The Cat in the Kitchen

Related poetry:

1. Camping in a kitchen To say we’ve done it all before is not to bend The truth and though we’ve lost our youth The vision of the bright contemporary kitchen Draws us on, sustaining us beyond our strength. It’s all the donkey work that palls upon the weary joints, The stripping off of stubborn tiles, the cupboards With reviled […]...
2. The Grave Of The Kitchen Mouse The stone says “Coors” The gay carpet says “Camels” Spears of dried grass The little sticks the children gathered The leaves the wind gathered The cat did not kill him The dog did not, not the trap Or lightning, or the rain’s anger The tree’s claws The black teeth of the moon The sun drilled […]...
3. 464. The Highland Widow's Lament OH I am come to the low Countrie, Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie! Without a penny in my purse, To buy a meal to me. It was na sae in the Highland hills, Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie! Nae woman in the Country wide, Sae happy was as me. For then I had a score o’kye, Ochon, Ochon, Ochrie! […]...
4. The Hermit WHAT moves that lonely man is not the boom Of waves that break agains the cliff so strong; Nor roar of thunder, when that travelling voice Is caught by rocks that carry far along. ‘Tis not the groan of oak tree i its prime, When lightning strikes its solid heart to dust; Nor frozen pond […]...
5. The Kitchen Chimney Builder, in building the little house, In every way you may please yourself; But please please me in the kitchen chimney: Don’t build me a chimney upon a shelf. However far you must go for bricks, Whatever they cost a-piece or a pound, But me enough for a full-length chimney, And build the chimney clear […]...
6. At Blackwater Pond At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled After a night of rain. I dip my cupped hands. I drink A long time. It tastes Like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold Into my body, waking the bones. I hear them Deep inside me, whispering Oh what is that beautiful thing That just happened?...
7. By the Pool of the Third Rosses I heard the sighing of the reed In the grey pool in the green land, The sea-wind in the long reeds sighing Between the green hill and the sand. I heard the sighing of the reeds Day after day, night after night; I heard the whirring wild ducks flying, I saw the sea-gull’s wheeling flight. […]...
8. Outside Fargo, North Dakota Along the sprawled body of the derailed Great Northern freight car, I strike a match slowly and lift it slowly. No wind. Beyond town, three heavy white horses Wade all the way to their shoulders In a silo shadow. Suddenly the freight car lurches. The door slams back, a man with a flashlight Calls me […]...
9. The Sun Has Set The sun has set, and the long grass now Waves dreamily in the evening wind; And the wild bird has flown from that old gray stone In some warm nook a couch to find. In all the lonely landscape round I see no light and hear no sound, Except the wind that far away Come […]...
10. Night Stuff LISTEN a while, the moon is a lovely woman, a lonely woman, lost in a silver dress, lost in a circus rider’s silver dress. Listen a while, the lake by night is a lonely woman, a lovely woman, circled with birches and pines mixing their green and white among stars shattered in spray clear nights. […]...
11. Twelve O'Clock Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons now. I have been at my Book all the morning. You say it is only twelve o’clock. Suppose it isn’t any later; Can’t you ever think it is afternoon when it is only twelve O’clock? I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached the […]...
12. Long-Legged Fly That civilisation may not sink, Its great battle lost, Quiet the dog, tether the pony To a distant post; Our master Caesar is in the tent Where the maps ate spread, His eyes fixed upon nothing, A hand under his head. Like a long-legged fly upon the stream His mind moves upon silence. That the […]...
13. The old pond Following are several translations Of the ‘Old Pond’ poem, which may be The most famous of all haiku: Furuike ya Kawazu tobikomu Mizu no oto Basho Literal Translation Fu-ru (old) i-ke (pond) ya, Ka-wa-zu (frog) to-bi-ko-mu (jumping into) Mi-zu (water) no o-to (sound) The old pond A frog jumps in, sound of water. Translated by […]...
14. At That Hour At that hour when all things have repose, O lonely watcher of the skies, Do you hear the night wind and the sighs Of harps playing unto Love to unclose The pale gates of sunrise? When all things repose, do you alone Awake to hear the sweet harps play To Love before him on his […]...
15. THE FREEBOOTER No door has my house, No house has my door; And in and out ever I carry my store. No grate has my kitchen, No kitchen my grate; Yet roasts it and boils it Both early and late. My bed has no trestles, My trestles no bed; Yet merrier moments No mortal e’er led. My […]...
16. Turtle Now I see it It nudges with its bulldog head The slippery stems of the lilies, making them tremble; And now it noses along in the wake of the little brown teal Who is leading her soft children From one side of the pond to the other; she keeps Close to the edge And they […]...
17. Fergus Falling He climbed to the top Of one of those million white pines Set out across the emptying pastures Of the fifties – some program to enrich the rich And rebuke the forefathers Who cleared it all at once with ox and axe – Climbed to the top, probably to get out Of the shadow Not […]...
18. Hook I was only a young man In those days. On that evening The cold was so God damned Bitter there was nothing. Nothing. I was in trouble With a woman, and there was nothing There but me and dead snow. I stood on the street corner In Minneapolis, lashed This way and that. Wind rose […]...
19. Atavism I was always afraid of Somes’s Pond: Not the little pond, by which the willow stands, Where laughing boys catch alewives in their hands In brown, bright shallows; but the one beyond. There, where the frost makes all the birches burn Yellow as cow-lilies, and the pale sky shines Like a polished shell between black […]...
