The Story Of The Ashes And The Flame

Related poetry:

1. A Story For Rose On The Midnight Flight To Boston Until tonight they were separate specialties, Different stories, the best of their own worst. Riding my warm cabin home, I remember Betsy’s Laughter; she laughed as you did, Rose, at the first Story. Someday, I promised her, I’ll be someone Going somewhere and we plotted it in the humdrum School for proper girls. The next […]...
2. The Story Of Our Lives 1 We are reading the story of our lives Which takes place in a room. The room looks out on a street. There is no one there, No sound of anything. The tress are heavy with leaves, The parked cars never move. We keep turning the pages, hoping for something, Something like mercy or change, […]...
3. Bedtime Story The moon lies on the river Like a drop of oil. The children come to the banks to be healed Of their wounds and bruises. The fathers who gave them their wounds and bruises Come to be healed of their rage. The mothers grow lovely; their faces soften, The birds in their throats awake. They […]...
4. THE LIVING FLAME THEY pass before me, these Eyes full of light, Eyes made magnetic by some angel wise; The holy brothers pass before my sight, And cast their diamond fires in my dim eyes. They keep me from all sin and error grave, They set me in the path whence Beauty came; They are my servants, and […]...
5. Hidden Flame Feed a flame within, which so torments me That it both pains my heart, and yet contains me: ‘Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it, That I had rather die than once remove it. Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it; My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes […]...
6. The Story of Mongrel Grey This is the story the stockman told On the cattle-camp, when the stars were bright; The moon rose up like a globe of gold And flooded the plain with her mellow light. We watched the cattle till dawn of day And he told me the story of Mongrel Grey. He was a knock-about station hack, […]...
7. Story A woman’s taking her late-afternoon walk On Chestnut where no sidewalk exists And houses with gravel driveways Sit back among the pines. Only the house With the vicious dog is close to the road. An electric fence keeps him in check. When she comes to that house, the woman Always crosses to the other side. […]...
8. Lingering by the doorway of the woods I was picking blackberries when I thought of the strange girl at the mental hospital. Beautiful she was – quietly beautiful. Yes – and apparently nothing the matter with Her – except that she was scared to go outside, and scared to go indoors. And so she just sat there in a chair by the […]...
9. Ashes of Soldiers ASHES of soldiers! As I muse, retrospective, murmuring a chant in thought, Lo! the war resumes-again to my sense your shapes, And again the advance of armies. Noiseless as mists and vapors, From their graves in the trenches ascending, From the cemeteries all through Virginia and Tennessee, From every point of the compass, out of […]...
10. An Old Man's Winter Night All out of doors looked darkly in at him Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars, That gathers on the pane in empty rooms. What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand. What kept him from remembering what it was That brought him to […]...
11. By the Bivouac's Fitful Flame BY the bivouac’s fitful flame, A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow;-but first I note, The tents of the sleeping army, the fields’ and woods’ dim outline, The darkness, lit by spots of kindled fire-the silence; Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving; The shrubs and trees, (as I […]...
12. The Land of Story-Books At evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing, And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark along the wall, And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. There, in the […]...
13. A Sourdough Story Hark to the Sourdough story, told at sixty below, When the pipes are lit and we smoke and spit Into the campfire glow. Rugged are we and hoary, and statin’ a general rule, A genooine Sourdough story Ain’t no yarn for the Sunday School. A Sourdough came to stake his claim in Heav’n one morning […]...
14. Unto like Story Trouble has enticed me Unto like Story Trouble has enticed me How Kinsmen fell Brothers and Sister who preferred the Glory And their young will Bent to the Scaffold, or in Dungeons chanted Till God’s full time When they let go the ignominy smiling And Shame went still Unto guessed Crests, my moaning fancy, leads me, Worn fair By […]...
15. Centenarian's Story, The GIVE me your hand, old Revolutionary; The hill-top is nigh-but a few steps, (make room, gentlemen;) Up the path you have follow’d me well, spite of your hundred and extra years; You can walk, old man, though your eyes are almost done; Your faculties serve you, and presently I must have them serve me. Rest, […]...
16. Ashes The fireplace Was eager To put a fullstop, In the sentence Where the road Of my dreams Stuck Upon the word of happiness With sparkles Of wet logs I collected From the inside of me That I dared To turn to ashes....
17. Tell Me a Story Long ago, in Kentucky, I, a boy, stood By a dirt road, in first dark, and heard The great geese hoot northward. I could not see them, there being no moon And the stars sparse. I heard them. I did not know what was happening in my heart. It was the season before the elderberry […]...
18. Ashes Of Life Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike; Eat I must, and sleep I will,-and would that night were here! But ah!-to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike! Would that it were day again!-with twilight near! Love has gone and left me and I don’t know what to do; […]...
19. Ashes denote that Fire was Ashes denote that Fire was Revere the Grayest Pile For the Departed Creature’s sake That hovered there awhile Fire exists the first in light And then consolidates Only the Chemist can disclose Into what Carbonates....
