Mom poems

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The River

© John Masefield

All other waters have their time of peace.Calm, or the turn of tide or summer drought;But on these bars the tumults never cease,In violent death this river passes out.

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The Racer

© John Masefield

I saw the racer coming to the jump, Staring with fiery eyeballs as he rusht,I heard the blood within his body thump, I saw him launch, I heard the toppings crusht

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The Song of the Ski

© MacDonald Wilson Pugsley

Norse am I when the first snow falls;Norse am I till the ice departs

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To Lallie

© Amy Levy

UP those Museum steps you came,And straightway all my blood was flame, O Lallie, Lallie !

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Portable Demons

© Leggat Alexandra

I found the ghost of Dorothy Parkerin an old movie house in Times SquareI approached her with condolencesand slowly coerced her out of there

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Ballad of the Gibbet

© Andrew Lang

An epitaph in the form of a ballad that François Villonwrote of himself and his company, they expectingshortly to be hanged

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Labor’s Greeting

© Joussaye Marie

To His Royal Highness, the Duke of Cornwall and York.Canada, 1901

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London: A Poem, in Imitation of the Third Satire of Juvenal

© Samuel Johnson

Though grief and fondness in my breast rebel,

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Flint and Feather

© Emily Pauline Johnson

Ojistoh1.2Of him whose name breathes bravery and life1.3And courage to the tribe that calls him chief.1.4I am Ojistoh, his white star, and he1.5Is land, and lake, and sky--and soul to me.

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Saison des Semailles: Le Soir

© Victor Marie Hugo

C'est le moment crépusculaire.J'admire, assis sous un portail,Ce reste de jour dont s'éclaireLa dernière heure du travail.

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L'Expiation

© Victor Marie Hugo

1. La Retraite de Moscou

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The Spider and the Fly

© Howitt Mary

AN APOLOGUE.A NEW VERSION OF AN OLD STORY.

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Girl Watching

© Holbrook Susan

Wow, lookit her, there's a sunlit hay bale, there's a key lime pie and a million pixels

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The Distance of the Dead

© Charles Harpur

How distant in a moment are the dead! Round Mamre's Cave, four thousand years ago,A long procession up from Egypt led, Closed mourning, like a sable cloud of woe

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February 14

© Hamilton Jane Eaton

Above me you turn like an acrobaton blue string,your feet small and accurate.You are so far away.My love is not enough to pull youthrough the landscaped skyto this night-wet garden.