Mom poems

/ page 2 of 212 /

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Song of Sorrow

© Olu Oguibe

I shall sing you a song of
Sorrow when the moment comes.
It is the way of poets.

The Horsemen

© Obi Nwakanma

for Christopher Okigbo
Emrnanuel Ifeajuna &
Chukwuma Nzeogwu

Nadia

© Obi Nwakanma

Marrakech: the grey hairs of
Atlas, streaks of the light of years,
like truth accompanied by a bodyguard.

He asked himself, poor moron, because he had
Nobody else to ask. The others went right on
Talking about form, talking about myth
And the (so help us) need for a modern idiom;
The verseballs among them kept counting syllables.

Paul Revere's Ride

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.

from Flying Home

© Galway Kinnell

that love is hard,
that while many good things are easy, true love is not,
because love is first of all a power,
its own power,
which continually must make its way forward, from night
into day, from transcending union always forward into difficult day.

Song of the Indian Maid

© John Keats

O SORROW!
Why dost borrow
The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?¡ª
To give maiden blushes
To the white rose bushes? 5
Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips?

I Hardly Remember

© Robert Graves

I hardly remember your voice, but the pain of you
floats in some remote current of my blood.
I carry you in my depths, trapped in the sludge
like one of those corpses the sea refuses to give up.

Range-Finding

© Robert Frost

The battle rent a cobweb diamond-strung

And cut a flower beside a ground bird's nest

With Life's Tomorrow Time You Grasp

© Mihai Eminescu

With life's tomorrow time you grasp,
Its yesterdays you fling away,
And still, in spite of all remains
Its long eternity, today.

Solitude

© Mihai Eminescu

With the curtains drawn together,
At my table of rough wood,
And the firelight flickering softly,
Do I fall to thoughtful mood.

Of Politics and Art

© Norman Dubie

Today I listened to a woman say
That Melville might
Be taught in the next decade. Another woman asked, "And why not?"
The first responded, "Because there are
No women in his one novel."

4. Song-In the Character of a Ruined Farmer

© Robert Burns

THE SUN he is sunk in the west,
All creatures retir?d to rest,
While here I sit, all sore beset,
With sorrow, grief, and woe:
And it’s O, fickle Fortune, O!

340. Song-Thou Fair Eliza

© Robert Burns

TURN again, thou fair Eliza!

Ae kind blink before we part;

314. Song-There’ll never be Peace till Jamie comes hame

© Robert Burns

BY yon Castle wa’, at the close of the day,
I heard a man sing, tho’ his head it was grey:
And as he was singing, the tears doon came,—
There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

299. Sketch-New Year’s Day, 1790

© Robert Burns

THIS day, Time winds th’ exhausted chain;
To run the twelvemonth’s length again:
I see, the old bald-pated fellow,
With ardent eyes, complexion sallow,
Adjust the unimpair’d machine,
To wheel the equal, dull routine.