20. The Story of Ung Once, on a glittering ice-field, ages and ages ago, Ung, a maker of pictures, fashioned an image of snow. Fashioned the form of a tribesman gaily he whistled and sung, Working the snow with his fingers. Read ye the Story of Ung! Pleased was his tribe with that image came in their hundreds to scan […]...
21. The Tavern Whenever I go by there nowadays And look at the rank weeds and the strange grass, The torn blue curtains and the broken glass, I seem to be afraid of the old place; And something stiffens up and down my face, For all the world as if I saw the ghost Of old Ham Amory, […]...
22. A flame is in my blood A flame is in my blood Burning dry life, to the bone. I do not sing of stone, Now, I sing of wood. It is light and coarse: Made of a single spar, The oak’s deep heart, And the fisherman’s oar. Drive them deep, the piles: Hammer them in tight, Around wooden Paradise, Where everything […]...
23. Flame-Heart So much have I forgotten in ten years, So much in ten brief years! I have forgot What time the purple apples come to juice, And what month brings the shy forget-me-not. I have forgot the special, startling season Of the pimento’s flowering and fruiting; What time of year the ground doves brown the fields […]...
24. Dream Song 40: I'm scared a lonely. Never see my son I’m scared a lonely. Never see my son, Easy be not to see anyone, Combers out to sea Know they’re goin somewhere but not me. Got a little poison, got a little gun, I’m scared a lonely. I’m scared a only one thing, which is me, From othering I don’t take nothin, see, For any […]...
25. 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 […]...
26. At Midnight Now at last I have come to see what life is, Nothing is ever ended, everything only begun, And the brave victories that seem so splendid Are never really won. Even love that I built my spirit’s house for, Comes like a brooding and a baffled guest, And music and men’s praise and even laughter […]...
27. 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 […]...
28. An Old Story Strange that I did not know him then. That friend of mine! I did not even show him then One friendly sign; But cursed him for the ways he had To make me see My envy of the praise he had For praising me. I would have rid the earth of him Once, in my […]...
29. Immortality Full well I trow that when I die Down drops the curtain; Another show is all my eye And Betty Martin. I know the score, and with a smile Of rueful rating, I reckon I am not worth while Perpetuating. I hope that God, if God there be Of love and glory, Will let me […]...
30. It Is March It is March and black dust falls out of the books Soon I will be gone The tall spirit who lodged here has Left already On the avenues the colorless thread lies under Old prices When you look back there is always the past Even when it has vanished But when you look forward With […]...
31. The Story of Sigurd the Volsung (excerpt) But therewith the sun rose upward and lightened all the earth, And the light flashed up to the heavens from the rims of the glorious girth; But they twain arose together, and with both her palms outspread, And bathed in the light returning, she cried aloud and said: “All hail, O Day and thy Sons, […]...
32. A Well-Worn Story In April, in April, My one love came along, And I ran the slope of my high hill To follow a thread of song. His eyes were hard as porphyry With looking on cruel lands; His voice went slipping over me Like terrible silver hands. Together we trod the secret lane And walked the muttering […]...
33. An Old Story (Retold in Rhyme) They threw him in a prison cell; He moaned upon his bed. And when he crept from coils of hell: “Last night you killed,” they said. “last night in drunken rage you slew A being brave with breath; A radiant soul, because of you Lies dark in death.” “last night I killed,” […]...
34. A Daughter Of Eve A fool I was to sleep at noon, And wake when night is chilly Beneath the comfortless cold moon; A fool to pluck my rose too soon, A fool to snap my lily. My garden-plot I have not kept; Faded and all-forsaken, I weep as I have never wept: Oh it was summer when I […]...
35. Story Of Isaac The door it opened slowly, My father he came in, I was nine years old. And he stood so tall above me, His blue eyes they were shining And his voice was very cold. He said, “I’ve had a vision And you know I’m strong and holy, I must do what I’ve been told.” So […]...
36. 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 […]...
37. The Vampire A fool there was and he mad his prayer (Even as you and I!) To a rag and a bone and a hank of hair (We called her the woman who did not care), But the fool he called her his lady fair (Even as you and I!) Oh the years we waste and the […]...
38. From The Short Story A Christmas Dream, And How It Came True From our happy home Through the world we roam One week in all the year, Making winter spring With the joy we bring For Christmas-tide is here. Now the eastern star Shines from afar To light the poorest home; Hearts warmer grow, Gifts freely flow, For Christmas-tide has come. Now gay trees rise Before young […]...
39. The Tree: An Old Man's Story I Its roots are bristling in the air Like some mad Earth-god’s spiny hair; The loud south-wester’s swell and yell Smote it at midnight, and it fell. Thus ends the tree Where Some One sat with me. II Its boughs, which none but darers trod, A child may step on from the sod, And twigs […]...
40. 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 […]...