FRIST POEM

Related poetry:

1. Poem (Old man in the crystal morning after snow) Old man in the crystal morning after snow, Your throat swathed in a muffler, your bent Figure building the snow man which is meant For the grandchild’s target, do you know This fat cartoon, his eyes pocked in with coal Nears you each time your breath smokes the air, Lewdly grinning out of a private […]...
2. SECOND POEM Morning again, nothing has to be done, maybe buy a piano or make fudge. At least clean the room up for sure like my farther I’ve done flick the ashes & butts over the bed side on the floor. But frist of all wipe my glasses and drink the water to clean the smelly mouth. […]...
3. The Mother Poem (two) I always wanted to give birth Do that incredible natural thing That women do-I nearly broke down When I heard we couldn’t And then my man said to me Well there’s always adoption (we didn’t have test tubes and the rest Then) and well even in the early sixties there was something Scandalous about adopting […]...
4. The Apartment House Severe against the pleasant arc of sky The great stone box is cruelly displayed. The street becomes more dreary from its shade, And vagrant breezes touch its walls and die. Here sullen convicts in their chains might lie, Or slaves toil dumbly at some dreary trade. How worse than folly is their labor made Who […]...
5. Poem With Refrains The opening scene. The yellow, coal-fed fog Uncurling over the tainted city river, A young girl rowing and her anxious father Scavenging for corpses. Funeral meats. The clever Abandoned orphan. The great athletic killer Sulking in his tent. As though all stories began With someone dying. When her mother died, My mother refused to attend […]...
6. This Life My friend tells me A man in my house jumped off the roof The roof is the eighth floor of this building The roof door was locked how did he manage? His girlfriend had said goodbye I’m leaving He was 22 His mother and father were hurrying At that very moment From upstate to help […]...
7. At the Window The pine-trees bend to listen to the autumn wind as it mutters Something which sets the black poplars ashake with hysterical laughter; While slowly the house of day is closing its eastern shutters. Further down the valley the clustered tombstones recede, Winding about their dimness the mist’s grey cerements, after The street lamps in the […]...
8. Morning Poem #48 cold bed Gray day Memories Of “birds of prey” Talk for the sake Of words shaping Mouth moving Thoughts changing Energy moving Outside of self Talk for the sake Of a warm bed A sanny day And memories Of birds at play...
9. Other Lives And Dimensions And Finally A Love Poem My left hand will live longer than my right. The rivers of my palms tell me so. Never argue with rivers. Never expect your lives to finish at the same time. I think Praying, I think clapping is how hands mourn. I think staying up and waiting For paintings to sigh is science. In another […]...
10. Good Hours I had for my winter evening walk No one at all with whom to talk, But I had the cottages in a row Up to their shining eyes in snow. And I thought I had the folk within: I had the sound of a violin; I had a glimpse through curtain laces Of youthful forms […]...
11. Poem In October It was my thirtieth year to heaven Woke to my hearing from harbour and neighbour wood And the mussel pooled and the heron Priested shore The morning beckon With water praying and call of seagull and rook And the knock of sailing boats on the net webbed wall Myself to set foot That second In […]...
12. Small Poem About The Hounds And The Hares After the kill, there is the feast. And toward the end, when the dancing subsides And the young have sneaked off somewhere, The hounds, drunk on the blood of the hares, Begin to talk of how soft Were their pelts, how graceful their leaps, How lovely their scared, gentle eyes....
13. The Ball Poem What is the boy now, who has lost his ball, What, what is he to do? I saw it go Merrily bouncing, down the street, and then Merrily over-there it is in the water! No use to say ‘O there are other balls’: An ultimate shaking grief fixes the boy As he stands rigid, trembling, […]...
14. Poem 91 I Saw in secret to my Dame, How little Cupid humbly came: And sayd to her All hayle my mother. But when he saw me laugh, for shame: His face with bashfull blood did flame, Not knowing Venus from the other, Then neuer blush Cupid (quoth I) For many haue err’d in this beauty....
15. A Poem For Myself (or Blues for a Mississippi Black Boy) I was born in Mississippi; I walked barefooted thru the mud. Born black in Mississippi, Walked barefooted thru the mud. But, when I reached the age of twelve I left that place for good. My daddy chopped cotton And he drank his liquor straight. Said my daddy chopped […]...
16. Poem In the early evening, a now, as man is bending Over his writing table. Slowly he lifts his head; a woman Appears, carrying roses. Her face floats to the surface of the mirror, Marked with the green spokes of rose stems. It is a form Of suffering: then always the transparent page Raised to the […]...
17. Charlene-n-Booker 4ever And the old men, supervising grown grandsons, nephews, Any man a boy given this chance of making A new sidewalk outside the apartment building where Some of them live, three old men and their wives, The aging unmarrying children, and the child Who is a cousin, whose mother has sent her here Because she doesn’t […]...
18. 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 […]...
19. Poem 21 WHo is the same, which at my window peepes? Or whose is that faire face, that shines so bright, Is it not Cinthia, she that neuer sleepes, But walkes about high heauen al the night? O fayrest goddesse, do thou not enuy My loue with me to spy: For thou likewise didst loue, though now […]...
20. A London Thoroughfare. 2 A. M They have watered the street, It shines in the glare of lamps, Cold, white lamps, And lies Like a slow-moving river, Barred with silver and black. Cabs go down it, One, And then another. Between them I hear the shuffling of feet. Tramps doze on the window-ledges, Night-walkers pass along the sidewalks. The city is […]...
21. Father The long lines of diesels Groan toward evening Carrying off the breath Of the living. The face of your house Is black, It is your face, black And fire bombed In the first street wars, A black tooth planted in the earth Of Michigan And bearing nothing, And the earth is black, Sick on used […]...
