Scholfield Huxley

Related poetry:

1. Humdrum IF I had a million lives to live and a million deaths to die in a million humdrum worlds, I’d like to change my name and have a new house number to go by each and every time I died and started life all over again. I wouldn’t want the same name every time and […]...
2. Wild Orphan Blandly mother Takes him strolling by railroad and by river he’s the son of the absconded hot rod angel And he imagines cars and rides them in his dreams, So lonely growing up among the imaginary automobiles And dead souls of Tarrytown to create Out of his own imagination the beauty of his wild Forebears […]...
3. One Art The art of losing isn’t hard to master; So many things seem filled with the intent To be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster Of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: Places, […]...
4. The Mysteries Remain The mysteries remain, I keep the same Cycle of seed-time And of sun and rain; Demeter in the grass, I multiply, Renew and bless Bacchus in the vine; I hold the law, I keep the mysteries true, The first of these To name the living, dead; I am the wine and bread. I keep the […]...
5. Drama's Vitallest Expression is the Common Day Drama’s Vitallest Expression is the Common Day That arise and set about Us Other Tragedy Perish in the Recitation This the best enact When the Audience is scattered And the Boxes shut “Hamlet” to Himself were Hamlet Had not Shakespeare wrote Though the “Romeo” left no Record Of his Juliet, It were infinite enacted In […]...
6. Athritic Fingers Have To Last These painful, cold athritic fingers have to last Much longer yet, they’re all I have to keep the pages On the screen prescribed with glowing words, my favoured antidote To weak and skulking weariness; the cups of strong black coffee Can distress an empty stomach used to tea especially in the morning. I ask myself, […]...
7. They All Want to Play Hamlet THEY all want to play Hamlet. They have not exactly seen their fathers killed Nor their mothers in a frame-up to kill, Nor an Ophelia dying with a dust gagging the heart, Not exactly the spinning circles of singing golden spiders, Not exactly this have they got at nor the meaning of flowers-O flowers, flowers […]...
8. Epic I have lived in important places, times When great events were decided, who owned That half a rood of rock, a no-man’s land Surrounded by our pitchfork-armed claims. I heard the Duffys shouting “Damn your soul” And old McCabe stripped to the waist, seen Step the plot defying blue cast-steel- “Here is the march along […]...
9. On The Sea-Shore, Smell Of Iodine On the sea-shore, smell of iodine, And square as in Sicily, and dancing. An intellectual that came from the common people, Preparing himself to be Rosencrantz. He decides to serve Claudius and therefore Spy on Prince Hamlet from the fountain. All over the world – the prison. At the world’s End a certain John plays […]...
10. The World's All Right Be honest, kindly, simple, true; Seek good in all, scorn but pretence; Whatever sorrow come to you, Believe in Life’s Beneficence! The World’s all right; serene I sit, And cease to puzzle over it. There’s much that’s mighty strange, no doubt; But Nature knows what she’s about; And in a million years or so We’ll […]...
11. I Keep Six Honest I keep six honest serving-men (They taught me all I knew); Their names are What and Why and When And How and Where and Who. I send them over land and sea, I send them east and west; But after they have worked for me, I give them all a rest. I let them rest […]...
12. The Encounter All the while they were talking the new morality Her eyes explored me. And when I rose to go Her fingers were like the tissue Of a Japanese paper napkin....
13. The Tragic Death of the Rev. A. H. Mackonochie Friends of humanity, of high and low degree, I pray ye all come listen to me; And truly I will relate to ye, The tragic fate of the Rev. Alexander Heriot Mackonochie. Who was on a visit to the Bishop of Argyle, For the good of his health, for a short while; Because for the […]...
14. The Telephone To-night in million-voiced London I Was lonely as the million-pointed sky Until your single voice. Ah! So the sun Peoples all heaven, although he be but one....
15. With Tenure If Ezra Pound were alive today (and he is) He’d be teaching At a small college in the Pacific Northwest And attending the annual convention Of writing instructors in St. Louis And railing against tenure, Saying tenure Is a ladder whose rungs slip out From under the scholar as he climbs Upwards to empty heaven […]...
16. His Legacy This is a true poem about a very special boy whose short life brought so much love and beauty to the world. It is dedicated to all the special children who bless our lives for only a short time but whose priceless gifts last forever. At an early age he started to Create beauty. The […]...
17. The Gift “He gave her class. She gave him sex.” Katharine Hepburn on Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers He gave her money. She gave him head. He gave her tips on “aggressive growth” mutual funds. She gave him a red rose and a little statue of eros. He gave her Genesis 2 (21-23). She gave him Genesis […]...
18. The house where I was born (07) I remember, it was a morning, in summer, The window was half-open, I drew near, I could see my father at the end of the garden. He was motionless, looking for something, I could not tell what, or where, beyond the world, His body was already bent over, but his gaze Was lifted toward the […]...
19. Big Hair Ithaca, October 1993: Jorie went on a lingerie Tear, wanting to look like a moll In a Chandler novel. Dinner, consisting of three parts gin And one part lime juice cordial, was a prelude to her hair. There are, she said, poems that can be written Only when the poet is clad in black underwear. […]...
20. Does It Matter? Does it matter?-losing your legs? For people will always be kind, And you need not show that you mind When others come in after hunting To gobble their muffins and eggs. Does it matter?-losing you sight? There’s such splendid work for the blind; And people will always be kind, As you sit on the terrace […]...
21. Spirits Of The Dead Thy soul shall find itself alone ‘Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone; Not one, of all the crowd, to pry Into thine hour of secrecy. Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness – for then The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are again In death around thee, […]...
