Snail Poem

Related poetry:

1. 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, […]...
2. Coloring Book Each picture is heartbreakingly banal, A kitten and a ball of yarn, A dog and bone. The paper is cheap, easily torn. A coloring book’s authority is derived From its heavy black lines As unalterable as the ten commandments Within which minor decisions are possible: The dog black and white, The kitten gray. Under the […]...
3. Poem (Halleck monument dedication) SAY not the Poet dies! Though in the dust he lies, He cannot forfeit his melodious breath, Unsphered by envious death! Life drops the voiceless myriads from its roll; Their fate he cannot share, Who, in the enchanted air Sweet with the lingering strains that Echo stole, Has left his dearer self, the music of […]...
4. Chrystmasse of Olde God rest you, Chrysten gentil men, Wherever you may be, God rest you all in fielde or hall, Or on ye stormy sea; For on this morn oure Chryst is born That saveth you and me. Last night ye shepherds in ye east Saw many a wondrous thing; Ye sky last night flamed passing bright […]...
5. Considering The Snail The snail pushes through a green Night, for the grass is heavy With water and meets over The bright path he makes, where rain Has darkened the earth’s dark. He Moves in a wood of desire, Pale antlers barely stirring As he hunts. I cannot tell What power is at work, drenched there With purpose, […]...
6. Chaplinesque We will make our meek adjustments, Contented with such random consolations As the wind deposits In slithered and too ample pockets. For we can still love the world, who find A famished kitten on the step, and know Recesses for it from the fury of the street, Or warm torn elbow coverts. We will sidestep, […]...
7. The Haughty Snail-King Twelve snails went walking after night. They’d creep an inch or so, Then stop and bug their eyes And blow. Some folks. . . are. . . deadly. . . slow. Twelve snails went walking yestereve, Led by their fat old king. They were so dull their princeling had No sceptre, robe or ring- Only […]...
8. Poem (In the morning, when it was raining) In the morning, when it was raining, Then the birds were hectic and loudy; Through all the reign is fall’s entertaining; Their singing was erratic and full of disorder: They did not remember the summer blue Or the orange of June. They did not think at all Of the great red and bursting ball Of […]...
9. Snail and spiral i take my property with me says the snail Slow-moving (yes) but packed with sublime thought The house upon its back some kind of grail Vulnerable to brute boot – and wisdom bought By barely making it through life’s dull crawl The pace of it denies technology’s demand That speed be safety (that getting there […]...
10. Giant Snail The rain has stopped. The waterfall will roar like that all Night. I have come out to take a walk and feed. My body foot, That is is wet and cold and covered with sharp gravel. It is White, the size of a dinner plate. I have set myself a goal, a Certain rock, but […]...
11. Hamlet Off-Stage: Snail Peels Off For quick mental hygiene, the snail’s my white Mobile clinic, Dr. Hoodoo inside. Seriously. The snail’s my man. He’s shy, Shows speedy patience and plays safe, keeps his Hard hat on should a curve come on too fast. And paves his road in case he must return. That’s not timid. That’s prudently Roman....
12. To Make A Dadist Poem Take a newspaper. Take some scissors. Choose from this paper an article the length you want to make your poem. Cut out the article. Next carefully cut out each of the words that make up this article and put them all in a bag. Shake gently. Next take out each cutting one after the other. […]...
13. I WILL NOT EAT MY POEM I kill for pleasure Not for gain. A man much more Than you my hands Find knives & flash them. I am guilty In my works While in their eyes I seek redemption. I find myself Forgotten Angry at the thought Of bread. I will not Eat my poem(A. Artaud) Much less be raped By […]...
14. The Tale of Custard the Dragon Belinda lived in a little white house, With a little black kitten and a little gray mouse, And a little yellow dog and a little red wagon, And a realio, trulio, little pet dragon. Now the name of the little black kitten was Ink, And the little gray mouse, she called hum Blink, And the […]...
15. Poem 1 YE learned sisters which haue oftentimes Beene to me ayding, others to adorne: Whom ye thought worthy of your gracefull rymes, That euen the greatest did not greatly scorne To heare theyr names sung in your simply layes, But ioyed in theyr prayse. And when ye lift your owne mishaps to mourne, Which death, or […]...
16. 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 […]...
17. 275. Song-The Laddie's dear sel&#039 THERE’S a youth in this city, it were a great pity That he from our lassies should wander awa’; For he’s bonie and braw, weel-favor’d witha’, An’ his hair has a natural buckle an’ a’. His coat is the hue o’ his bonnet sae blue, His fecket is white as the new-driven snaw; His hose […]...
18. Ah, Are You Digging On My Grave? “Ah, are you digging on my grave, My loved one? planting rue?” “No: yesterday he went to wed One of the brightest wealth has bred. ‘It cannot hurt her now,’ he said, ‘That I should not be true.'” “Then who is digging on my grave, My nearest dearest kin?” “Ah, no: they sit and think, […]...
19. The Poem It’s all in The sound. A song. Seldom a song. It should Be a song-made of Particulars, wasps, A gentian-something Immediate, open Scissors, a lady’s Eyes-waking Centrifugal, centripetal....
