Belshazzar had a Letter

Related poetry:

1. The Way I read a Letter's this The Way I read a Letter’s this ‘Tis first I lock the Door And push it with my fingers next For transport it be sure And then I go the furthest off To counteract a knock Then draw my little Letter forth And slowly pick the lock Then glancing narrow, at the Wall And narrow […]...
2. Going to Him! Happy letter! Going to Him! Happy letter! Tell Him Tell Him the page I didn’t write Tell Him I only said the Syntax And left the Verb and the pronoun out Tell Him just how the fingers hurried Then how they waded slow slow And then you wished you had eyes in your pages So you could […]...
3. This is my letter to the World This is my letter to the World That never wrote to Me The simple News that Nature told With tender Majesty Her Message is committed To Hands I cannot see For love of Her Sweet countrymen Judge tenderly of Me...
4. By a flower By a letter By a flower By a letter By a nimble love If I weld the Rivet faster Final fast above Never mind my breathless Anvil! Never mind Repose! Never mind the sooty faces Tugging at the Forge!...
5. Peekabo, I Almost See You Middle-aged life is merry, and I love to Lead it, But there comes a day when your eyes Are all right but your arm isn’t long Enough To hold the telephone book where you can read it, And your friends get jocular, so you go To the oculist, And of all your friends he is […]...
6. Letter S THE RIVER is gold under a sunset of Illinois. It is a molten gold someone pours and changes. A woman mixing a wedding cake of butter and eggs Knows what the sunset is pouring on the river here. The river twists in a letter S. A gold S now speaks to the Illinois sky....
7. 16-bit Intel 8088 chip with an Apple Macintosh You can’t run Radio Shack programs In its disc drive. Nor can a Commodore 64 Drive read a file You have created on an IBM Personal Computer. Both Kaypro and Osborne computers use The CP/M operating system But can’t read each other’s Handwriting For they format (write On) discs in different […]...
8. The Letter What is she writing? Watch her now, How fast her fingers move! How eagerly her youthful brow Is bent in thought above! Her long curls, drooping, shade the light, She puts them quick aside, Nor knows, that band of crystals bright, Her hasty touch untied. It slips adown her silken dress, Falls glittering at her […]...
9. If the foolish, call them "flowers&quot If the foolish, call them “flowers” Need the wiser, tell? If the Savants “Classify” them It is just as well! Those who read the “Revelations” Must not criticize Those who read the same Edition With beclouded Eyes! Could we stand with that Old “Moses” “Canaan” denied Scan like him, the stately landscape On the other […]...
10. A Letter to Lady Margaret Cavendish Holles-Harley, when a Child MY noble, lovely, little Peggy, Let this my First Epistle beg ye, At dawn of morn, and close of even, To lift your heart and hands to Heaven. In double duty say your prayer: Our Father first, then Notre Pere. And, dearest child, along the day, In every thing you do and say, Obey and […]...
11. A Letter from Home She sends me news of blue jays, frost, Of stars and now the harvest moon That rides above the stricken hills. Lightly, she speaks of cold, of pain, And lists what is already lost. Here where my life seems hard and slow, I read of glowing melons piled Beside the door, and baskets filled With […]...
12. Her Letter “I’m taking pen in hand this night, and hard it is for me; My poor old fingers tremble so, my hand is stiff and slow, And even with my glasses on I’m troubled sore to see. . . . You’d little know your mother, boy; you’d little, little know. You mind how brisk and bright […]...
13. Letter To N. Y For Louise Crane In your next letter I wish you’d say Where you are going and what you are doing; How are the plays and after the plays What other pleasures you’re pursuing: Taking cabs in the middle of the night, Driving as if to save your soul Where the road gose round and round […]...
14. A Letter To My Aunt A Letter To My Aunt Discussing The Correct Approach To Modern Poetry To you, my aunt, who would explore The literary Chankley Bore, The paths are hard, for you are not A literary Hottentot But just a kind and cultured dame Who knows not Eliot (to her shame). Fie on you, aunt, that you should […]...
15. A Letter a penny for your thoughts my dear how are you Got things to tell got to stand naked before you Disintegration now depicts my inner me were you Here you might see no difference within but you I’m sure don’t have to be here to find out how yours Is different now simply because everything […]...
16. Letter To My Wife 11-11-1933 Bursa Prison My one and only! Your last letter says: “My head is throbbing, my heart is stunned!” You say: “If they hang you, if I lose you, I’ll die!” You’ll live, my dear My memory will vanish like black smoke in the wind. Of course you’ll live, red-haired lady of my heart: In […]...
17. The House Of Dust: Part 03: 10: Letter From time to time, lifting his eyes, he sees The soft blue starlight through the one small window, The moon above black trees, and clouds, and Venus,- And turns to write. . . The clock, behind ticks softly. It is so long, indeed, since I have written,- Two years, almost, your last is turning yellow,- […]...
18. LETTER FROM KIRKHEATON I have no camera but imagination’s tinted glass I cannot pass this crumbling dry stone wall Without a break to catch the vistas of the chain of Pennine hills That splash their shades of colour like mercury in the rising glass. The June sun focuses upon the vivid grass, The elder’s pale amber, the Victoria […]...
19. A Letter From the Front I was out early to-day, spying about From the top of a haystack such a lovely morning And when I mounted again to canter back I saw across a field in the broad sunlight A young Gunner Subaltern, stalking along With a rook-rifle held at the read, and would you believe it? A domestic cat, […]...
20. The River-Merchant's Wife: A Letter After Li Po While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead I played at the front gate, pulling flowers. You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse, You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums. And we went on living in the village of Chokan: Two small people, without dislike or suspicion. […]...