22. Last Poem of my 45th Year I thought of how a whale’s white ribs Could choke the sky’s blue neck, Massive vertebrae half-buried in sand, And how a keel cleaves the sea While the wind zephyrs canvas to swell And propel the long black ship toward shore, Heaven in a blue mussel shell, smooth As the firmament. I believe there is […]...
23. The School Of Metaphysics Executioner happy to explain How his wristwatch works As he shadows me on the street. I call him that because he is grim and officious And wears black. The clock on the church tower Had stopped at five to eleven. The morning newspapers had no date. The gray building on the corner Could’ve been a […]...
24. The Initiate St. John of the Cross wore dark glasses As he passed me on the street. St. Theresa of Avila, beautiful and grave, Turned her back on me. “Soulmate,” they hissed. “It’s high time.” I was a blind child, a wind-up toy. . . I was one of death’s juggling red balls On a certain street […]...
25. In A Bed Of Baked Beans (Part Two) a soft wind through an LA window A goddess of a promised life Transparent on the other side Begs me to follow her From a back room in San Gabriel To a glamorous flat in Burlington And a frayed Red Sox banner Watch your mouth, we’ll censor you We’re on the payroll now Yesterday’s guts […]...
26. Mayakovsky In New York: A Found Poem New York: You take a train that rips through versts. It feels as if the trains were running over your ears. For many hours the train flies along the banks Of the Hudson about two feet from the water. At the stops, Passengers run out, buy up bunches of celery, And run back in, chewing […]...
27. The Final Poem A forge burns in my heart. I am redder than dawn, Deeper than seaweed, More distant than gulls, More hollow than wells. But I only give birth To seeds and to shells. My tongue becomes tangled in words: I no longer speak white, Nor utter black, Nor whisper gray of a wind-worn cliff, Barely do […]...
28. Night Poem There is nothing to be afraid of, It is only the wind Changing to the east, it is only Your father the thunder Your mother the rain In this country of water With its beige moon damp as a mushroom, Its drowned stumps and long birds That swim, where the moss grows On all sides […]...
29. Someone's Mother Someone’s Mother trails the street Wrapt in rotted rags; Broken slippers on her feet Drearily she drags; Drifting in the bitter night, Gnawing gutter bread, With a face of tallow white, Listless as the dead. Someone’s Mother in the dim Of the grey church wall Hears within a Christmas hymn, One she can recall From […]...
30. Poem This poem is not addressed to you. You may come into it briefly, But no one will find you here, no one. You will have changed before the poem will. Even while you sit there, unmovable, You have begun to vanish. And it does no matter. The poem will go on without you. It has […]...
31. 461. Song-Charlie, he's my Darling ‘TWAS on a Monday morning, Right early in the year, That Charlie came to our town, The young Chevalier. Chorus.-An’ Charlie, he’s my darling, My darling, my darling, Charlie, he’s my darling, The young Chevalier. As he was walking up the street, The city for to view, O there he spied a bonie lass The […]...
32. This Window is This window is confidence, Documenting proceedings, Capturing moments, Cleansing views Challenging sentiment. This window is nourishment Filling the eyes With strong drink, And acidly piercing Over-elaborate structures. This window is furniture Re-hung like a picture, Recording new outlooks When the old pleases No more. This window is doorway To feelings, Good feelings and bad, All […]...
33. This Is A Poem I Wrote At Night, Before The Dawn This is a poem I wrote before I died and was reborn: – After the years of the apples ripening and the eagles soaring, After the festival here the small flowers gleamed like the first stars, And the horses cantered and romped away like the experience of skill; mastered and serene Power, grasped and governed […]...
34. Judgment Day Saint Peter stood, at Heaven’s gate, All souls claims to adjudicate Saying to some souls, “Enter in!” “Go to Hell,” to others, “you are steeped in sin.” When up from earth, with a great hubbub, Came all the members of the Tuscarora Club. The angel Gabriel, peering out, Said, “What, the devil, is this noise […]...
35. Where We Live Now 1 We live here because the houses Are clean, the lawns run Right to the street And the streets run away. No one walks here. No one wakens at night or dies. The cars sit open-eyed In the driveways. The lights are on all day. 2 At home forever, she has removed Her long foreign […]...
36. Notice What This Poem Is Not Doing The light along the hills in the morning Comes down slowly, naming the trees White, then coasting the ground for stones to nominate. Notice what this poem is not doing. A house, a house, a barn, the old Quarry, where the river shrugs How much of this place is yours? Notice what this poem is […]...
37. I’m A Fool To Love You Some folks will tell you the blues is a woman, Some type of supernatural creature. My mother would tell you, if she could, About her life with my father, A strange and sometimes cruel gentleman. She would tell you about the choices A young black woman faces. Is falling in love with some man A […]...
38. I envy Seas, whereon He rides I envy Seas, whereon He rides I envy Spokes of Wheels Of Chariots, that Him convey I envy Crooked Hills That gaze upon His journey How easy All can see What is forbidden utterly As Heaven unto me! I envy Nests of Sparrows That dot His distant Eaves The wealthy Fly, upon His Pane The […]...
39. The Keys of Morning While at her bedroom window once, Learning her task for school, Little Louisa lonely sat In the morning clear and cool, She slanted her small bead-brown eyes Across the empty street, And saw Death softly watching her In the sunshine pale and sweet. His was a long lean sallow face; He sat with half-shut eyes, […]...
40. Poem For Maya Dipping our bread in oil tins We talked of morning peeling Open our rooms to a moment Of almonds, olives and wind When we did not yet know what we were. The days in Mallorca were alike: Footprints down goat-paths From the beds we had left, At night the stars locked to darkness. At that […]...