The Drunkard

Related poetry:

1. A Drunkard cannot meet a Cork A Drunkard cannot meet a Cork Without a Revery And so encountering a Fly This January Day Jamaicas of Remembrance stir That send me reeling in The moderate drinker of Delight Does not deserve the spring Of juleps, part are the Jug And more are in the joy Your connoisseur in Liquours Consults the Bumble […]...
2. The Lion and the Lamb I saw a Tiger’s golden flank, I saw what food he ate, By a desert spring he drank; The Tiger’s name was Hate. Then I saw a placid Lamb Lying fast asleep; Like a river from its dam Flashed the Tiger’s leap. I saw a lion tawny-red, Terrible and brave; The Tiger’s leap overhead Broke […]...
3. The Drunkard's Funeral “Yes,” said the sister with the little pinched face, The busy little sister with the funny little tract: – “This is the climax, the grand fifth act. There rides the proud, at the finish of his race. There goes the hearse, the mourners cry, The respectable hearse goes slowly by. The wife of the dead […]...
4. The Drunkards in the Street The Drunkards in the street are calling one another, Heeding not the night-wind, great of heart and gay, – Publicans and wantons – Calling, laughing, calling, While the Spirit bloweth Space and Time away. Why should I feel the sobbing, the secrecy, the glory, This comforter, this fitful wind divine? I the cautious Pharisee, the […]...
5. 232. Song-The Day Returns THE DAY returns, my bosom burns, The blissful day we twa did meet: Tho’ winter wild in tempest toil’d, Ne’er summer-sun was half sae sweet. Than a’ the pride that loads the tide, And crosses o’er the sultry line; Than kingly robes, than crowns and globes, Heav’n gave me more-it made thee mine! While day […]...
6. Poetry it Takes A lot of Desperation Dissatisfaction And Disillusion To Write A Few Good Poems. It’s not For Everybody Either to Write It Or even to Read It....
7. The Other Tiger A tiger comes to mind. The twilight here Exalts the vast and busy Library And seems to set the bookshelves back in gloom; Innocent, ruthless, bloodstained, sleek It wanders through its forest and its day Printing a track along the muddy banks Of sluggish streams whose names it does not know (In its world there […]...
8. You've given me a weapon Poem by Anne-Marie Derése, translated by Judith Skillman. You’ve given me a weapon. You’ve flung your words Into the human herd Like stones. The wounds were Good to lick. You have woken the tiger. You’ve given as one takes....
9. The Tiger The tiger, on the other hand, Is kittenish and mild, And makes a pretty playfellow For any little child. And mothers of large families (Who claim to common sense) Will find a tiger well repays The trouble and expense....
10. Stalk Me Liner Notes – (from Love Is A Dog From Hell) My friend Jenny is really Worried that people are going to follow me around and send me dead animal Parts and doll heads as a result of this song but please, if you feel inclined To send me dead animal parts, think it through. Thanks. […]...
11. Tiger At noon thepaper tigers roar Miroslav Holub The paper tigers roar at noon; The sun is hot, the sun is high. They roar in chorus, not in tune, Their plaintive, savage hunting cry. O, when you hear them, stop your ears And clench your lids and bite your tongue. The harmless paper tiger bears Strong […]...
12. Nothing grows except the grass Nothing grows except the grass. Nothing leaps into sight except some stone And what the stone contains and protects. Here, far from the beach, Far from the place where the water Returns every so often Rusted metal, mouldy wood, The corpse of a dolphin or a turtle. The wind does not blow with the force […]...
13. Tonight I Can Write Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example, ‘The night is starry And the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’ The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I […]...
14. The Conspiracy You send me your poems, I’ll send you mine. Things tend to awaken Even through random communication Let us suddenly Proclaim spring. And jeer At the others, All the others. I will send a picture too If you will send me one of you....
15. Saddest Poem I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars, And the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.” The night wind whirls in the sky and sings. I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. On nights […]...
16. A Curse For A Nation I heard an angel speak last night, And he said ‘Write! Write a Nation’s curse for me, And send it over the Western Sea.’ I faltered, taking up the word: ‘Not so, my lord! If curses must be, choose another To send thy curse against my brother. ‘For I am bound by gratitude, By love […]...
17. The End of the World Here, at the end of the world, The flowers bleed As if they were hearts, The hearts ooze a darkness Like india ink, & poets dip their pens in & they write. “Here, at the end of the world,” They write, Not knowing what it means. “Here, where the sky nurses on black milk, Where […]...
18. The Harp That Once Through Tara's Halls The harp that once through Tara’s halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara’s walls, As if that soul were fled. So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory’s thrill is o’er, And hearts, that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more. No more to chiefs […]...
19. Style Flaubert wanted to write a novel About nothing. It was to have no subject And be sustained upon the style alone, Like the Holy Ghost cruising above The abyss, or like the little animals In Disney cartoons who stand upon a branch That breaks, but do not fall Till they look down. He never wrote […]...
20. The Carnival Whereas the man who hits The gong dis- Proves it, in all its Simplicity Even so the attempt Makes for triumph, in Another man. Likewise in love I Am not foolish or in- Competent. My method is not a Tenderness, but hope Defined....
21. Even Because Because it all just breaks apart, and the pieces scatter and rearrange without much fanfare or notice. Because you can’t and don’t remember the step that kicked up dust and left this planet-you’d give up even more now. Because the body itself-the heart’s Not dead but deeper, wrapped up in curtains, a different color, among […]...
