From One Who Stays

Related poetry:

1. Nothing Stays Nothing stays Not even change, That can grow tired Of it’s own name; The very thought Too much for it. Somewhere in air A stillness is, So far, so thin- But let it alone. Whoever we are It is not for us...
2. Nothing Stays Put In memory of Father Flye, 1884-1985 The strange and wonderful are too much with us. The protea of the antipodes-a great, Globed, blazing honeybee of a bloom- For sale in the supermarket! We are in Our decadence, we are not entitled. What have we done to deserve All the produce of the tropics- This fiery […]...
3. In Three Days I. So, I shall see her in three days And just one night, but nights are short, Then two long hours, and that is morn. See how I come, unchanged, unworn! Feel, where my life broke off from thine, How fresh the splinters keep and fine, – Only a touch and we combine! II. Too […]...
4. Portrait d'Une Femme Your mind and you are our Sargasso Sea, London has swept about you this score years And bright ships left you this or that in fee: Ideas, old gossip, oddments of all things, Strange spars of knowledge and dimmed wares of price. Great minds have sought you – lacking someone else. You have been second […]...
5. Ione, Dead the Long Year Empty are the ways, Empty are the ways of this land And the flowers Bend over with heavy heads. They bend in vain. Empty are the ways of this land Where Ione Walked once, and now does not walk But seems like a person just gone....
6. The Wander-Light And they heard the tent-poles clatter, And the fly in twain was torn – ‘Tis the soiled rag of a tatter Of the tent where I was born. And what matters it, I wonder? Brick or stone or calico? – Or a bush you were born under, When it happened long ago? And my beds […]...
7. She went as quiet as the Dew She went as quiet as the Dew From an Accustomed flower. Not like the Dew, did she return At the Accustomed hour! She dropt as softly as a star From out my summer’s Eve Less skillful than Le Verriere It’s sorer to believe!...
8. An Old Story Strange that I did not know him then. That friend of mine! I did not even show him then One friendly sign; But cursed him for the ways he had To make me see My envy of the praise he had For praising me. I would have rid the earth of him Once, in my […]...
9. The Matrix Goaded and harassed in the factory That tears our life up into bits of days Ticked off upon a clock which never stays, Shredding our portion of Eternity, We break away at last, and steal the key Which hides a world empty of hours; ways Of space unroll, and Heaven overlays The leafy, sun-lit earth […]...
10. Lay It Away We will lay our summer away, my friend, So tenderly lay it away. It was bright and sweet to the very end, Like one long, golden day. Nothing sweeter could come to me, Nothing sweeter to you. We will lay it away, and let it be, Hid from the whole world’s view. We will lay […]...
11. To The Rose Upon The Rood Of Time Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days! Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways: Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide; The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, quiet-eyed, Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold; And thine own sadness, where of stars, grown old In dancing silver-sandalled on the sea, Sing in […]...
12. Symptom Recital I do not like my state of mind; I’m bitter, querulous, unkind. I hate my legs, I hate my hands, I do not yearn for lovelier lands. I dread the dawn’s recurrent light; I hate to go to bed at night. I snoot at simple, earnest folk. I cannot take the gentlest joke. I find […]...
13. Absence My cup is empty to-night, Cold and dry are its sides, Chilled by the wind from the open window. Empty and void, it sparkles white in the moonlight. The room is filled with the strange scent Of wistaria blossoms. They sway in the moon’s radiance And tap against the wall. But the cup of my […]...
14. The Remains I empty myself of the names of others. I empty my pockets. I empty my shoes and leave them beside the road. At night I turn back the clocks; I open the family album and look at myself as a boy. What good does it do? The hours have done their job. I say my […]...
15. The Caged Thrush Freed and Home Again (Villanelle) “Men know but little more than we, Who count us least of things terrene, How happy days are made to be! “Of such strange tidings what think ye, O birds in brown that peck and preen? Men know but little more than we! “When I was borne from yonder tree In bonds to them, I […]...
16. Governors On Sominex It had been four days of no weather As if nature had conceded its genius to the indoors. They’d closed down the Bureau of Sad Endings And my wife sat on the couch and read the paper out loud. The evening edition carried the magic death of a child Backlit by a construction site sunrise […]...
17. Freethinker Although the Preacher be a bore, The Atheist is even more. I ain’t religious worth a damn; My views are reckoned to be broad; And yet I shut up like a clam When folks get figgerin’ on God; I’d hate my kids to think like me, And though they leave me in the lurch, I’m […]...
18. September Song born 19.6.32 – deported 24.9.42 Undesirable you may have been, untouchable You were not. Not forgotten Or passed over at the proper time. As estimated, you died. Things marched, Sufficient, to that end. Just so much Zyklon and leather, patented Terror, so many routine cries. (I have made An elegy for myself it Is true) […]...
19. The Philosopher And what are you that, wanting you, I should be kept awake As many nights as there are days With weeping for your sake? And what are you that, missing you, As many days as crawl I should be listening to the wind And looking at the wall? I know a man that’s a braver […]...
20. An Encounter ONCE on the kind of day called “weather breeder,” When the heat slowly hazes and the sun By its own power seems to be undone, I was half boring through, half climbing through A swamp of cedar. Choked with oil of cedar And scurf of plants, and weary and over-heated, And sorry I ever left […]...
