Rusty Crimson

Related poetry:

1. Valley Song YOUR eyes and the valley are memories. Your eyes fire and the valley a bowl. It was here a moonrise crept over the timberline. It was here we turned the coffee cups upside down. And your eyes and the moon swept the valley. I will see you again to-morrow. I will see you again in […]...
2. Flash Crimson I SHALL cry God to give me a broken foot. I shall ask for a scar and a slashed nose. I shall take the last and the worst. I shall be eaten by gray creepers in a bunkhouse where no runners of the sun come and no dogs live. And yet-of all “and yets” this […]...
3. Crimson Changes People DID I see a crucifix in your eyes And nails and Roman soldiers And a dusk Golgotha? Did I see Mary, the changed woman, Washing the feet of all men, Clean as new grass When the old grass burns? Did I see moths in your eyes, lost moths, With a flutter of wings that meant: […]...
4. Crimson CRIMSON is the slow smolder of the cigar end I hold, Gray is the ash that stiffens and covers all silent the fire. (A great man I know is dead and while he lies in his Coffin a gone flame I sit here in cumbering shadows And smoke and watch my thoughts come and go.)...
5. Stars Wheel in Purple Stars wheel in purple, yours is not so rare As Hesperus, nor yet so great a star As bright Aldeboran or Sirius, Nor yet the stained and brilliant one of War; Stars turn in purple, glorious to the sight; Yours is not gracious as the Pleiads are Nor as Orion’s sapphires, luminous; Yet disenchanted, cold, […]...
6. These are the Signs to Nature's Inns These are the Signs to Nature’s Inns Her invitation broad To Whosoever famishing To taste her mystic Bread These are the rites of Nature’s House The Hospitality That opens with an equal width To Beggar and to Bee For Sureties of her staunch Estate Her undecaying Cheer The Purple in the East is set And […]...
7. A Rusty Nail I ran a nail into my hand, The wound was hard to heal; So bitter was the pain to stand I thought how it would feel, To have spikes thrust through hands and feet, Impaled by hammer beat. Then hoisted on a cross of oak Against the sullen sky, With all about the jeering follk […]...
8. Elizabeth Barrett Browning Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sat gossiping with Robert. (She was really a raving beauty in her day. With Mary Pickford curls in clouds and whirls.) She was trying to think of something nice to say, So she pointed to a page by her fellow star and sage, And said: “I wish that I could write that […]...
9. Crimson Rambler NOW that a crimson rambler begins to crawl over the house of our two lives- Now that a red curve winds across the shingles- Now that hands washed in early sunrises climb and spill scarlet on a white lattice weave- Now that a loop of blood is written on our roof and reaching around a […]...
10. The Princess: A Medley: Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font: The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me. Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost, And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. Now lies the earth all Danaë […]...
11. Take Back the Virgin Page Written on Returning a Blank Book Take back the virgin page, White and unwritten still; Some hand, more calm and sage, The leaf must fill. Thoughts come, as pure as light Pure as even you require; But, oh! each word I write Love turns to fire. Yet let me keep the book: Oft shall my […]...
12. Noon I bend to the ground To catch Something whispered, Urgent, drifting Across the ditches. The heaviness of Flies stuttering In orbit, dirt Ripening, the sweat Of eggs. There are Small streams The width ofa thumb Running in the villages Of sheaves, whole Eras of grain Wakening on The stalks, a roof That breathes over My […]...
13. A Net to Snare the Moonlight [What the Man of Faith said] The dew, the rain and moonlight All prove our Father’s mind. The dew, the rain and moonlight Descend to bless mankind. Come, let us see that all men Have land to catch the rain, Have grass to snare the spheres of dew, And fields spread for the grain. Yea, […]...
14. A March Day in London The east wind blows in the street to-day; The sky is blue, yet the town looks grey. ‘Tis the wind of ice, the wind of fire, Of cold despair and of hot desire, Which chills the flesh to aches and pains, And sends a fever through all the veins. From end to end, with aimless […]...
15. Stars (For the Rev. James J. Daly, S. J.) Bright stars, yellow stars, flashing through the air, Are you errant strands of Lady Mary’s hair? As she slits the cloudy veil and bends down through, Do you fall across her cheeks and over heaven too? Gay stars, little stars, you are little eyes, Eyes of baby […]...
16. Bringers COVER me over In dusk and dust and dreams. Cover me over And leave me alone. Cover me over, You tireless, great. Hear me and cover me, Bringers of dusk and dust and dreams....
17. There was crimson clash of war There was crimson clash of war. Lands turned black and bare; Women wept; Babes ran, wondering. There came one who understood not these things. He said, “Why is this?” Whereupon a million strove to answer him. There was such intricate clamour of tongues, That still the reason was not....
18. Bored All those times I was bored Out of my mind. Holding the log While he sawed it. Holding The string while he measured, boards, Distances between things, or pounded Stakes into the ground for rows and rows Of lettuces and beets, which I then (bored) Weeded. Or sat in the back Of the car, or […]...
19. The Mayor of Gary I ASKED the Mayor of Gary about the 12-hour day and the 7-day week. And the Mayor of Gary answered more workmen steal time on the job in Gary than any other place in the United States. “Go into the plants and you will see men sitting around doing nothing-machinery does everything,” said the Mayor […]...
20. Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white; Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk; Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font; The firefly wakens, waken thou with me. Now droops the milk-white peacock like a ghost, And like a ghost she glimmers on to me. Now lies the Earth all Danae […]...
21. To a Contemporary Bunkshooter YOU come along. . . tearing your shirt. . . yelling about Jesus. Where do you get that stuff? What do you know about Jesus? Jesus had a way of talking soft and outside of a few Bankers and higher-ups among the con men of Jerusalem Everybody liked to have this Jesus around because He […]...
