One Size Fits All: A Critical Essay

Related poetry:

1. On The Critical Attitude The critical attitude Strikes many people as unfruitful That is because they find the state Impervious to their criticism But what in this case is an unfruitful attitude Is merely a feeble attitude. Give criticism arms And states can be demolished by it. Canalising a river Grafting a fruit tree Educating a person Transforming a […]...
2. How fits his Umber Coat How fits his Umber Coat The Tailor of the Nut? Combined without a seam Like Raiment of a Dream Who spun the Auburn Cloth? Computed how the girth? The Chestnut aged grows In those primeval Clothes We know that we are wise Accomplished in Surprise Yet by this Countryman This nature how undone!...
3. An Essay On Criticism ‘Tis hard to say, if greater Want of Skill Appear in Writing or in Judging ill, But, of the two, less dang’rous is th’ Offence, To tire our Patience, than mis-lead our Sense: Some few in that, but Numbers err in this, Ten Censure wrong for one who Writes amiss; A Fool might once himself […]...
4. Essay on Man The First Epistle Awake, my ST. JOHN!(1) leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride of Kings. Let us (since Life can little more supply Than just to look about us and to die) Expatiate(2) free o’er all this scene of Man; A mighty maze! but not without a plan; A Wild, where […]...
5. An Essay on Man in Four Epistles: Epistle 1 To Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke Awake, my St. John! leave all meaner things To low ambition, and the pride of kings. Let us (since life can little more supply Than just to look about us and to die) Expatiate free o’er all this scene of man; A mighty maze! but not without a plan; […]...
6. From an Essay on Man Heav’n from all creatures hides the book of fate, All but the page prescrib’d, their present state: From brutes what men, from men what spirits know: Or who could suffer being here below? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play? Pleas’d to the last, he […]...
7. Poetical Essay Extract from Poetical Essay by Percy Bysshe Shelley Millions to fight compell’d, to fight or die In mangled heaps on War’s red altar lie. . . When the legal murders swell the lists of pride; When glory’s views the titled idiot guide...
8. Essay On The Personal Because finally the personal Is all that matters, We spend years describing stones, Chairs, abandoned farmhouses- Until we’re ready. Always It’s a matter of precision, What it feels like To kiss someone or to walk Out the door. How good it was To practice on stones Which were things we could love Without weeping over. […]...
9. Executive I am a young executive. No cuffs than mine are cleaner; I have a Slimline brief-case and I use the firm’s Cortina. In every roadside hostelry from here to Burgess Hill The maоtres d’hфtel all know me well, and let me sign the bill. You ask me what it is I do. Well, actually, you […]...
10. Mrs. Purkapile He ran away and was gone for a year. When he came home he told me the silly story Of being kidnapped by pirates on Lake Michigan And kept in chains so he could not write me. I pretended to believe it, though I knew very well What he was doing, and that he met […]...
11. 50. Another on the said Occasion ONE Queen Artemisia, as old stories tell, When deprived of her husband she loved so well, In respect for the love and affection he show’d her, She reduc’d him to dust and she drank up the powder. But Queen Netherplace, of a diff’rent complexion, When called on to order the fun’ral direction, Would have eat […]...
12. Unlyric Love Song It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first: To offer you now at last my least and my worst: Minor, absurd preserves, The shell’s end-curves, A document kept at the back of a drawer, A tin hidden under the floor, Recalcitrant prides and hesitations: To pile them carefully in a desparate […]...
13. Corn Grinders O little mouse, why dost thou cry While merry stars laugh in the sky? Alas! alas! my lord is dead! Ah, who will ease my bitter pain? He went to seek a millet-grain In the rich farmer’s granary shed; They caught him in a baited snare, And slew my lover unaware: Alas! alas! my lord […]...
14. Of the Visage of Things OF the visages of things-And of piercing through to the accepted hells beneath; Of ugliness-To me there is just as much in it as there is in beauty-And now the ugliness of human beings is acceptable to me; Of detected persons-To me, detected persons are not, in any respect, worse than undetected persons-and are not […]...
15. A Christmas Carol Welcome, sweet Christmas, blest be the morn That Christ our Saviour was born! Earth’s Redeemer, to save us from all danger, And, as the Holy Record tells, born in a manger. Chorus Then ring, ring, Christmas bells, Till your sweet music o’er the kingdom swells, To warn the people to respect the morn That Christ […]...
16. Unstable Dream Unstable dream, according to the place, Be steadfast once, or else at least be true. By tasted sweetness make me not to rue The sudden loss of thy false feignèd grace. By good respect in such a dangerous case Thou broughtest not her into this tossing mew But madest my sprite live, my care to […]...
17. Caesarion Partly to verify an era, Partly also to pass the time, Last night I picked up a collection Of Ptolemaic epigrams to read. The plentiful praises and flatteries For everyone are similar. They are all brilliant, Glorious, mighty, beneficent; Each of their enterprises the wisest. If you talk of the women of that breed, they […]...
18. Historion No man hath dared to write this thing as yet, And yet I know, how that the souls of all men great At times pass athrough us, And we are melted into them, and are not Save reflexions of their souls. Thus am I Dante for a space and am One Francois Villon, ballad-lord and […]...
19. Charlene-n-Booker 4ever And the old men, supervising grown grandsons, nephews, Any man a boy given this chance of making A new sidewalk outside the apartment building where Some of them live, three old men and their wives, The aging unmarrying children, and the child Who is a cousin, whose mother has sent her here Because she doesn’t […]...