21. Psalm 26 Self-examination; or, Evidences of grace. Judge me, O Lord, and prove my ways, And try my reins, and try my heart My faith upon thy promise stays, Nor from thy law my feet depart. I hate to walk, I hate to sit, With men of vanity and lies The scoffer and the hypocrite Are the […]...
22. Sonnet XXXI Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts, Which I by lacking have supposed dead, And there reigns love and all love’s loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried. How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stol’n from mine eye As interest of the dead, which now appear But […]...
23. Sonnets iv THY bosom is endeared with all hearts Which I, by lacking, have supposed dead: And there reigns Love, and all Love’s loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried. How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stol’n from mine eye, As interest of the dead! which now appear But […]...
24. Sonnet 31: Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts Thy bosom is endearèd with all hearts, Which I by lacking have supposèd dead, And there reigns love and all love’s loving parts, And all those friends which I thought burièd. How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stol’n from mine eye As interest of the dead, which now appear But […]...
25. In Memory of Rupert Brooke In alien earth, across a troubled sea, His body lies that was so fair and young. His mouth is stopped, with half his songs unsung; His arm is still, that struck to make men free. But let no cloud of lamentation be Where, on a warrior’s grave, a lyre is hung. We keep the echoes […]...
26. Change Change Said the sun to the moon, You cannot stay. Change Says the moon to the waters, All is flowing. Change Says the fields to the grass, Seed-time and harvest, Chaff and grain. You must change said, Said the worm to the bud, Though not to a rose, Petals fade That wings may rise Borne […]...
27. Masks These tales of old disguisings, are they not Strange myths of souls that found themselves among Unwonted folk that spake an hostile tongue, Some soul from all the rest who’d not forgot The star-span acres of a former lot Where boundless mid the clouds his course he swung, Or carnate with his elder brothers sung […]...
28. Ignorance Strange to know nothing, never to be sure Of what is true or right or real, But forced to qualify or so I feel, Or Well, it does seem so: Someone must know. Strange to be ignorant of the way things work: Their skill at finding what they need, Their sense of shape, and punctual […]...
29. Sonnet 10: For shame, deny that thou bear'st love to any For shame, deny that thou bear’st love to any Who for thy self art so unprovident. Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, But that thou none lov’st is most evident; For thou art so possessed with murd’rous hate, That ‘gainst thy self thou stick’st not to conspire, Seeking that beauteous roof to […]...
30. Sonnet X For shame! deny that thou bear’st love to any, Who for thyself art so unprovident. Grant, if thou wilt, thou art beloved of many, But that thou none lovest is most evident; For thou art so possess’d with murderous hate That ‘gainst thyself thou stick’st not to conspire. Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate Which […]...
31. Sonnet XIX: You Cannot Love To Humor You cannot love, my pretty heart, and why? There was a time you told me that you would; But now again you will the same deny, If it might please you, would to God you could. What, will you hate? Nay, that you will not, neither. Nor love nor hate, how then? What […]...
32. Christmas Antiphones I In Church Thou whose birth on earth Angels sang to men, While thy stars made mirth, Saviour, at thy birth, This day born again; As this night was bright With thy cradle-ray, Very light of light, Turn the wild world’s night To thy perfect day. God whose feet made sweet Those wild ways they […]...
33. Nearly A Valediction You happened to me. I was happened to Like an abandoned building by a bull- Dozer, like the van that missed my skull Happened a two-inch gash across my chin. You were as deep down as I’ve ever been. You were inside me like my pulse. A new- Born flailing toward maternal heartbeat through The […]...
34. What Is Love? What is Love? Is it a folly, Is it mirth, or melancholy? Joys above, Are there many, or not any? What is Love? If you please, A most sweet folly! Full of mirth and melancholy: Both of these! In its sadness worth all gladness, If you please! Prithee where, Goes Love a-hiding? Is he long […]...
35. Sainte-Nitouche Though not for common praise of him, Nor yet for pride or charity, Still would I make to Vanderberg One tribute for his memory: One honest warrant of a friend Who found with him that flesh was grass – Who neither blamed him in defect Nor marveled how it came to pass; Or why it […]...
36. The Routine Things Around The House When Mother died I thought: now I’ll have a death poem. That was unforgivable. Yet I’ve since forgiven myself As sons are able to do Who’ve been loved by their mothers. I stared into the coffin Knowing how long she’d live, How many lifetimes there are In the sweet revisions of memory. It’s hard to […]...
37. Above the Battle's Front St. Francis, Buddha, Tolstoi, and St. John – Friends, if you four, as pilgrims, hand in hand, Returned, the hate of earth once more to dare, And walked upon the water and the land, If you, with words celestial, stopped these kings For sober conclave, ere their battle great, Would they for one deep instant […]...
38. Sonnet 96 It will seem strange, no more this range on range Of opening hopes and happenings. Strange to be One’s name no longer. Not caught up, not free. Strange, not to wish one’s wishes onward. Strange, The looseness, slopping, time and space estrange. Strangest, and sad as a blind child, not to see Ever you, never […]...
39. The Old Australian Ways The London lights are far abeam Behind a bank of cloud, Along the shore the gaslights gleam, The gale is piping loud; And down the Channel, groping blind, We drive her through the haze Towards the land we left behind The good old land of ‘never mind’, And old Australian ways. The narrow ways of […]...
40. A Dream Of Death I dreamed that one had died in a strange place Near no accustomed hand, And they had nailed the boards above her face, The peasants of that land, Wondering to lay her in that solitude, And raised above her mound A cross they had made out of two bits of wood, And planted cypress round; […]...