Daily Trials by a Sensitive Man

Related poetry:

1. A Dirge for a Righteous Kitten To be intoned, all but the two italicized lines, which are to be spoken in a snappy, matter-of-fact way. Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. Here lies a kitten good, who kept A kitten’s proper place. He stole no pantry eatables, Nor scratched the baby’s face. He let the alley-cats alone. He had no yowling vice. His shirt […]...
2. Fairy Land v FULL fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Ding-dong. Hark! now I hear them Ding-dong, bell!...
3. Love TELL me where is Fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. It is engender’d in the eyes, With gazing fed; and Fancy dies In the cradle where it lies. Let us all ring Fancy’s knell: I’ll begin it, Ding, dong, bell. All. Ding, dong, bell....
4. Three Songs Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Court’sied when you have, and kiss’d, The wild waves whist Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. Hark, hark! Bow, wow, The watch-dogs bark: Bow, wow. Hark, hark! I hear The strain of strutting chanticleer Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow! from The Tempest Tell […]...
5. It was a Lover and his Lass IT was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o’er the green corn-field did pass, In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding; Sweet lovers love the spring. Between the acres of the rye, With a […]...
6. Dunce Songs : 9 Love me little, love me long, Then we neither can be wrong: You in giving, I in taking; There is nor a heart breaking But remembers one touch, Or maybe seven, of too much. Love me more than halfway, though. Let me think, then let me know. And I promise you the same: A little […]...
7. The Baby's Dance Dance little baby, dance up high, Never mind baby, mother is by; Crow and caper, caper and crow, There little baby, there you go; Up to the ceiling, down to the ground, Backwards and forwards, round and round; Dance little baby, and mother shall sing, With the merry coral, ding, ding, ding....
8. Sympathy I know what the caged bird feels, alas! When the sun is bright on the upland slopes; When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass, And the river flows like a stream of glass; When the first bird sings and the first bud opes, And the faint perfume from its chalice steals I know […]...
9. The Dong with a Luminous Nose When awful darkness and silence reign Over the great Gromboolian plain, Through the long, long wintry nights; When the angry breakers roar As they beat on the rocky shore; When Storm-clouds brood on the towering heights Of the Hills of the Chankly Bore: Then, through the vast and gloomy dark, There moves what seems a […]...
10. I know why the caged bird sings A free bird leaps on the back Of the wind and floats downstream Till the current ends and dips his wing In the orange suns rays And dares to claim the sky. But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage Can seldom see through his bars of rage His wings are clipped and his […]...
11. Sensitive Burglar Selecting in the dining-room The silver of his choice, The burglar heard from chamber gloom A female voice. As cold and bitter as a toad, She spat a nasty name, So even as his swag he stowed He blushed for shame. ‘You dirty dog!’ he heard her say, ‘I sniff your whisky stench. I bet […]...
12. Covering Wings Love! Love! Your tenderness, Your beautiful, watchful ways Grasp me, fold me, cover me; I lie in a kind of daze, Neither asleep nor yet awake, Neither a bud nor flower. Brings to-morrow Joy or sorrow, The black or the golden hour? Love! Love! You pity me so! Chide me, scold me cry, “Submit submit! […]...
13. I had a daily Bliss I had a daily Bliss I half indifferent viewed Till sudden I perceived it stir It grew as I pursued Till when around a Height It wasted from my sight Increased beyond my utmost scope I learned to estimate....
14. Our Daily Bread “Give me my daily bread. It seems so odd, When all is done and said, This plea to God. To pray for cake might be The thing to do; But bread, it seems to me, Is just our due. “Give me my daily toil,” I ought to say – (If from life’s cursed coil I’d […]...
15. Snow Day Today we woke up to a revolution of snow, Its white flag waving over everything, The landscape vanished, Not a single mouse to punctuate the blankness, And beyond these windows The government buildings smothered, Schools and libraries buried, the post office lost Under the noiseless drift, The paths of trains softly blocked, The world fallen […]...
16. PLAYING AT PRIESTS WITHIN a town where parity According to old form we see, That is to say, where Catholic And Protestant no quarrels pick, And where, as in his father’s day, Each worships God in his own way, We Luth’ran children used to dwell, By songs and sermons taught as well. The Catholic clingclang in truth Sounded […]...
17. My Husky Team I met an ancient man who mushed With Peary to the Pole. Said I, “In all that land so hushed What most inspired your soul?” He looked at me with bleary eye, He scratched a hoary head: “You know that Sourdoughs jest cain’t lie So here’s the dope,” he said. “That hike was like a […]...
18. Now Art Has Lost Its Mental Charms ‘Now Art has lost its mental charms France shall subdue the world in arms.’ So spoke an Angel at my birth; Then said ‘Descend thou upon earth, Renew the Arts on Britain’s shore, And France shall fall down and adore. With works of art their armies meet And War shall sink beneath thy feet. But […]...
19. San Francisco This poem was found written on a paper bag by Richard Brautigan in a laundromat in San Francisco. The author is unknown. By accident, you put Your money in my Machine (#4) By accident, I put My money in another Machine (#6) On purpose, I put Your clothes in the Empty machine full Of water […]...
20. The Firemen's Ball SECTION ONE “Give the engines room, Give the engines room.” Louder, faster The little band-master Whips up the fluting, Hurries up the tooting. He thinks that he stands, [*] The reins in his hands, In the fire-chief’s place In the night alarm chase. The cymbals whang, The kettledrums bang: – “Clear the street, Clear the […]...
