Wednesday

Related poetry:

1. Ash Wednesday I Because I do not hope to turn again Because I do not hope Because I do not hope to turn Desiring this man’s gift and that man’s scope I no longer strive to strive towards such things (Why should the agèd eagle stretch its wings?) Why should I mourn The vanished power of the […]...
2. On Turning Ten The whole idea of it makes me feel Like I’m coming down with something, Something worse than any stomach ache Or the headaches I get from reading in bad light A kind of measles of the spirit, A mumps of the psyche, A disfiguring chicken pox of the soul. You tell me it is too […]...
3. Remembered Women FOR a woman’s face remembered as a spot of quick light on the flat land of dark night, For this memory of one mouth and a forehead they go on in the gray rain and the mud, they go on among the boots and guns. The horizon ahead is a thousand fang flashes, it is […]...
4. The House This poem has a door, a locked door, And curtains drawn against the day, But at night the lights come on, one In each room, and the neighbors swear They hear music and the sound of dancing. These days the neighbors will swear To anything, but that is not why The house is locked up […]...
5. Late, Late, So Late Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill! Late, late, so late! but we can enter still. Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. No light had we: for that we do repent; And learning this, the bridegroom will relent. Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now. No light: so late! […]...
6. The Inward Morning Packed in my mind lie all the clothes Which outward nature wears, And in its fashion’s hourly change It all things else repairs. In vain I look for change abroad, And can no difference find, Till some new ray of peace uncalled Illumes my inmost mind. What is it gilds the trees and clouds, And […]...
7. The Prophet Ah, my darling, when over the purple horizon shall loom The shrouded mother of a new idea, men hide their faces, Cry out and fend her off, as she seeks her procreant groom, Wounding themselves against her, denying her fecund embraces....
8. Nantucket Flowers through the window Lavender and yellow Changed by white curtains- Smell of cleanliness- Sunshine of late afternoon- On the glass tray A glass pitcher, the tumbler Turned down, by which A key is lying – And the Immaculate white bed...
9. The Round Light splashed this morning On the shell-pink anemones Swaying on their tall stems; Down blue-spiked veronica Light flowed in rivulets Over the humps of the honeybees; This morning I saw light kiss The silk of the roses In their second flowering, My late bloomers Flushed with their brandy. A curious gladness shook me. So I […]...
10. May Morning I lie stretched out upon the window-seat And doze, and read a page or two, and doze, And feel the air like water on me close, Great waves of sunny air that lip and beat With a small noise, monotonous and sweet, Against the window and the scent of cool, Frail flowers by some brown […]...
11. Taken from men this morning Taken from men this morning Carried by men today Met by the Gods with banners Who marshalled her away One little maid from playmates One little mind from school There must be guests in Eden All the rooms are full Far as the East from Even Dim as the border star Courtiers quaint, in Kingdoms […]...
12. Heaven is so far of the Mind Heaven is so far of the Mind That were the Mind dissolved The Site of it by Architect Could not again be proved ‘Tis vast as our Capacity As fair as our idea To Him of adequate desire No further ’tis, than Here...
13. A Radio With Guts it was on the 2nd floor on Coronado Street I used to get drunk And throw the radio through the window While it was playing, and, of course, It would break the glass in the window And the radio would sit there on the roof Still playing And I’d tell my woman, “Ah, what a […]...
14. 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 […]...
15. Absences It’s snowing this afternoon and there are no flowers. There is only this sound of falling, quiet and remote, Like the memory of scales descending the white keys Of a childhood piano outside the window, palms! And the heavy head of the cereus, inclining, Soon to let down its white or yellow-white. Now, only these […]...
16. The Window She looks out in the blue morning And sees a whole wonderful world She looks out in the morning And sees a whole world She leans out of the window And this is what she sees A wet rose singing to the sun With a chorus of red bees She leans out of the window […]...
17. 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 […]...
18. To Ottilie YOU remember, I suppose, How the August sun arose, And how his face Woke to trill and carolette All the cages that were set About the place. In the tender morning light All around lay strange and bright And still and sweet, And the gray doves unafraid Went their morning promenade Along the street....
19. Tree At My Window Tree at my window, window tree, My sash is lowered when night comes on; But let there never be curtain drawn Between you and me. Vague dream-head lifted out of the ground, And thing next most diffuse to cloud, Not all your light tongues talking aloud Could be profound. But tree, I have seen you […]...
20. September I, from a window where the Meuse is wide, Looked eastward out to the September night; The men that in the hopeless battle died Rose, and deployed, and stationed for the fight; A brumal army, vague and ordered large For mile on mile by some pale general,- I saw them lean by companies to the […]...
21. Why Did I Dream Of You Last Night? Why did I dream of you last night? Now morning is pushing back hair with grey light Memories strike home, like slaps in the face; Raised on elbow, I stare at the pale fog beyond the window. So many things I had thought forgotten Return to my mind with stranger pain: – Like letters that […]...
22. Sailor's Sweetheart He sleeps beside me in the bed; Upon my breast I hold his head; Oh how I would that we were wed, For he sails in the morning. I wish I had not been so kind; But love is fain and passion blind, While out of sight is out of mind, And he ships in […]...