21. A Letter From Li Po Fanfare of northwest wind, a bluejay wind Announces autumn, and the equinox Rolls back blue bays to a far afternoon. Somewhere beyond the Gorge Li Po is gone, Looking for friendship or an old love’s sleeve Or writing letters to his children, lost, And to his children’s children, and to us. What was his light? […]...
22. The Wicked Postman Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me, Mother dear? The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all Wet, and you don’t mind it. Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother To come home from school. What has happened […]...
23. Myself can read the Telegrams Myself can read the Telegrams A Letter chief to me The Stock’s advance and Retrograde And what the Markets say The Weather how the Rains In Counties have begun. ‘Tis News as null as nothing, But sweeter so than none....
24. A Certain Man A certain man wishes to be a prince Of this earth; he also wants to be A saint and master of the being-world. Conscience cannot exist in the first: The second cannot exist without conscience. Therefore he, who has enough conscience To be disturbed but not enough to be Compelled, can neither reject the one […]...
25. The Czar’s Last Christmas Letter: A Barn in the Urals You were never told, Mother, how old Illyawas drunk That last holiday, for five days and nights He stumbled through Petersburg forming A choir of mutes, he dressed them in pink ascension gowns And, then, sold Father’s Tirietz stallion so to rent A hall for his Christmas recital: the audience Was rowdy but Illya in […]...
26. Letter Home New Orleans, November 1910 Four weeks have passed since I left, and still I must write to you of no work. I’ve worn down The soles and walked through the tightness Of my new shoes calling upon the merchants, Their offices bustling. All the while I kept thinking My plain English and good writing would […]...
27. A Letter to a Live Poet Sir, since the last Elizabethan died, Or, rather, that more Paradisal muse, Blind with much light, passed to the light more glorious Or deeper blindness, no man’s hand, as thine, Has, on the world’s most noblest chord of song, Struck certain magic strains. Ears satiate With the clamorous, timorous whisperings of to-day, Thrilled to perceive […]...
28. LETTER FROM LEEDS Would ‘any woman’ find me difficult to live with? My tastes are simple: space for several thousand books, The smoke from my pipe stuffed with aromatic Balkan Sobranie, A leftover from the Sixties, frequent brief absences to fulfil My duties as a carer, unending phone calls And the unenviable reputation as England’s worst or best […]...
29. FIRST LETTER We crossed to the other side, the burgee of the boat Ceased flapping and lagged behind like a dead wing. The visible air seemed neither cold nor hot, The violet clouds flew past us, scurrying. The plain was dark, and the mountain was tall, And the echo swallowed the boatman’s call. The atmosphere was dense […]...
30. A Letter from Artemesia in the Town to Chloe in the Country Chloe, In verse by your command I write. Shortly you’ll bid me ride astride, and fight: These talents better with our sex agree Than lofty flights of dangerous poetry. Amongst the men, I mean the men of wit (At least they passed for such before they writ), How many bold adventureers for the bays, Proudly […]...
31. The Red Blaze is the Morning The Red Blaze is the Morning The Violet is Noon The Yellow Day is falling And after that is none But Miles of Sparks at Evening Reveal the Width that burned The Territory Argent that Never yet consumed...
32. As far from pity, as complaint As far from pity, as complaint As cool to speech as stone As numb to Revelation As if my Trade were Bone As far from time as History As near yourself Today As Children, to the Rainbow’s scarf Or Sunset’s Yellow play To eyelids in the Sepulchre How dumb the Dancer lies While Color’s Revelations […]...
33. At leisure is the Soul At leisure is the Soul That gets a Staggering Blow The Width of Life before it spreads Without a thing to do It begs you give it Work But just the placing Pins Or humblest Patchwork Children do To Help its Vacant Hands...
34. The Voice of Age She’d look upon us, if she could, As hard as Rhadamanthus would; Yet one may see,-who sees her face, Her crown of silver and of lace, Her mystical serene address Of age alloyed with loveliness,- That she would not annihilate The frailest of things animate. She has opinions of our ways, And if we’re not […]...
35. 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 […]...
36. The murmuring of Bees, has ceased The murmuring of Bees, has ceased But murmuring of some Posterior, prophetic, Has simultaneous come. The lower metres of the Year When Nature’s laugh is done The Revelations of the Book Whose Genesis was June. Appropriate Creatures to her change The Typic Mother sends As Accent fades to interval With separating Friends Till what we […]...
37. Daylight and Moonlight In broad daylight, and at noon, Yesterday I saw the moon Sailing high, but faint and white, As a schoolboy’s paper kite. In broad daylight, yesterday, I read a poet’s mystic lay; And it seemed to me at most As a phantom, or a ghost. But at length the feverish day Like a passion died […]...
38. Somewhere upon the general Earth Somewhere upon the general Earth Itself exist Today The Magic passive but extant That consecrated me Indifferent Seasons doubtless play Where I for right to be Would pay each Atom that I am But Immortality Reserving that but just to prove Another Date of Thee Oh God of Width, do not for us Curtail Eternity!...
39. A Letter I have been wondering What you are thinking about, and by now suppose It is certainly not me. But the crocus is up, and the lark, and the blundering Blood knows what it knows. It talks to itself all night, like a sliding moonlit sea. Of course, it is talking of you. At dawn, where […]...
40. No Man can compass a Despair No Man can compass a Despair As round a Goalless Road No faster than a Mile at once The Traveller proceed Unconscious of the Width Unconscious that the Sun Be setting on His progress So accurate the One At estimating Pain Whose own has just begun His ignorance the Angel That pilot Him along...