21. The Waiting Silence has no zen today. Ambient freeway noise From ј mile away, The occasional Friday nighter Coming home 2:00 a. m. Saturday, The appliances with two-tone hums, The bumping and grinding Of an old swamp cooler, A distant train, Forces what has been pushed back To break through. My father needs O 2 All the […]...
22. "Secrets" is a daily word “Secrets” is a daily word Yet does not exist Muffled it remits surmise Murmured it has ceased Dungeoned in the Human Breast Doubtless secrets lie But that Grate inviolate Goes nor comes away Nothing with a Tongue or Ear Secrets stapled there Will emerge but once and dumb To the Sepulchre...
23. Abel Melveny I bought every kind of machine that’s known Grinders, shellers, planters, mowers, Mills and rakes and ploughs and threshers And all of them stood in the rain and sun, Getting rusted, warped and battered, For I had no sheds to store them in, And no use for most of them. And toward the last, when […]...
24. The Wounded Breakfast A huge shoe mounts up from the horizon, Squealing and grinding forward on small wheels, Even as a man sitting to breakfast on his veranda Is suddenly engulfed in a great shadow, almost The size of the night. . . He looks up and sees a huge shoe Ponderously mounting out of the earth. Up […]...
25. Not What Was Meant When the Academy of Arts demanded freedom Of artistic expression from narrow-minded bureaucrats There was a howl and a clamour in its immediate vicinity But roaring above everything Came a deafening thunder of applause From beyond the Sector boundary. Freedom! it roared. Freedom for the artists! Freedom all round! Freedom for all! Freedom for the […]...
26. THE RECKONING LEADER. LET no cares now hover o’er us Let the wine unsparing run! Wilt thou swell our merry chorus? Hast thou all thy duty done? SOLO. Two young folks the thing is curious Loved each other; yesterday Both quite mild, to-day quite furious, Next day, quite the deuce to pay! If her neck she there […]...
27. The Journey Anghiari is medieval, a sleeve sloping down A steep hill, suddenly sweeping out To the edge of a cliff, and dwindling. But far up the mountain, behind the town, We too were swept out, out by the wind, Alone with the Tuscan grass. Wind had been blowing across the hills For days, and everything now […]...
28. The Little Hill Oh, here the air is sweet and still, And soft’s the grass to lie on; And far away’s the little hill They took for Christ to die on. And there’s a hill across the brook, And down the brook’s another; But, oh, the little hill they took,- I think I am its mother! The moon […]...
29. Farewell (II) Hill at mutual escort stop Day dusk shut wood door Spring grass next year green Prince offspring return not return We bid each other farewell beside the hill, As day meets dusk, I close the wooden gate. Next year, in spring, there will be green grass again, But will my honoured friend return?...
30. February: The Boy Breughel The birches stand in their beggar’s row: Each poor tree Has had its wrists nearly Torn from the clear sleeves of bone, These icy trees Are hanging by their thumbs Under a sun That will begin to heal them soon, Each will climb out Of its own blue, oval mouth; The river groans, Two birds […]...
31. Anecdote Of The Jar I placed a jar in Tennessee, And round it was, upon a hill. It made the slovenly wilderness Surround that hill. The wilderness rose up to it, And sprawled around, no longer wild. The jar was round upon the ground And tall and of a port in air. It took dominion everywhere. The jar was […]...
32. Two Hundred Years After Trudging by Corbie Ridge one winter’s night, (Unless old hearsay memories tricked his sight) Along the pallid edge of the quiet sky He watched a nosing lorry grinding on, And straggling files of men; when these were gone, A double limber and six mules went by, Hauling the rations up through ruts and mud To […]...
33. The Unseen Playmate When children are playing alone on the green, In comes the playmate that never was seen. When children are happy and lonely and good, The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood. Nobody heard him, and nobody saw, His is a picture you never could draw, But he’s sure to be present, abroad […]...
34. AN EVENING OF POETRY Arriving for a reading an hour too early: Ruefully, the general manager stopped putting out the chairs. “You don’t get any help these days. I have To sort out everything from furniture to faxes. Why not wander round the park? There are ducks And benches where you can sit and watch.” I realized it was […]...
35. Often I Am Permitted to Return to a Meadow as if it were a scene made-up by the mind, That is not mine, but is a made place, That is mine, it is so near to the heart, An eternal pasture folded in all thought So that there is a hall therein That is a made place, created by light Wherefrom the shadows that […]...
36. The Four Zoas (excerpt) 1.1 “What is the price of Experience? do men buy it for a song? 1.2 Or wisdom for a dance in the street? No, it is bought with the price 1.3 Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children. 1.4 Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to […]...
37. The Devil had he fidelity The Devil had he fidelity Would be the best friend Because he has ability But Devils cannot mend Perfidy is the virtue That would but he resign The Devil without question Were thoroughly divine...
38. Woak Hill When sycamore leaves wer a-spreaden Green-ruddy in hedges, Bezide the red doust o’ the ridges, A-dried at Woak Hill; I packed up my goods, all a-sheenen Wi’ long years o’ handlen, On dousty red wheels ov a waggon, To ride at Woak Hill. The brown thatchen ruf o’ the dwellen I then wer a-leaven, Had […]...
39. March Evening Blue through the window burns the twilight; Heavy, through trees, blows the warm south wind. Glistening, against the chill, gray sky light, Wet, black branches are barred and entwined. Sodden and spongy, the scarce-green grass plot Dents into pools where a foot has been. Puddles lie spilt in the road a mass, not Of water, […]...
40. My Hero Of all the boys with whom I fought In Africa and Sicily, Bill was the bravest of the lot In our dare-devil Company. That lad would rather die than yield; His gore he glorified to spill, And so in every battlefield A hero in my eyes was Bill. Then when the bloody war was done, […]...