NEW YEAR POEM

Related poetry:

1. POEM TO BE PLACED IN A BOTTLE AND CAST OUT TO SEA for Ken Kesey and his merry pranksters in a bus called ‘Further…’ Dear and here’s where the problem begins For who shall I address this letter to? Friends are few and very special, muses in the main I must confess, the first I lost just fifty years ago. Perhaps the best. I searched for years […]...
2. Poem For People That Are Understandably Too Busy To Read Poetry Relax. This won’t last long. Or if it does, or if the lines Make you sleepy or bored, Give in to sleep, turn on The T. V., deal the cards. This poem is built to withstand Such things. Its feelings Cannot be hurt. They exist Somewhere in the poet, And I am far away. Pick […]...
3. WYTHER PARK SCHOOL LEEDS FIVE I stood there in front of forty-five faces The first day of term, not especially fancying “Exercises in Mechanical Arithmetic” and so instead I read a poem from Kirkup in Japan, about Nijinsky, Hand-written on a fan of rice-paper. Thirty years later, taking a Sri Lankan girl In search of her first job around London […]...
4. THE SINGING SCHOOL The Poetry School, The Poetry Book Society, The Poetry Business: So much poetry about you’d think I’d want to shout, “Hurray, hurray, Every day’s Poetry Day!” but I don’t and you don’t either- You know its flim-flam on the ether, grants for Jack-the-lads Of both sexes, poets who’ve never been seen in a little magazine […]...
5. Poem This poem is not addressed to you. You may come into it briefly, But no one will find you here, no one. You will have changed before the poem will. Even while you sit there, unmovable, You have begun to vanish. And it does no matter. The poem will go on without you. It has […]...
6. The Poem Cat Sometimes the poem Doesn’t want to come; It hides from the poet Like a playful cat Who has run Under the house & lurks among slugs, Roots, spiders’ eyes, Ledge so long out of the sun That it is dank With the breath of the Troll King. Sometimes the poem Darts away Like a coy […]...
7. Notice What This Poem Is Not Doing The light along the hills in the morning Comes down slowly, naming the trees White, then coasting the ground for stones to nominate. Notice what this poem is not doing. A house, a house, a barn, the old Quarry, where the river shrugs How much of this place is yours? Notice what this poem is […]...
8. Poetry And Religion Religions are poems. They concert Our daylight and dreaming mind, our Emotions, instinct, breath and native gesture Into the only whole thinking: poetry. Nothing’s said till it’s dreamed out in words And nothing’s true that figures in words only. A poem, compared with an arrayed religion, May be like a soldier’s one short marriage night […]...
9. AN EVENING WITH JOHN HEATH-STUBBS Alone in Sutton with Fynbos my orange cat A long weekend of wind and rain drowning The tumultuous flurry of mid-February blossom A surfeit of letters to work through, a mountain Of files to sort, some irritation at the thought Of travelling to Kentish Town alone when My mind was flooded with the mellifluous voice […]...
10. Last Poem of my 45th Year I thought of how a whale’s white ribs Could choke the sky’s blue neck, Massive vertebrae half-buried in sand, And how a keel cleaves the sea While the wind zephyrs canvas to swell And propel the long black ship toward shore, Heaven in a blue mussel shell, smooth As the firmament. I believe there is […]...
11. Love Poem There is always something to be made of pain. Your mother knits. She turns out scarves in every shade of red. They were for Christmas, and they kept you warm While she married over and over, taking you Along. How could it work, When all those years she stored her widowed heart As though the […]...
12. Ode to the Sublime Porte Great Sultan, how wise are thy state compositions! And oh, above all, I admire that Decree, In which thou command’st, that all she politicians Shall forthwith be strangled and cast in the sea. ‘Tis my fortune to know a lean Benthamite spinster A maid, who her faith in old Jeremy puts; Who talks, with a […]...