20. The Winds Out of the West Land Blow The winds out of the west land blow, My friends have breathed them there; Warm with the blood of lads I know Comes east the sighing air. It fanned their temples, filled their lungs, Scattered their forelocks free; My friends made words of it with tongues That talk no more to me. Their voices, dying […]...
21. Epilogue Patience, little Heart. One day a heavy, June-hot woman Will enter and shut the door to stay. And when your stifling heart would summon Cool, lonely night, her roused breasts will keep the night at bay, Sitting in your room like two tiger-lilies Flaming on after sunset, Destroying the cool, lonely night with the glow […]...
22. Stripes POLICEMAN in front of a bank 3 A. M. … lonely. Policeman State and Madison… high noon… mobs… cars… parcels… lonely. Woman in suburbs… keeping night watch on a sleeping typhoid patient… only a clock to talk to… lonesome. Woman selling gloves… bargain day department store… furious crazy-work of many hands slipping in and out […]...
23. The Ever-Patient Woman In the flowing sap In her growing fever Parting her veils Cracking out of her shells Sliding out of her skins The ever-patient woman Slowly Gives herself Life In her volcanoes In her orchards Seeking solidity and measure Clasping her most tender flesh Straining every fine-honed fiber The ever-patient woman Slowly Gives herself Light....
24. The Buddha's Last Instruction “Make of yourself a light” Said the Buddha, Before he died. I think of this every morning As the east begins To tear off its many clouds Of darkness, to send up the first Signal-a white fan Streaked with pink and violet, Even green. An old man, he lay down Between two sala trees, And […]...
25. Her Kind I have gone out, a possessed witch, Haunting the black air, braver at night; Dreaming evil, I have done my hitch Over the plain houses, light by light: Lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind. A woman like that is not a woman, quite. I have been her kind. I have found the warm caves in […]...
26. Us I was wrapped in black Fur and white fur and You undid me and then You placed me in gold light And then you crowned me, While snow fell outside The door in diagonal darts. While a ten-inch snow Came down like stars In small calcium fragments, We were in our own bodies (that room […]...
27. Childhood It would be good to give much thought, before You try to find words for something so lost, For those long childhood afternoons you knew That vanished so completely and why? We’re still reminded : sometimes by a rain, But we can no longer say what it means; Life was never again so filled with […]...
28. Poem Of Night 1 I move my hand over Slopes, falls, lumps of sight, Lashes barely able to be touched, Lips that give way so easily It’s a shock to feel underneath them The bones smile. Muffled a little, barely cloaked, Zygoma, maxillary, turbinate. 2 I put my hand On the side of your face, You lean your […]...
29. Song (Sylvia The Fair, In The Bloom Of Fifteen) Sylvia the fair, in the bloom of fifteen, Felt an innocent warmth as she lay on the green: She had heard of a pleasure, and something she guessed By the towsing and tumbling and touching her breast: She saw the men eager, but was at a loss What they meant by their sighing and kissing […]...
30. Night Is On The Downland Night is on the downland, on the lonely moorland, On the hills where the wind goes over sheep-bitten turf, Where the bent grass beats upon the unplowed poorland And the pine-woods roar like the surf. Here the Roman lived on the wind-barren lonely, Dark now and haunted by the moorland fowl; None comes here now […]...
31. Long Long Ago Long long ago I went through the castle of leaves Yellowing slowly in the moss And far away barnacles clung desperately to rocks in the sea Your memory better still your tender presence was there too Transparent and mine Nothing had changed but everything had aged at the same rate as my temples and My […]...
32. Clearing at Dawn The fields are chill, the sparse rain has stopped; The colours of Spring teem on every side. With leaping fish the blue pond is full; With singing thrushes the green boughs droop. The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered cheeks; The mountain grasses are bent level at the waist. By the bamboo stream […]...
33. Voices of the Air But then there comes that moment rare When, for no cause that I can find, The little voices of the air Sound above all the sea and wind. The sea and wind do then obey And sighing, sighing double notes Of double basses, content to play A droning chord for the little throats The little […]...
34. Six Significant Landscapes I An old man sits In the shadow of a pine tree In China. He sees larkspur, Blue and white, At the edge of the shadow, Move in the wind. His beard moves in the wind. The pine tree moves in the wind. Thus water flows Over weeds. II The night is of the colour […]...
35. To Sylvia Plath Sleepwalking she prepared breakfast For her still dreaming children, before Breaking fast, to satisfy her appetite No fire needed, she all-consuming flame Bravely cowered on the kitchen floor And slaked an antique thirst on vapor Laying her dream-tormented head to rest She took premature or belated leave, set Out to sea, having found no harbor […]...
36. Another barbeque tonight It rained throughout the night, a truly welcome sound That eases sleep although we barely slept – we were Distressed by other things. Today the kitchen’s centre ring, The kitchen of Anita’s dreams. It’s had a long gestation, Twenty years it’s taken just to reach this actual day (that’s in This iteration, there’s been some […]...
37. The Theory The big one went to sleep as to die and dreamed he Became a tiny one. So tiny as to have lost all substance. To have Become as theoretical as a point. Then someone said, get up, big one, you’re not doing Yourself any good. You puddle and stagnate in your weight. Best to be […]...
38. 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 […]...
39. Watching the Needleboats at San Sabba I heard their young hearts crying Loveward above the glancing oar And heard the prairie grasses sighing: No more, return no more! O hearts, O sighing grasses, Vainly your loveblown bannerets mourn! No more will the wild wind that passes Return, no more return....
40. 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 […]...