20. Elegy In A Country Churchyard The men that worked for England They have their graves at home: And bees and birds of England About the cross can roam. But they that fought for England, Following a falling star, Alas, alas for England They have their graves afar. And they that rule in England, In stately conclave met, Alas, alas for […]...
21. Sonnet 85: My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, While comments of your praise, richly compiled, Reserve their character with golden quill, And precious phrase by all the Muses filed. I think good thoughts, whilst other write good words, And like unlettered clerk still cry “Amen” To every hymn that able spirit affords In polished form […]...
22. Sonnet LXXXV My tongue-tied Muse in manners holds her still, While comments of your praise, richly compiled, Reserve their character with golden quill And precious phrase by all the Muses filed. I think good thoughts whilst other write good words, And like unletter’d clerk still cry ‘Amen’ To every hymn that able spirit affords In polish’d form […]...
23. The Late Sir John Ogilvy Alas! Sir John Ogilvy is dead, aged eighty-seven, But I hope his soul is now in heaven; For he was a generous-hearted gentleman I am sure, And, in particular, very kind unto the poor. He was a Christian gentleman in every degree, And, for many years, was an M. P. for Bonnie Dundee, And, while […]...
24. The Argument Of His Book I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers. I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes. I write of youth, of love, and have access By these to sing of cleanly wantonness. I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by […]...
25. Poetry it Takes A lot of Desperation Dissatisfaction And Disillusion To Write A Few Good Poems. It’s not For Everybody Either to Write It Or even to Read It....
26. Cacoethes Scribendi If all the trees in all the woods were men; And each and every blade of grass a pen; If every leaf on every shrub and tree Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea Were changed to ink, and all earth’s living tribes Had nothing else to do but act as scribes, And for […]...
27. A Minor Bird I have wished a bird would fly away, And not sing by my house all day; Have clapped my hands at him from the door When it seemed as if I could bear no more. The fault must partly have been in me. The bird was not to blame for his key. And of course […]...
28. My Book Before I drink myself to death, God, let me finish up my Book! At night, I fear, I fight for breath, And wake up whiter than a spook; And crawl off to a bistro near, And drink until my brain is clear. Rare Absinthe! Oh, it gives me strength To write and write; and so […]...
29. To a Child of Quality, Five Years Old, 1704. The Author then Forty LORDS, knights, and squires, the numerous band That wear the fair Miss Mary’s fetters, Were summoned by her high command To show their passions by their letters. My pen amongst the rest I took, Lest those bright eyes, that cannot read, Should dart their kindling fire, and look The power they have to be obey’d. […]...
30. PC for Aaron Fogel Politically-correct Personal computers Point and click. President Clinton (codename Peacock) Can’t protect Crack pushing Communist Party Cops pursuing A care package Of peasant consciousness In a car park. Poverty’s a crime, And capital punishment Par for the course, In this penal code. A plausible cliffhanger Can’t cure the paralyzed, Prevent cancer, Or […]...
31. Mourning Alas my brother! the cry of the mourners of old That cried on each other, All crying aloud on the dead as the death-note rolled, Alas my brother! As flashes of dawn that mists from an east wind smother With fold upon fold, The past years gleam that linked us one with another. Time sunders […]...
32. Willard Fluke My wife lost her health, And dwindled until she weighed scarce ninety pounds. Then that woman, whom the men Styled Cleopatra, came along. And we we married ones All broke our vows, myself among the rest. Years passed and one by one Death claimed them all in some hideous form, And I was borne along […]...
33. PUBLISHERS And then they pretend like owls With marble eyes and wizened stupidity I do not know why they cannot perceive True art But I will write Until sand evaporates And the moon consumes the sun I will write Even for the sake of art For myself and for those who feel Reading could lift them […]...
34. Dumb Gabriel whispered in mine ear His archangelic poesie. How can I write? I only hear The sobbing murmur of the sea. Raphael breathed and bade me pass His rapt evangel to mankind; I cannot even match, alas! The ululation of the wind. The gross grey gods like gargoyles spit On every poet’s holy head; No […]...
35. Carbonara eyes Nicky said I couldn’t write, she’s got a charming Sense of social etiquette – given she’s a bitch (the canine sort, can’t spell for shit or even write A word) but then she has the most expressive eyes. So what she said was no surprise, she’d heard My lamentations, licked my hands, rested forepaws On […]...
36. THE DAYS GO BY for Daniel Weissbort Some poems meant only for my eyes About a grief I can’t let go But I want to, want to throw It away like an old worn-out cloak Or screw up like a ball of over-written Trash and toss into the corner bin. I said it must come up or out I […]...
37. Poor Poet ‘A man should write to please himself,’ He proudly said. Well, see his poems on the shelf, Dusty, unread. When he came to my shop each day, So peaked and cold, I’d sneak one of his books away And say ’twas sold. And then by chance he looked below, And saw a stack Of his […]...
38. Sympathy My Muse is simple, yet it’s nice To think you don’t need to think twice On words I write. I reckon I’ve a common touch And if you say I cuss too much I answer: ‘Quite!’ I envy not the poet’s lot; He has something I haven’t got, Alas, I know. But I have something […]...
39. 373. Song-The Slave's Lament IT was in sweet Senegal that my foes did me enthral, For the lands of Virginia,-ginia, O: Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more; And alas! I am weary, weary O: Torn from that lovely shore, and must never see it more; And alas! I am weary, weary O. All on […]...
40. Authorship You say that father write a lot of books, but what he write I don’t Understand. He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really Make out what he meant? What nice stores, mother, you can tell us! Why can’t father Write like that, I wonder? Did he never hear from his […]...