22. Returned To Say When I face north a lost Cree On some new shore puts a moccasin down, Rock in the light and noon for seeing, He in a hurry and I beside him It will be a long trip; he will be a new chief; We have drunk new water from an unnamed stream; Under little dark […]...
23. Smoke and Steel SMOKE of the fields in spring is one, Smoke of the leaves in autumn another. Smoke of a steel-mill roof or a battleship funnel, They all go up in a line with a smokestack, Or they twist… in the slow twist… of the wind. If the north wind comes they run to the south. If […]...
24. The Guest is gold and crimson The Guest is gold and crimson An Opal guest and gray Of Ermine is his doublet His Capuchin gay He reaches town at nightfall He stops at every door Who looks for him at morning I pray him too explore The Lark’s pure territory Or the Lapwing’s shore!...
25. Dying! Dying in the night! Dying! Dying in the night! Won’t somebody bring the light So I can see which way to go Into the everlasting snow? And “Jesus”! Where is Jesus gone? They said that Jesus always came Perhaps he doesn’t know the House This way, Jesus, Let him pass! Somebody run to the great gate And see if […]...
26. Corn Hut Talk WRITE your wishes on the door and come in. Stand outside in the pools of the harvest moon. Bring in the handshake of the pumpkins. There’s a wish for every hazel nut? There’s a hope for every corn shock? There’s a kiss for every clumsy climbing shadow? Clover and the bumblebees once, High winds and […]...
27. Modern Love VII: She Issues Radiant She issues radiant from her dressing-room, Like one prepared to scale an upper sphere: By stirring up a lower, much I fear How deftly that oiled barber lays his bloom That long-shanked dapper Cupid with frisked curls Can make known women torturingly fair; The gold-eyed serpent dwelling in rich hair, Awakes beneath his magic whisks […]...
28. Holy Day Los Angeles hums A little tune Trucks down The coast road For Monday Market Packed with small faces Blinking in the dark. My mother dreams By the open window. On the drainboard The gray roast humps Untouched, the oven Bangs its iron jaws, But it’s over. Before her on the table Set for so many […]...
29. There Are Not Many Kingdoms Left I write the lips of the moon upon her shoulders. In a Temple of silvery farawayness I guard her to rest. For her bed I write a stillness over all the swans of the World. With the morning breath of the snow leopard I Cover her against any hurt. Using the pen of rivers and […]...
30. Safety-Clutch Once I seen a human ruin In a elevator-well. And his members was bestrewin’ All the place where he had fell. And I says, apostrophisin’ That uncommon woful wreck: “Your position’s so surprisin’ That I tremble for your neck!” Then that ruin, smilin’ sadly And impressive, up and spoke: “Well, I wouldn’t tremble badly, For […]...
31. Go Down, Death Weep not, weep not, She is not dead; She’s resting in the bosom of Jesus. Heart-broken husband weep no more; Grief-stricken son weep no more; Left-lonesome daughter weep no more; She only just gone home. Day before yesterday morning, God was looking down from his great, high heaven, Looking down on all his children, And […]...
32. Theme For English B The instructor said, Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you Then, it will be true. I wonder if it’s that simple? I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem. I went to school there, then Durham, then here To this college on the hill above Harlem. I am […]...
33. The Warm and the Cold Freezing dusk is closing Like a slow trap of steel On trees and roads and hills and all That can no longer feel. But the carp is in its depth Like a planet in its heaven. And the badger in its bedding Like a loaf in the oven. And the butterfly in its mummy Like […]...
34. The Princess: A Medley: Our Enemies have Fall'n Our enemies have fall’n, have fall’n: the seed, The little seed they laugh’d at in the dark, Has risen and cleft the soil, and grown a bulk Of spanless girth, that lays on every side A thousand arms and rushes to the Sun. Our enemies have fall’n, have fall’n: they came; The leaves were wet […]...
35. Sleeping at last Sleeping at last, the trouble and tumult over, Sleeping at last, the struggle and horror past, Cold and white, out of sight of friend and of lover, Sleeping at last. No more a tired heart downcast or overcast, No more pangs that wring or shifting fears that hover, Sleeping at last in a dreamless sleep […]...
36. On Dragon Hill Drunk on Dragon Hill tonight, The banished immortal, Great White, Turns among yellow flowers, His smile wide, As his hat sails away on the wind And he dances away in the moonlight....
37. The Traveller They pointed me out on the highway, and they said ‘That man has a curious way of holding his head.’ They pointed me out on the beach; they said ‘That man Will never become as we are, try as he can.’ They pointed me out at the station, and the guard Looked at me twice, […]...
38. Colors Passing Through Us Purple as tulips in May, mauve Into lush velvet, purple As the stain blackberries leave On the lips, on the hands, The purple of ripe grapes Sunlit and warm as flesh. Every day I will give you a color, Like a new flower in a bud vase On your desk. Every day I will paint […]...
39. Song of the Moon The moonlight breaks upon the city’s domes, And falls along cemented steel and stone, Upon the grayness of a million homes, Lugubrious in unchanging monotone. Upon the clothes behind the tenement, That hang like ghosts suspended from the lines, Linking each flat to each indifferent, Incongruous and strange the moonlight shines. There is no magic […]...
40. Dogheads AMONG the grassroots In the moonlight, who comes circling, red tongues and high noses? Is one of ’em Buck and one of ’em White Fang? In the moonlight, who are they, cross-legged, telling their stories over and over? Is one of ’em Martin Eden and one of ’em Larsen the Wolf? Let an epitaph read: […]...