22. Sonnets 01: We Talk Of Taxes, And I Call You Friend We talk of taxes, and I call you friend; Well, such you are,-but well enough we know How thick about us root, how rankly grow Those subtle weeds no man has need to tend, That flourish through neglect, and soon must send Perfume too sweet upon us and overthrow Our steady senses; how such matters […]...
23. Psalm 119 part 11 Breathing after holiness. Ver. 5,33 O that the Lord would guide my ways To keep his statutes still! O that my God would grant me grace To know and do his will! Ver. 29 O send thy Spirit down to write Thy law upon my heart! Nor let my tongue indulge deceit, Nor act the […]...
24. A New Year's Message To Joseph Mazzini Send the stars light, but send not love to me. Shelley. I Out of the dawning heavens that hear Young wings and feet of the new year Move through their twilight, and shed round Soft showers of sound, Soothing the season with sweet rain, If greeting come to make me fain, What is it I […]...
25. A Memory (From a sonnet-sequence) Somewhile before the dawn I rose, and stept Softly along the dim way to your room, And found you sleeping in the quiet gloom, And holiness about you as you slept. I knelt there; till your waking fingers crept About my head, and held it. I had rest Unhoped this side of […]...
26. Song Of The Spirit Too sweet and too subtle for pen or for tongue In phrases unwritten and measures unsung, As deep and as strange as the sounds of the sea, Is the song that my spirit is singing to me. In the midnight and tempest when forest trees shiver, In the roar of the surf, and the rush […]...
27. The Wild Iris At the end of my suffering There was a door. Hear me out: that which you call death I remember. Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting. Then nothing. The weak sun Flickered over the dry surface. It is terrible to survive As consciousness Buried in the dark earth. Then it was over: that which […]...
28. Elegy Upon Tiger Her dead lady’s joy and comfort, Who departed this life The last day of March, 1727: To the great joy of Bryan That his antagonist is gone. And is poor Tiger laid at last so low? O day of sorrow! – Day of dismal woe! Bloodhounds, or spaniels, lap-dogs, ’tis all one, When Death once […]...
29. Poem (The lump of coal my parents teased) The lump of coal my parents teased I’d find in my Christmas stocking Turned out each year to be an orange, For I was their sunshine. Now I have one C. gave me, A dense node of sleeping fire. I keep it where I read and write. “You’re on chummy terms with dread,” It reminds […]...
30. Unlyric Love Song It is time to give that-of-myself which I could not at first: To offer you now at last my least and my worst: Minor, absurd preserves, The shell’s end-curves, A document kept at the back of a drawer, A tin hidden under the floor, Recalcitrant prides and hesitations: To pile them carefully in a desparate […]...
31. Bilbea BILBEA, I was in Babylon on Saturday night. I saw nothing of you anywhere. I was at the old place and the other girls were there, but no Bilbea. Have you gone to another house? or city? Why don’t you write? I was sorry. I walked home half-sick. Tell me how it goes. Send me […]...
32. One Inch Tall If you were only one inch tall, you’d ride a worm to school. The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool. A crumb of cake would be a feast And last you seven days at least, A flea would be a frightening beast If you were one inch tall. If you were […]...
33. Under a Hat Rim WHILE the hum and the hurry Of passing footfalls Beat in my ear like the restless surf Of a wind-blown sea, A soul came to me Out of the look on a face. Eyes like a lake Where a storm-wind roams Caught me from under The rim of a hat. I thought of a midsea […]...
34. The Argument Of His Book I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers. I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, Of bridegrooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes. I write of youth, of love, and have access By these to sing of cleanly wantonness. I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by […]...
35. The Soul unto itself The Soul unto itself Is an imperial friend Or the most agonizing Spy An Enemy could send Secure against its own No treason it can fear Itself its Sovereign of itself The Soul should stand in Awe...
36. MY PERFECT ROSE At ten she came to me, three years ago, There was ‘something between us’ even then; Watching her write like Eliot every day, Turn prose into haiku in ten minutes flat, Write a poem in Greek three weeks from learning the alphabet; Then translate it as ‘Sun on a tomb, gold place, small sacred horse’. […]...
37. How to Die Dark clouds are smouldering into red While down the craters morning burns. The dying soldier shifts his head To watch the glory that returns; He lifts his fingers toward the skies Where holy brightness breaks in flame; Radiance reflected in his eyes, And on his lips a whispered name. You’d think, to hear some people […]...
38. Etesia Absent Love, the world’s life! What a sad death Thy absence is to lose our breath At once and die, is but to live Enlarged, without the scant reprieve Of pulse and air: whose dull returns And narrow circles the soul mourns. But to be dead alive, and still To wish, but never have our will: […]...
39. Sonnet 76: Why is my verse so barren of new pride? Why is my verse so barren of new pride? So far from variation or quick change? Why with the time do I not glance aside To new-found methods, and to compounds strange? Why write I still all one, ever the same, And keep invention in a noted weed, That every word doth almost tell my […]...
40. Glory Of Women You love us when we’re heroes, home on leave, Or wounded in a mentionable place. You worship decorations; you believe That chivalry redeems the war’s disgrace. You make us shells. You listen with delight, By tales of dirt and danger fondly thrilled. You crown our distant ardours while we fight, And mourn our laurelled memories […]...