Life poems
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Soulstrong;/breakaway
© Siddharth Anand
Abandon the past
Throw away the baggage
Suffer no more. avast(stop now)
In Tempore Senectutis
© Ezra Pound
When I am old
I will not have you look apart
From me, into the cold,
Friend of my heart,
In the Old Age of the Soul
© Ezra Pound
I do not choose to dream; there cometh on me
Some strange old lust for deeds.
As to the nerveless hand of some old warrior
The sword-hilt or the war-worn wonted helmet
And the days are not full enough
© Ezra Pound
And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass
The Seafarer
© Ezra Pound
(From the early Anglo-Saxon text) May I for my own self song's truth reckon,
Journey's jargon, how I in harsh days
Hardship endured oft.
Bitter breast-cares have I abided,
Canto XIII
© Ezra Pound
And they said: If a man commit murder
Should his father protect him, and hide him?
And Kung said:
He should hide him.
The Garret
© Ezra Pound
Come, let us pity those who are better off than we are.
Come, my friend, and remember
that the rich have butlers and no friends,
And we have friends and no butlers.
Come, let us pity the married and the unmarried.
Sestina: Altaforte
© Ezra Pound
LOQUITUR: En Bertans de Born. Dante Alighieri put this man in hell
for that he was a stirrer up of strife. Eccovi! Judge ye! Have I dug
him up again? The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. "Papiols" is his
jongleur. "The Leopard," the device of Richard Coeur de Lion.
The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volume 1: 1931-1934
© Anais Nin
"Am I, at bottom, that fervent little Spanish Catholic child who chastised herself for loving toys, who forbade herself the enjoyment of sweet foods, who practiced silence, who humiliated her pride, who adored symbols, statues, burning candles, incense, the caress of nuns, organ music, for whom Communion was a great event? I was so exalted by the idea of eating Jesus's flesh and drinking His blood that I couldn't swallow the host well, and I dreaded harming the it
Agoraphobia
© John Burnside
My whole world is all you refuse:
a black light, angelic and cold
on the path to the orchard,
fox-runs and clouded lanes and the glitter of webbing,
Fire
© Dorothea Mackellar
This life that we call our own
Is neither strong nor free;
A flame in the wind of death,
It trembles ceaselessly.
Rahel to Varnhagen
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
NOTE.Rahel Robert and Varnhagen von Ense were married, after many protestations on her part, in 1814. The marriageso far as he was concerned at any rateappears to have been satisfactory.
Now you have read them all; or if not all,
As many as in all conscience I should fancy
To be enough. There are no more of them
The Return of Morgan and Fingal
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
And there we were together again
Together again, we three:
Morgan, Fingal, fiddle, and all,
They had come for the night with me.
Tasker Norcross
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Ferguson,
Who talked himself at last out of the world
He censured, and is therefore silent now,
Agreed indifferently: My friends are dead
Or most of them.
Verlaine
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Song sloughs away the sin to find redress
In arts complete remembrance: nothing clings
For long but laurel to the stricken brow
That felt the Muses finger; nothing less
Than hells fulfilment of the end of things
Can blot the star that shines on Paris now.
The Three Taverns
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
When the brethren heard of us, they came to meet us as far as Appii Forum, and The Three Taverns.(Acts xxviii, 15)
Herodion, Apelles, Amplias,
And Andronicus? Is it you I see
At last? And is it you now that are gazing
Two Octaves
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
INot by the grief that stuns and overwhelms
All outward recognition of revealed
And righteous omnipresence are the days
Of most of us affrighted and diseased,
Bokardo
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Well, Bokardo, here we are;
Make yourself at home.
Look aroundyou havent far
To lookand why be dumb?
Vickery's Mountain
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Blue in the west the mountain stands,
And through the long twilight
Vickery sits with folded hands,
And Vickerys eyes are bright.
The Book of Annandale
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
IPartly to think, more to be left alone,
George Annandale said something to his friends
A word or two, brusque, but yet smoothed enough
To suit their funeral gazeand went upstairs;
