Time poems

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The Secret

© Studdert Kennedy Geoffrey Anketell

You were askin' 'ow we sticks it, Sticks this blarsted rain and mud,'Ow it is we keeps on smilin' When the place runs red wi' blood

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The Untelling

© Mark Strand

He leaned forward over the paperand for a long time saw nothing

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Nameless Pain

© Stoddard Elizabeth

I should be happy with my lot:A wife and mother -- is it notEnough for me to be content?What other blessing could be sent?

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Pan in Wall Street

© Stedman Edmund Clarence

Just where the Treasury's marble front Looks over Wall Street's mingled nations;Where Jews and Gentiles most are wont To throng for trade and last quotations;Where, hour by hour, the rates of gold Outrival, in the ears of people,The quarter-chimes, serenely tolled From Trinity's undaunted steeple,--

Even there I heard a strange, wild strain Sound high above the modern clamor,Above the cries of greed and gain, The curbstone war, the auction's hammer;And swift, on Music's misty ways, It led, from all this strife for millions,To ancient, sweet-do-nothing days Among the kirtle-robed Sicilians

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The True Story of My Father

© Starnino Carmine

There were days when I'd catch himalone at the kitchen table, lostinside some regret, his headcradled in his hands like the part

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On the Obsolescence of Caphone

© Starnino Carmine

Last heard—with a lovely hiss on the "ph"—August 1982 during an afternoon game of scopaturned nasty. And now, missing alongside it,are hundreds of slogans, shibboleths, small

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For My Son Noah Ten Years Old

© Robert Bly

Nigh and day arrive and day after day goes by
And what is old remains old and what is young remains young and grows old.
The lumber pile does not grow younger nor the two-by-fours lose their darkness
but the old tree goes on the barn stands without help so many years;
the advocate of darkness and night is not lost.

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Driving to Town Late to Mail a Letter

© Robert Bly

It is a cold and snowy night. The main street is deserted.
The only things moving are swirls of snow.
As I lift the mailbox door I feel its cold iron.
There is a privacy I love in this snowy night.
Driving around I will waste more time.

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The Faerie Queene, Book III, Canto 6

© Edmund Spenser

THE THIRD BOOKE OF THE FAERIE QUEENEContayningTHE LEGENDE OF BRITOMARTISOR OF CHASTITIE

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The Faerie Queene, Book II, Canto 12

© Edmund Spenser

THE SECOND BOOKE OF THE FAERIE QUEENEContayningTHE LEGEND OF SIR GUYON,OR OF TEMPERAUNCE