23. Four Days In Vermont Window’s tree trunk’s predominant face A single eye-leveled hole where limb’s torn off Another larger contorts to swell growing in around Imploding wound beside a clutch of thin twigs Hold to one two three four five six dry twisted Yellowish brown leaves flat against the other Gray trees in back stick upright then the glimpse […]...
24. Mind The slow overture of rain, Each drop breaking Without breaking into The next, describes The unrelenting, syncopated Mind. Not unlike The hummingbirds Imagining their wings To be their heart, and swallows Believing the horizon To be a line they lift And drop. What is it They cast for? The poplars, Advancing or retreating, Lose their […]...
25. 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 […]...
26. Musicians wrestle everywhere Musicians wrestle everywhere All day among the crowded air I hear the silver strife And walking long before the morn Such transport breaks upon the town I think it that “New Life”! If is not Bird it has no nest Nor “Band” in brass and scarlet drest Nor Tamborin nor Man It is not Hymn […]...
27. Wherein Obscurely On the road with billowing poplars, In a country flat and desolate To the far-off gray horizon, wherein obscurely, A man and a woman went on foot, Each carrying a small suitcase. They were tired and had taken off Their shoes and were walking on Their toes, staring straight ahead. Every time a car passed […]...
28. Morning Poem #1 floating gray web pages Step into a crowded vacuum Clouds sweating There’s a gauzy scrim In front of my eyes Between me and The rest of the world Afternoon birds...
29. Barbara Frietchie Up from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. Round about them orchards sweep, Apple and peach tree fruited deep, Fair as the garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, On that pleasant morn […]...
30. Poem (Remember midsummer: the fragrance of box) Remember midsummer: the fragrance of box, of white roses And of phlox. And upon a honeysuckle branch Three snails hanging with infinite delicacy Clinging like tendril, flake and thread, as self-tormented And self-delighted as any ballerina, just as in the orchard, Near the apple trees, in the over-grown grasses Drunken wasps clung to over-ripe pears […]...
31. Blazing in Gold and quenching in Purple Blazing in Gold and quenching in Purple Leaping like Leopards to the Sky Then at the feet of the old Horizon Laying her spotted Face to die Stooping as low as the Otter’s Window Touching the Roof and tinting the Barn Kissing her Bonnet to the Meadow And the Juggler of Day is gone...
32. Mrs. Merritt Silent before the jury, Returning no word to the judge when he asked me If I had aught to say against the sentence, Only shaking my head. What could I say to people who thought That a woman of thirty-five was at fault When her lover of nineteen killed her husband? Even though she had […]...
33. When I Was Young the Silk When I was young the silk Of my mind Hard as a peony head Unfurled And wind bloomed the parachute: The air-head tugged me Up, Tore my roots loose and drove High, so high I want to touch down now And taste the ground I want to take in My silk And ask where I […]...
34. The People ‘What have I earned for all that work,’ I said, ‘For all that I have done at my own charge? The daily spite of this unmannerly town, Where who has served the most is most defaned, The reputation of his lifetime lost Between the night and morning. I might have lived, And you know well […]...
35. Dream Song 31: Henry Hankovitch, con guítar Henry Hankovitch, con guítar, Did a short Zen pray, On his tatami in a relaxed lotos Fixin his mind on nuffin, rose-blue breasts, And gave his parnel one French kiss; Enslaving himself he withdrew from his blue Florentine leather case an Egyptian black & flickt a zippo. Henry & Phoebe happy as cockroaches In the […]...
36. Redolence Now darkness ponds upon the violet hills; Cicadas sing; the tall elms gently sway; And night bends near, a deepening shade of gray; The bass concerto of a bullfrog fills What silence there once was; globed searchlights play. Green hanging ferns adorn dark window sills, All drooping fronds, awaiting morning’s flares; Mosquitoes whine; the lissome […]...
37. Wind and Window Flower LOVERS, forget your love, And list to the love of these, She a window flower, And he a winter breeze. When the frosty window veil Was melted down at noon, And the cagèd yellow bird Hung over her in tune, He marked her through the pane, He could not help but mark, And only passed […]...
38. Recovery All afternoon The tree shadows, accelerating, Lengthened Till Sunset Shot them black into infinity: Next morning Darkness Returned from the other Infinity and the Shadows caught ground And through the morning, slowing, Hardened into noon....
39. Call It Music Some days I catch a rhythm, almost a song In my own breath. I’m alone here In Brooklyn Heights, late morning, the sky Above the St. George Hotel clear, clear For New York, that is. The radio playing “Bird Flight,” Parker in his California Tragic voice fifty years ago, his faltering “Lover Man” just before […]...
40. Baltic Fog Notes (Bergen)SEVEN days all fog, all mist, and the turbines pounding through high seas. I was a plaything, a rat’s neck in the teeth of a scuffling mastiff. Fog and fog and no stars, sun, moon. Then an afternoon in fjords, low-lying lands scrawled in granite languages on a gray sky, A night harbor, blue dusk […]...