Blues

Related poetry:

1. THE OLIVE BRANCH Sadly I walk’d within the field, To see what comfort it would yield; And as I went my private way, An olive-branch before me lay; And seeing it, I made a stay, And took it up, and view’d it; then Kissing the omen, said Amen; Be, be it so, and let this be A divination […]...
2. Swing Shift Blues What is better than leaving a bar In the middle of the afternoon Besides staying in it or not Having gone into it in the first place Because you had a decent woman to be with? The air smells particularly fresh After the stale beer and piss smells. You can stare up at the whole […]...
3. Po' Boy Blues When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. Since I come up North de Whole damn world’s turned cold. I was a good boy, Never done no wrong. Yes, I was a good boy, Never done no wrong, But this world is weary An’ de […]...
4. From Citron-Bower From citron-bower be her bed, Cut from branch of tree a-flower, Fashioned for her maidenhead. From Lydian apples, sweet of hue, Cut the width of board and lathe, Carve the feet from myrtle-wood. Let the palings of her bed Be quince and box-wood overlaid With the scented bark of yew. That all the wood in […]...
5. To Vernon Lee On Bellosguardo, when the year was young, We wandered, seeking for the daffodil And dark anemone, whose purples fill The peasant’s plot, between the corn-shoots sprung. Over the grey, low wall the olive flung Her deeper greyness ; far off, hill on hill Sloped to the sky, which, pearly-pale and still, Above the large and […]...
6. WINTER BLUES For Penny Abraham I wish I had Auden’s penchant For going about in carpet slippers Or the late HRH Margaret’s panache- A chauffered Rolls with six outriders- This late December day with its sparkle of sun on frost I’d so much rather be in Haworth’s cobbled street With cascades of carols in torchlit procession Or […]...
7. The Blues What did I think, a storm clutching a clarinet And boarding a downtown bus, headed for lessons? I had pieces to learn by heart, but at twelve You think the heart and memory are different. “‘It’s a poor sort of memory that only works Backwards,’ the Queen remarked.” Alice in Wonderland. Although I knew the […]...
8. The beans were exciting I tried cooking in my new Quicksilver jacket, just An affectation I assure you – no, not the coat Or the cooking but me in the wearing of it, A form of warped appreciation, and when I think Of it the gag was truly fitting; it wasn’t new, A barely used waterproof surfers’ jacket bought […]...
9. It's Ours there is always that space there Just before they get to us That space That fine relaxer The breather While say Flopping on a bed Thinking of nothing Or say Pouring a glass of water from the Spigot While entranced by Nothing That Gentle pure Space It’s worth Centuries of Existence Say Just to scratch […]...
10. You and I I explain quietly. You Hear me shouting. You Try a new tack. I Feel old wounds reopen. You see both sides. I See your blinkers. I Am placatory. You Sense a new selfishness. I am a dove. You Recognize the hawk. You Offer an olive branch. I Feel the thorns. You bleed. I See crocodile […]...
11. The Blues When the shoe strings break On both your shoes And you’re in a hurry- That’s the blues. When you go to buy a candy bar And you’ve lost the dime you had- Slipped through a hole in your pocket somewhere- That’s the blues, too, and bad!...
12. The Weary Blues Droning a drowsy syncopated tune, Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon, I heard a Negro play. Down on Lenox Avenue the other night By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light He did a lazy sway. . . He did a lazy sway. . . To the tune o’ those Weary […]...
13. Kemang Afternoon Blues 1/ Had it not been for the traffic jam You’d have thought being elsewhere Most the niceties seemed so foreign Speaking a tongue so unfamiliar 2/ The bookstore you were in Saw a sea of printed words Of books beyond reach So beautiful they were doomed 3/ Even a minute you were denied A meeting […]...
14. Long highway blues highway dancing During a long day Of running My thumb, Carrying me nowhere Grew tired, A sunset and beauty Carved the sky Her eyes and hair A tattoo upon my soul Wouldn’t let go I had nowhere to run And so, Highway dancing And nowhere To call home. Walking the long black road Alone Believing […]...
15. Beta Blogger Blues Have you switched to Beta yet? It’s an even bet that if you have You quite regret your impulse To accept the canny invitation. It’s okay, I hear you say, the crew’s A clever team and give you confidence They’ll solve the sorry logon glitch And while a bitch to reach your Blog in Beta […]...
16. The Morning Half-Life Blues Girls buck the wind in the grooves toward work In fuzzy coats promised to be warm as fur. The shop windows snicker Flashing them hurrying over dresses they cannot afford: You are not pretty enough, not pretty enough. Blown with yesterday’s papers through the boiled coffee morning We dream of the stop on the subway […]...
17. Dance Me To The End Of Love Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin Dance me through the panic ’til I’m gathered safely in Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove Dance me to the end of love Dance me to the end of love Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone […]...
18. Mammy Hums THIS is the song I rested with: The right shoulder of a strong man I leaned on. The face of the rain that drizzled on the short neck of a canal boat. The eyes of a child who slept while death went over and under. The petals of peony pink that fluttered in a shot […]...
19. Father Death Blues (Don't Grow Old, Part V) Hey Father Death, I’m flying home Hey poor man, you’re all alone Hey old daddy, I know where I’m going Father Death, Don’t cry any more Mama’s there, underneath the floor Brother Death, please mind the store Old Aunty Death Don’t hide your bones Old Uncle Death I hear your groans O Sister Death how […]...
