The plane and the blackbird

Related poetry:

1. A London Plane-Tree Green is the plane-tree in the square, The other trees are brown; They droop and pine for country air; The plane-tree loves the town. Here from my garret-pane, I mark The plane-tree bud and blow, Shed her recuperative bark, And spread her shade below. Among her branches, in and out, The city breezes play; The […]...
2. The Old Swimmin'-Hole OH! the old swimmin’-hole! whare the crick so still and deep Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep, And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below Sounded like the laugh of something we onc’t ust to know Before we could remember anything but the eyes Of the angels lookin’ out […]...
3. THE CEREMONIES FOR CANDLEMAS DAY Kindle the Christmas brand, and then Till sunset let it burn; Which quench’d, then lay it up again, Till Christmas next return. Part must be kept, wherewith to teend The Christmas log next year; And where ’tis safely kept, the fiend Can do no mischief there....
4. A Christmas Carol Welcome, sweet Christmas, blest be the morn That Christ our Saviour was born! Earth’s Redeemer, to save us from all danger, And, as the Holy Record tells, born in a manger. Chorus Then ring, ring, Christmas bells, Till your sweet music o’er the kingdom swells, To warn the people to respect the morn That Christ […]...
5. Snail Poem Make my grave shape of heart so like a flower be free aired & handsome felt, Grave root pillow, tung up from grave & wigle at blown up clowd. Ear turnes close to underlayer of green felt moss & sound of rain dribble thru this layer down to the roots that will tickle my ear. […]...
6. The Author Of The Jesus Papers Speaks In my dream I milked a cow, The terrible udder Like a great rubber lily Sweated in my fingers And as I yanked, Waiting for the moon juice, Waiting for the white mother, Blood spurted from it And covered me with shame. Then God spoke to me and said: People say only good things about […]...
7. The Thatch Out alone in the winter rain, Intent on giving and taking pain. But never was I far out of sight Of a certain upper-window light. The light was what it was all about: I would not go in till the light went out; It would not go out till I came in. Well, we should […]...
8. To a Blackbird and His Mate Who Died in the Spring (For Kenton) An iron hand has stilled the throats That throbbed with loud and rhythmic glee And dammed the flood of silver notes That drenched the world in melody. The blosmy apple boughs are yearning For their wild choristers’ returning, But no swift wings flash through the tree. Ye that were glad and fleet and […]...
9. Half The People In The World Half the people in the world love the other half, half the people hate the other half. Must I because of this half and that half go wandering and changing ceaselessly like rain in its cycle, must I sleep among rocks, and grow rugged like the trunks of olive trees, And hear the moon barking […]...
10. Requiescat Tonight my love is sleeping cold Where none may see and none shall pass. The daisies quicken in the mold, And richer fares the meadow grass. The warding cypress pleads the skies, The mound goes level in the rain. My love all cold and silent lies- Pray God it will not rise again!...
11. SOUND OF SLEAT I always looked out at the world, And wondered if the world looked back at me, Standing on the edge of something, On my face – the wind from the cold sea. Across the waters were mirrors to see Faces that looked like me, People caught between two places, People crossing over the seas. And […]...
12. Woman Work I’ve got the children to tend The clothes to mend The floor to mop The food to shop Then the chicken to fry The baby to dry I got company to feed The garden to weed I’ve got shirts to press The tots to dress The can to be cut I gotta clean up this […]...
13. In The Moonlight “O lonely workman, standing there In a dream, why do you stare and stare At her grave, as no other grave where there?” “If your great gaunt eyes so importune Her soul by the shine of this corpse-cold moon, Maybe you’ll raise her phantom soon!” “Why, fool, it is what I would rather see Than […]...
14. Christmas in a box the policeman on the streets Found christmas in a box Tipped it down a manhole It wasn’t wearing socks A little old lady nearby – The poor sod’s done no harm She got hit with a truncheon For spreading false alarm The policeman then went home Pleased his job was done Called for his christmas […]...
15. The Blackbird Of Derrycairn Stop, stop and listen for the bough top Is whistling and the sun is brighter Than God’s own shadow in the cup now! Forget the hour-bell. Mournful matins Will sound, Patric, as well at nightfall. Faintly through mist of broken water Fionn heard my melody in Norway. He found the forest track, he brought back […]...
16. A Blackbird Singing It seems wrong that out of this bird, Black, bold, a suggestion of dark Places about it, there yet should come Such rich music, as though the notes’ Ore were changed to a rare metal At one touch of that bright bill. You have heard it often, alone at your desk In a green April, […]...
17. Thirteen Ways Of Looking At A Blackbird I Among twenty snowy mountains, The only moving thing Was the eye of the black bird. II I was of three minds, Like a tree In which there are three blackbirds. III The blackbird whirled in the autumn winds. It was a small part of the pantomime. IV A man and a woman Are one. […]...
18. Your tiger (in china it is symbolic Of darkness and the new moon) In your night’s hollow The tiger stalks Black grasses have licked It into nothingness Hooked by moon I hover on your hollow’s lip I feel the smell of fire The leap of a bright cat-fur My eye is dumb Asking to be devoured I […]...
19. The 'Ole in the Ark One evening at dusk as Noah stood on his Ark, Putting green oil in starboard side lamp, His wife came along and said, ‘Noah, summat’s wrong, Our cabin is getting quite damp. Noah said, ‘Is that so?’ Then he went down below, And found it were right what she’d said, For there on the floor […]...
