have awakened at Missoula Montana utterly happy.
If I Should Die To-night
© Arabella Eugenia Smith
If I should die to-night,My friends would look upon my quiet faceBefore they laid it in its resting-place,And deem that death had left it almost fair;And, laying snow-white flowers against my hair,Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness,And fold my hands with lingering caress, --Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night!
If I should die to-night,My friends would call to mind with loving thoughtSome kindly deed the icy hands had wrought,Some gentle word the frozen lips had said,Errands on which the willing feet had sped;The memory of my selfishness and pride,My hasty words would all be put aside,And so I should be loved and mourned to-night
Indian Names
© Sigourney Lydia Huntley
"How can the red men be forgotten, while so many of our states and territories, bays, lakes and rivers, are indelibly stamped by names of their giving?"
I must not teaze my Mother
© Sigourney Lydia Huntley
I must not teaze my Mother; For she is very kind,And every thingshe says to me, I must directly mind:For when I was a baby
Inaugural Poem
© Maya Angelou
A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon.
In the Hand of the Wind
© Roberts Theodore Goodridge
Lord, I am passing in the wind's lean hand: And now, of all my glory what will stand?--The echo of a love song, like thin smoke Blown down the valleys of a kindly land.
In an Old Barn
© Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
Tons upon tons the brown-green fragrant hay O'erbrims the mows beyond the time-warped eaves, Up to the rafters where the spider weaves,Though few flies wander his secluded way
Iris Holden, District Nurse
© Reibetanz John
`Love's mysteries in souls do grow,But yet the body is his book.'
I Must Have Learned This Somewhere
© Peacock Molly
I loved an old doll made of bleachedwooden beads strung into a stick figure
In Memoriam "Rover", Ob. July 2, 1902
© John Payne
My little gentle cat, whose eyes no doveMight ever match for truth and tenderness,Whose life was one long effort to express,In thy mute speech, an overflowing love,The wavering love of women far above,I cannot think that death thy gentilesseHath ended all or that thy fond excessIn this thy ten years' span found scope enough
"It's Great When You Get In"
© O'Neill Eugene
They told me the water was lovely, That I ought to go for a swim,The air was maybe a trifle cool, "You won't mind it when you get in"So I journeyed cheerfully beach-ward, And nobody put me wise,But everyone boosted my courage With an earful of jovial lies
I Scarce Believed
© Nicholls Marjory
I wondered once, when life, so it did seem,Was holding to me hands where gifts were laid,Gifts so long yearned for, that I felt afraidAnd, scarce believing, grasped as in a dream
I Feel I'm Growing Old
© Mills David
I feel I'm growing old, Mary, My heart is full of care,Time makes his furrow on my brow, His snows are on my hair;The brook still murmurs in the glen, That drives the creaking mill,And though I take the upward way, I'm going down the hill