20. Some time Last night, my darling, as you slept, I thought I heard you sigh, And to your little crib I crept, And watched a space thereby; And then I stooped and kissed your brow, For oh! I love you so You are too young to know it now, But some time you shall know! Some time […]...
21. Style Flaubert wanted to write a novel About nothing. It was to have no subject And be sustained upon the style alone, Like the Holy Ghost cruising above The abyss, or like the little animals In Disney cartoons who stand upon a branch That breaks, but do not fall Till they look down. He never wrote […]...
22. Has Sorrow Thy Young Days Shaded Has sorrow thy young days shaded, As clouds o’er the morning fleet? Too fast have those young days faded That, even in sorrow, were sweet? Does Time with his cold wing wither Each feeling that once was dear? Then, child of misfortune, come hither, I’ll weep with thee, tear for tear. Has love to that […]...
23. An Olive Fire An olive fire’s a lovely thing; Somehow it makes me think of Spring As in my grate it over-spills With dancing flames like daffodils. They flirt and frolic, twist and twine, The brassy fire-irons wink and shine. . . . Leap gold, you flamelets! Laugh and sing: An olive fire’s a lovely thing. An olive […]...
24. Horse Fiddle FIRST I would like to write for you a poem to be shouted in the teeth of a strong wind. Next I would like to write one for you to sit on a hill and read down the river valley on a late summer afternoon, reading it in less than a whisper to Jack on […]...
25. Homecoming What was is. . . since 1930; The boys in my old gang Are senior partners. They start up Bald like baby birds To embrace retirement. At the altar of surrender, I met you In the hour of credulity. How your misfortune came out clearly To us at twenty. At the gingerbread casino, How innocent […]...
26. At Cheyenne Young Lochinvar came in from the West, With fringe on his trousers and fur on his vest; The width of his hat-brim could nowhere be beat, His No. Brogans were chuck full of feet, His girdle was horrent with pistols and things, And he flourished a handful of aces on kings. The fair Mariana sate […]...
27. A Celebration of Charis: I. His Excuse for Loving Let it not your wonder move, Less your laughter, that I love. Though I now write fifty years, I have had, and have, my peers; Poets, though divine, are men, Some have lov’d as old again. And it is not always face, Clothes, or fortune, gives the grace; Or the feature, or the youth. But […]...
28. Singing Nigger YOUR bony head, Jazbo, O dock walloper, Those grappling hooks, those wheelbarrow handlers, The dome and the wings of you, nigger, The red roof and the door of you, I know where your songs came from. I know why God listens to your, “Walk All Over God’s Heaven.” I heard you shooting craps, “My baby’s […]...
29. Autumn Whoever has no house now will never have one. Whoever is alone will stay alone Will sit, read, write long letters through the evening And wander on the boulevards, up and down… – from Autumn Day, Rainer Maria Rilke Its stain is everywhere. The sharpening air Of late afternoon Is now the colour of tea. […]...
30. 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 […]...
31. Young Sea The sea is never still. It pounds on the shore Restless as a young heart, Hunting. The sea speaks And only the stormy hearts Know what it says: It is the face of a rough mother speaking. The sea is young. One storm cleans all the hoar And loosens the age of it. I hear […]...
32. The best days of my life What is it about Bryan Adams and his song ‘Summer of 69’? Why do the lyrics linger? Was it 90° in the shade and the harbinger of the end Of the golden weather, or the impending closure Of a glorious decade? He should have called it ‘The best days of my life’, it would have […]...
33. How many schemes may die How many schemes may die In one short Afternoon Entirely unknown To those they most concern The man that was not lost Because by accident He varied by a Ribbon’s width From his accustomed route The Love that would not try Because beside the Door It must be competitions Some unsuspecting Horse was tied Surveying […]...
34. 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 […]...
35. The Oldest Song “These were never your true love’s eyes. Why do you feign that you love them? You that broke from their constancies, And the wide calm brows above them! This was never your true love’s speech. Why do you thrill when you hear it? You that have ridden out of its reach The width of the […]...
36. Pity THE TWINKLING mists of green and gold Afloat in the abyss of air, From out the window high and old We watched together there. The monstrous fabric of the town Lay black below; the cries of pain Came to our ears from up and down The dimly-lighted lane. Olive, your eyes were turned to me, […]...
37. Another Acrostic ( In the style of Father William ) “Are you deaf, Father William!” the young man said, “Did you hear what I told you just now? “Excuse me for shouting! Don’t waggle your head “Like a blundering, sleepy old cow! “A little maid dwelling in Wallington Town, “Is my friend, so I beg to remark: “Do you think she’d be pleased if a […]...
38. I met a King this afternoon! I met a King this afternoon! He had not on a Crown indeed, A little Palmleaf Hat was all, And he was barefoot, I’m afraid! But sure I am he Ermine wore Beneath his faded Jacket’s blue And sure I am, the crest he bore Within that Jacket’s pocket too! For ’twas too stately for […]...
39. 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 […]...
40. The Kiss The snow is white on wood and wold, The wind is in the firs, So dead my heart is with the cold, No pulse within it stirs, Even to see your face, my dear, Your face that was my sun; There is no spring this bitter year, And summer’s dreams are done. The snakes that […]...