22. To Fanny I cry your mercy-pity-love!-aye, love! Merciful love that tantalizes not, One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love, Unmasked, and being seen-without a blot! O! let me have thee whole,-all-all-be mine! That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest Of love, your kiss,-those hands, those eyes divine, That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,- Yourself-your soul-in pity give me all, […]...
23. A Million Young Workmen, 1915 A MILLION young workmen straight and strong lay stiff on the grass and roads, And the million are now under soil and their rottening flesh will in the years feed roots of blood-red roses. Yes, this million of young workmen slaughtered one another and never saw their red hands. And oh, it would have been […]...
24. Edith Conant We stand about this place we, the memories; And shade our eyes because we dread to read: “June 17th, 1884, aged 21 years and 3 days.” And all things are changed. And we we, the memories, stand here for ourselves alone, For no eye marks us, or would know why we are here. Your husband […]...
25. War Song In anguish we uplift A new unhallowed song: The race is to the swift; The battle to the strong. Of old it was ordained That we, in packs like curs, Some thirty million trained And licensed murderers, In crime should live and act, If cunning folk say sooth Who flay the naked fact And carve […]...
26. A Holiday The Wife The house is like a garden, The children are the flowers, The gardener should come methinks And walk among his bowers, Oh! lock the door on worry And shut your cares away, Not time of year, but love and cheer, Will make a holiday. The Husband Impossible! You women do not know The […]...
27. Art In placid hours well-pleased we dream Of many a brave unbodied scheme. But form to lend, pulsed life create, What unlike things must meet and mate: A flame to melt a wind to freeze; Sad patience joyous energies; Humility yet pride and scorn; Instinct and study; love and hate; Audacity reverence. These must mate, And […]...
28. Revulsion THOUGH I waste watches framing words to fetter Some spirit to mine own in clasp and kiss, Out of the night there looms a sense ’twere better To fail obtaining whom one fails to miss. For winning love we win the risk of losing, And losing love is as one’s life were riven; It cuts […]...
29. New Year's Chimes What is the song the stars sing? (And a million songs are as song of one) This is the song the stars sing: (Sweeter song’s none) One to set, and many to sing, (And a million songs are as song of one) One to stand, and many to cling, The many things, and the one […]...
30. Two Strangers Breakfast THE LAW says you and I belong to each other, George. The law says you are mine and I am yours, George. And there are a million miles of white snowstorms, a million furnaces of hell, Between the chair where you sit and the chair where I sit. The law says two strangers shall eat […]...
31. Not Love Perhaps This is not Love, perhaps, Love that lays down its life, That many waters cannot quench, Nor the floods drown, But something written in lighter ink, Said in a lower tone, something, perhaps, especially our own. A need, at times, to be together and talk, And then the finding we can walk More firmly through […]...
32. The Rhyme of the O'Sullivan Pro Bono Publico Went out the streets to scan, And marching to and fro He met a seedy man, Who did a tale unfold In solemn tones and slow And this is what he told Pro Bono Publico. “For many years I led The people’s onward march; I was the ‘Fountain Head’, The ‘Democratic Arch’. […]...
33. Sonnet 04: Not In This Chamber Only At My Birth Not in this chamber only at my birth- When the long hours of that mysterious night Were over, and the morning was in sight- I cried, but in strange places, steppe and firth I have not seen, through alien grief and mirth; And never shall one room contain me quite Who in so many rooms […]...
34. Killers I AM singing to you Soft as a man with a dead child speaks; Hard as a man in handcuffs, Held where he cannot move: Under the sun Are sixteen million men, Chosen for shining teeth, Sharp eyes, hard legs, And a running of young warm blood in their wrists. And a red juice runs […]...
35. Disarmament One spake amid the nations, “Let us cease From darkening with strife the fair World’s light, We who are great in war be great in peace. No longer let us plead the cause by might.” But from a million British graves took birth A silent voice the million spake as one “If ye have righted […]...
36. To a Friend Go, then, and join the murmuring city’s throng! Me thou dost leave to solitude and tears; To busy phantasies, and boding fears, Lest ill betide thee; but ‘t will not be long Ere the hard season shall be past; till then Live happy; sometimes the forsaken shade Remembering, and these trees now left to fade; […]...
37. The School of Night What did I study in your School of Night? When your mouth’s first unfathomable yes Opened your body to be my book, I read My answers there and learned the spell aright, Yet, though I searched and searched, could never guess What spirits it raised nor where their questions led. Those others, familiar tenants of […]...
38. To a Historian YOU who celebrate bygones! Who have explored the outward, the surfaces of the races-the life that has exhibited itself; Who have treated of man as the creature of politics, aggregates, rulers and priests; I, habitan of the Alleghanies, treating of him as he is in himself, in his own rights, Pressing the pulse of the […]...
39. Eugene Carman Rhodes’ slave! Selling shoes and gingham, Flour and bacon, overalls, clothing, all day long For fourteen hours a day for three hundred and thirteen days For more than twenty years. Saying “Yes’m” and “Yes, sir”, and “Thank you” A thousand times a day, and all for fifty dollars a month. Living in this stinking room […]...
40. A Cat She had a name among the children; But no one loved though someone owned Her, locked her out of doors at bedtime And had her kittens duly drowned. In Spring, nevertheless, this cat Ate blackbirds, thrushes, nightingales, And birds of bright voice and plume and flight, As well as scraps from neighbours’ pails. I loathed […]...