13. THREE SONGS FOR MAYDAY MORNING ( I ) For ‘JC’ of the TLS Nightmare of metropolitan amalgam Grand Hotel and myself as a guest there Lost with my room rifled, my belongings scattered, Purse, diary and vital list of numbers gone – Vague sad memories of mam n’dad Leeds 1942 back-to-back with shared outside lav. Hosannas of sweet May mornings […]...
14. To Make A Dadist Poem Take a newspaper. Take some scissors. Choose from this paper an article the length you want to make your poem. Cut out the article. Next carefully cut out each of the words that make up this article and put them all in a bag. Shake gently. Next take out each cutting one after the other. […]...
15. The New Poetry Handbook 1 If a man understands a poem, he shall have troubles. 2 If a man lives with a poem, he shall die lonely. 3 If a man lives with two poems, he shall be unfaithful to one. 4 If a man conceives of a poem, he shall have one less child. 5 If a man […]...
16. Saddest Poem I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars, And the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.” The night wind whirls in the sky and sings. I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. On nights […]...
17. Your Poem My poem may be yours indeed In melody and tone, If in its rhythm you can read A music of your own; If in its pale woof you can weave Your lovelier design, ‘Twill make my lyric, I believe, More yours than mine. I’m but a prompter at the best; Crude cues are all I […]...
18. Welsh experience called out by the sun This easter saturday morning I’m sitting on a bank In pistyllgwyn (house of the sacred spring) Against a tall oak (close to a daffodil-clump) Overlooking the road Between brechfa and abergorlech On the west side of the valley Of the afon cothi Reading a poem by taliesin From the sixth […]...
19. A True Story, for Jeremy Jeremy hit the ball today, Over the fence and far away. So very, very far away A neighbor had to toss it back. (She thought it was an air attack!) Jeremy hit the ball so hard It flew across his neighbor’s yard. So very hard across her yard The bat that boomed a mighty “THWACK!” […]...
20. SORRY I MISSED YOU (or ‘Huddersfield the Second Poetry Capital of England Re-visited’) What was it Janice Simmons said to me as James lay dying in Ireland? “Phone Peter Pegnall in Leeds, an ex-pupil of Jimmy’s. He’s organising A benefit reading, he’d love to hear from you and have your help.” ‘Like hell he would’ I thought but I […]...
21. This Is A Poem I Wrote At Night, Before The Dawn This is a poem I wrote before I died and was reborn: – After the years of the apples ripening and the eagles soaring, After the festival here the small flowers gleamed like the first stars, And the horses cantered and romped away like the experience of skill; mastered and serene Power, grasped and governed […]...
22. The Trapper's Christmas Eve It’s mighty lonesome-like and drear. Above the Wild the moon rides high, And shows up sharp and needle-clear The emptiness of earth and sky; No happy homes with love a-glow; No Santa Claus to make believe: Just snow and snow, and then more snow; It’s Christmas Eve, it’s Christmas Eve. And here am I where […]...
23. Year's End for Audre Lorde and Sonny Wainwright Twice in my quickly disappearing forties Someone called while someone I loved and I were Making love to tell me another woman had died of cancer. Seven years apart, and two different lovers: Underneath the numbers, how lives are braided, How those women’s death and lives, lived and died, […]...
24. The poem The poem That I chose for you Is simple, As are all my singing poems. It has the trace of a veil, A little balsam, And a taste of the honey Of lies. There is also The coming end of summer When heat scorches the meadow And the quick waters Of the river Cease to […]...
25. A NEW YEAR'S GIFT, SENT TO SIR SIMEON STEWARD No news of navies burnt at seas; No noise of late spawn’d tittyries; No closet plot or open vent, That frights men with a Parliament: No new device or late-found trick, To read by th’ stars the kingdom’s sick; No gin to catch the State, or wring The free-born nostril of the King, We send […]...
26. A SIMPLE POEM I want you to continue writing Because I will not always be around With lips that will never touch mine Read your poems out loud So that the words are left engraved On the wall Make me feel your voice rush through me Like a breeze from Oyá I want to hear about Puerto Rico […]...