20. After Us I don’t know if we’re in the beginning Or in the final stage. Tomas Tranströmer Rain is falling through the roof. And all that prospered under the sun, The books that opened in the morning And closed at night, and all day Turned their pages to the light; The sketches of boats and strong forearms […]...
21. Black On Black Serrations of chimneys Stone-black perforate Velvet-black dark. A tree coils in core of darkness. My swinging Hands Incise the night. A man slips into a doorway, Black hole in blackness, and drowns there. A second man passing traces The diagram of his steps On invisible pavement. Rain Draws black parallel threads Through the hollow of […]...
22. The House Of Hospitalities Here we broached the Christmas barrel, Pushed up the charred log-ends; Here we sang the Christmas carol, And called in friends. Time has tired me since we met here When the folk now dead were young, And the viands were outset here And quaint songs sung. And the worm has bored the viol That used […]...
23. At the sixty-ninth station (after hiroshige – stations of oi) Here at the sixty-ninth station Of the gregokaido road I have a sense of completion That is not completed yet The long journey to this moment Has many disparate paths Fragments of people within me Have stuttered their broken mantras What a bowl of uneasy pieces Litters the well […]...
24. A Funeral Fantasie Pale, at its ghastly noon, Pauses above the death-still wood the moon; The night-sprite, sighing, through the dim air stirs; The clouds descend in rain; Mourning, the wan stars wane, Flickering like dying lamps in sepulchres! Haggard as spectres vision-like and dumb, Dark with the pomp of death, and moving slow, Towards that sad lair […]...
25. A Song Of Winter Weather It isn’t the foe that we fear; It isn’t the bullets that whine; It isn’t the business career Of a shell, or the bust of a mine; It isn’t the snipers who seek To nip our young hopes in the bud: No, it isn’t the guns, And it isn’t the Huns It’s the MUD, MUD, […]...
26. Rain Suddenly this defeat. This rain. The blues gone gray And the browns gone gray And yellow A terrible amber. In the cold streets Your warm body. In whatever room Your warm body. Among all the people Your absence The people who are always Not you. I have been easy with trees Too long. Too familiar […]...
27. 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 […]...
28. Before The Paling Of The Stars Before the winter morn, Before the earliest cock crow, Jesus Christ was born: Born in a stable, Cradled in a manger, In the world his hands had made Born a stranger. Priest and king lay fast asleep In Jerusalem; Young and old lay fast asleep In crowded Bethlehem; Saint and angel, ox and ass, Kept […]...
29. The Trapper's Christmas Eve It’s mighty lonesome-like and drear. Above the Wild the moon rides high, And shows up sharp and needle-clear The emptiness of earth and sky; No happy homes with love a-glow; No Santa Claus to make believe: Just snow and snow, and then more snow; It’s Christmas Eve, it’s Christmas Eve. And here am I where […]...
30. The Ballad Of The Proverbs So rough the goat will scratch, it cannot sleep. So often goes the pot to the well that it breaks. So long you heat iron, it will glow; So heavily you hammer it, it shatters. So good is the man as his praise; So far he will go, and he’s forgotten; So bad he behaves, […]...
31. 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, […]...
32. Candles The days of our future stand in front of us Like a row of little lit candles Golden, warm, and lively little candles. The days past remain behind us, A mournful line of extinguished candles; The ones nearest are still smoking, Cold candles, melted, and bent. I do not want to look at them; their […]...
33. The Thought-Fox I imagine this midnight moment’s forest: Something else is alive Beside the clock’s loneliness And this blank page where my fingers move. Through the window I see no star: Something more near Though deeper within darkness Is entering the loneliness: Cold, delicately as the dark snow, A fox’s nose touches twig, leaf; Two eyes serve […]...
34. 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 […]...
35. Denied The winds came out of the west one day, And hurried the clouds before them; And drove the shadows and mists away, And over the mountains bore them. And I wept, ‘Oh, wind, blow into my mind, Blow into my soul and heart, And scatter the clouds that hang lile shrouds, And make the shadows […]...
36. From The Short Story A Christmas Dream, And How It Came True From our happy home Through the world we roam One week in all the year, Making winter spring With the joy we bring For Christmas-tide is here. Now the eastern star Shines from afar To light the poorest home; Hearts warmer grow, Gifts freely flow, For Christmas-tide has come. Now gay trees rise Before young […]...
37. The Kiss The snow is white on wood and wold, The wind is in the firs, So dead my heart is with the cold, No pulse within it stirs, Even to see your face, my dear, Your face that was my sun; There is no spring this bitter year, And summer’s dreams are done. The snakes that […]...
38. Cornish Cliffs Those moments, tasted once and never done, Of long surf breaking in the mid-day sun. A far-off blow-hole booming like a gun- The seagulls plane and circle out of sight Below this thirsty, thrift-encrusted height, The veined sea-campion buds burst into white And gorse turns tawny orange, seen beside Pale drifts of primroses cascading wide […]...
39. The Machine The little biplane that has the river-meadow for landing-field And carries passengers brief rides, Buzzed overhead on the tender blue above the orange of sundown. Below it five troubled night-herons Turned short over the shore from its course, four east, one northward. Beyond them Swam the new moon in amber. I don’t know why, but […]...
40. Flash Crimson I SHALL cry God to give me a broken foot. I shall ask for a scar and a slashed nose. I shall take the last and the worst. I shall be eaten by gray creepers in a bunkhouse where no runners of the sun come and no dogs live. And yet-of all “and yets” this […]...