20. My Lady's Grave THE linnet in the rocky dells, The moor-lark in the air, The bee among the heather bells That hide my lady fair: The wild deer browse above her breast; The wild birds raise their brood; And they, her smiles of love caress’d, Have left her solitude! I ween that when the grave’s dark wall Did […]...
21. Song The linnet in the rocky dells, The moor – lark in the air, The bee among the heather – bells That hide my lady fair: The wild deer browse above her breast; The wild birds raise their brood; And they, her smiles of love caressed, Have left their solitude! I ween, that when the grave’s […]...
22. Morning Poem #40 pink around a Circle of pink Around a shimmer Of found reason Pink around a Glimmering white Shaked around A sound blue Somehow in the Touch of green Looped inside Loops abound A bound ribbon A hope bow bows In a rare season...
23. A Poem Upon The Death Of O. C That Providence which had so long the care Of Cromwell’s head, and numbred ev’ry hair, Now in its self (the Glass where all appears) Had seen the period of his golden Years: And thenceforth onely did attend to trace, What death might least so sair a Life deface. The People, which what most they fear […]...
24. A Funeral Poem on the Death of C. E Through airy roads he wings his instant flight To purer regions of celestial light; Enlarg’d he sees unnumber’d systems roll, Beneath him sees the universal whole, Planets on planets run their destin’d round, And circling wonders fill the vast profound. Th’ ethereal now, and now th’ empyreal skies With growing splendors strike his wond’ring eyes: […]...
25. Under the Shadow of Kiley's Hill This is the place where they all were bred; Some of the rafters are standing still; Now they are scattered and lost and dead, Every one from the old nest fled, Out of the shadow of Kiley’s Hill. Better it is that they ne’er came back Changes and chances are quickly rung; Now the old […]...
26. 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 […]...
27. 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 […]...
28. If I may have it, when it's dead If I may have it, when it’s dead, I’ll be contented so If just as soon as Breath is out It shall belong to me Until they lock it in the Grave, ‘Tis Bliss I cannot weigh For tho’ they lock Thee in the Grave, Myself can own the key Think of it Lover! I […]...
29. To A Snowflake What heart could have thought you? Past our devisal (O filigree petal!) Fashioned so purely, Fragilely, surely, From what Paradisal Imagineless metal, Too costly for cost? Who hammered you, wrought you, From argentine vapor? “God was my shaper. Passing surmisal, He hammered, He wrought me, From curled silver vapor, To lust of His mind Thou […]...
30. A man saw a ball of gold in the sky A man saw a ball of gold in the sky; He climbed for it, And eventually he achieved it It was clay. Now this is the strange part: When the man went to the earth And looked again, Lo, there was the ball of gold. Now this is the strange part: It was a ball […]...
31. POEM TO BE PLACED IN A BOTTLE AND CAST OUT TO SEA for Ken Kesey and his merry pranksters in a bus called ‘Further…’ Dear and here’s where the problem begins For who shall I address this letter to? Friends are few and very special, muses in the main I must confess, the first I lost just fifty years ago. Perhaps the best. I searched for years […]...
32. Quantum Est Quod Desit ‘Twas a new feeling – something more Than we had dar’d to own before, Which then we hid not; We saw it in each other’s eye, And wish’d in every broken sigh To speak, but did not! She felt my lips’ impassion’d touch; ‘Twas the first time I dar’d so much, And yet, she chid […]...
33. 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 […]...
34. The Poem Cat Sometimes the poem Doesn’t want to come; It hides from the poet Like a playful cat Who has run Under the house & lurks among slugs, Roots, spiders’ eyes, Ledge so long out of the sun That it is dank With the breath of the Troll King. Sometimes the poem Darts away Like a coy […]...
35. Ninetieth Birthday You go up the long track That will take a car, but is best walked On slow foot, noting the lichen That writes history on the page Of the grey rock. Trees are about you At first, but yield to the green bracken, The nightjars house: you can hear it spin On warm evenings; it […]...
36. Sailor Son When you come home I’ll not be round To welcome you. They’ll take you to a grassy mound So neat and new; Where I’ll be sleeping O so sound! The ages through. I’ll not be round to broom the hearth, To feed the chicks; And in the wee room of your birth Your bed to […]...
37. The Sun On The Bookcase Once more the cauldron of the sun Smears the bookcase with winy red, And here my page is, and there my bed, And the apple-tree shadows travel along. Soon their intangible track will be run, And dusk grow strong And they have fled. Yes: now the boiling ball is gone, And I have wasted another […]...
38. The Widower Oh I have worn my mourning out, And on her grave the green grass grows; So I will hang each sorry clout High in the corn to scare the crows. And I will buy a peacock tie, And coat of cloth of Donegal; Then to the Farmer’s Fair I’ll hie And peek in at the […]...
39. Did Not ‘Twas a new feeling – something more Than we had dared to own before, Which then we hid not; We saw it in each other’s eye, And wished, in every half-breathed sigh, To speak, but did not. She felt my lips’ impassioned touch – ‘Twas the first time I dared so much, And yet she […]...
40. Glory is that bright tragic thing Glory is that bright tragic thing That for an instant Means Dominion Warms some poor name That never felt the Sun, Gently replacing In oblivion...