27. 'Twas just this time, last year, I died ‘Twas just this time, last year, I died. I know I heard the Corn, When I was carried by the Farms It had the Tassels on I thought how yellow it would look When Richard went to mill And then, I wanted to get out, But something held my will. I thought just how Red […]...
28. CONSTRUCTIONS/RECONSTRUCTIONS I Living in a land Where only the dying correspond I am borne on the wings of love II I cannot join in a poem The interstices of clouds I watched a lapwing Hover in the air Glide in an arc Veer from the sheer cliff III Who shall I meet On this journey to […]...
29. Preface This book is not about heroes. English Poetry is not yet fit to speak of them. Nor is it about deeds or lands, nor anything about glory, honour, dominion or power, except War. Above all, this book is not concerned with Poetry. The subject of it is War, and the pity of War. The Poetry […]...
30. 299. Sketch-New Year's Day, 1790 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. The absent lover, minor heir, In vain assail him with their prayer; Deaf as my friend, he sees them press, Nor […]...
31. Temporary Poem Of My Time Hebrew writing and Arabic writing go from east to west, Latin writing, from west to east. Languages are like cats: You must not stroke their hair the wrong way. The clouds come from the sea, the hot wind from the desert, The trees bend in the wind, And stones fly from all four winds, Into […]...
32. LETTERS TO FRIENDS I Eddie Linden Dear Eddie we’ve not met Except upon the written page And at your age the wonder Is that you write at all When so many have gone under Or been split asunder by narcissistic humours Blunder following blunder Barker and Graham, godfathering my verse Bearing me cloud-handed to Haworth moor From my […]...
33. The Final Poem A forge burns in my heart. I am redder than dawn, Deeper than seaweed, More distant than gulls, More hollow than wells. But I only give birth To seeds and to shells. My tongue becomes tangled in words: I no longer speak white, Nor utter black, Nor whisper gray of a wind-worn cliff, Barely do […]...
34. Poem (The lump of coal my parents teased) The lump of coal my parents teased I’d find in my Christmas stocking Turned out each year to be an orange, For I was their sunshine. Now I have one C. gave me, A dense node of sleeping fire. I keep it where I read and write. “You’re on chummy terms with dread,” It reminds […]...
35. The Poem That Took The Place Of A Mountain There it was, word for word, The poem that took the place of a mountain. He breathed its oxygen, Even when the book lay turned in the dust of his table. It reminded him how he had needed A place to go to in his own direction, How he had recomposed the pines, Shifted the […]...
36. At a Poetry Party I Am Given the Rhyme Chih Although I’ve studied poetry for thirty years I try to keep my mouth shut and avoid reputation. Now who is this nosy gentleman talking about my poetry Like Yang Ching-chih Who spoke of Hsiang Ssu everywhere he went....
37. To love thee Year by Year To love thee Year by Year May less appear Than sacrifice, and cease However, dear, Forever might be short, I thought to show And so I pieced it, with a flower, now....
38. Poem (Old man in the crystal morning after snow) Old man in the crystal morning after snow, Your throat swathed in a muffler, your bent Figure building the snow man which is meant For the grandchild’s target, do you know This fat cartoon, his eyes pocked in with coal Nears you each time your breath smokes the air, Lewdly grinning out of a private […]...
39. I WILL NOT EAT MY POEM I kill for pleasure Not for gain. A man much more Than you my hands Find knives & flash them. I am guilty In my works While in their eyes I seek redemption. I find myself Forgotten Angry at the thought Of bread. I will not Eat my poem(A. Artaud) Much less be raped By […]...
40. THE CEREMONIES FOR CANDLEMAS DAY Kindle the Christmas brand, and then Till sunset let it burn; Which quench’d, then lay it up again, Till Christmas next return. Part must be kept, wherewith to teend The Christmas log next year; And where ’tis safely kept, the fiend Can do no mischief there....