An Epicure

Related poetry:

1. L'Envoi Ever in the ebb and flow Of my dreams that come and go, Reader, I have you in mind, Humbly hoping you will find In my verse a gleam that’s true To the dreams that live in you. Though my lines I link with rhyme I scarce deem them worth a dime; Nay, I think […]...
2. Lines To Be Embroidered On A Bib OR The Child Is Father Of The Man, But Not For Quite A While So Thomas Edison Never drank his medicine; So Blackstone and Hoyle Refused cod-liver oil; So Sir Thomas Malory Never heard of a calory; So the Earl of Lennox Murdered Rizzio without the aid of vitamins or calisthenox; So Socrates and Plato […]...
3. Bag Of Mice I dreamt your suicide note Was scrawled in pencil on a brown paperbag, & in the bag were six baby mice. The bag Opened into darkness, Smoldering From the top down. The mice, Huddled at the bottom, scurried the bag Across a shorn field. I stood over it & as the burning reached each carbon […]...
4. My Dreams, My Works, Must Wait Till After Hell I hold my honey and I store my bread In little jars and cabinets of my will. I label clearly, and each latch and lid I bid, Be firm till I return from hell. I am very hungry. I am incomplete. And none can give me any word but Wait, The puny light. I keep […]...
5. Farm Implements and Rutabagas in a Landscape The first of the undecoded messages read: “Popeye sits In thunder, Unthought of. From that shoebox of an apartment, From livid curtain’s hue, a tangram emerges: a country.” Meanwhile the Sea Hag was relaxing on a green couch: “How Pleasant To spend one’s vacation en la casa de Popeye,” she Scratched Her cleft chin’s solitary […]...
6. WINDSONG I drowse and dream in this sleeping house Fynbos the cat purring by the curtain Suriya the sun god sharing the garden Where joss sticks burn and my nostrils quiver At the echo of Japanese songs, long ago. In the breaking day I kiss your lips And taste the tongue of your waking shadow....
7. Here's to the Mice! (Written with the hope that the socialists might yet dethrone Kaiser and Czar.) Here’s to the mice that scare the lions, Creeping into their cages. Here’s to the fairy mice that bite The elephants fat and wise: Hidden in the hay-pile while the elephant thunder rages. Here’s to the scurrying, timid mice Through whom the […]...
8. About My Poetry I have no silver-saddled horse to ride, No inheritance to live on, Neither riches no real-estate A pot of honey is all I own. A pot of honey red as fire! My honey is my everything. I guard My riches and my real-estate my honey pot, I mean From pests of every species, Brother, just […]...
9. THE CAPTIVE BEE; OR, THE LITTLE FILCHER As Julia once a-slumb’ring lay, It chanced a bee did fly that way, After a dew, or dew-like shower, To tipple freely in a flower; For some rich flower, he took the lip Of Julia, and began to sip; But when he felt he suck’d from thence Honey, and in the quintessence, He drank so […]...
10. A Negro Love Song Seen my lady home las’ night, Jump back, honey, jump back. Hel’ huh han’ an’ sque’z it tight, Jump back, honey, jump back. Hyeahd huh sigh a little sigh, Seen a light gleam f’om huh eye, An’ a smile go flittin’ by Jump back, honey, jump back. Hyeahd de win’ blow thoo de pine, Jump […]...
11. Brother And Sister “SISTER, sister, go to bed! Go and rest your weary head.” Thus the prudent brother said. “Do you want a battered hide, Or scratches to your face applied?” Thus his sister calm replied. “Sister, do not raise my wrath. I’d make you into mutton broth As easily as kill a moth” The sister raised her […]...
12. Greedy Richard “I think I want some pies this morning,” Said Dick, stretching himself and yawning; So down he threw his slate and books, And saunter’d to the pastry-cook’s. And there he cast his greedy eyes Round on the jellies and the pies, So to select, with anxious care, The very nicest that was there. At last […]...
13. Gipsy Love The gipsy tents are on the down, The gipsy girls are here; And it’s O to be off and away from the town With a gipsy for my dear! We’d make our bed in the bracken With the lark for a chambermaid; The lark would sing us awake in the morning, Singing above our head. […]...
14. The Oblation Ask nothing more of me, sweet; All I can give you I give. Heart of my heart, were it more, More would be laid at your feet: Love that should help you to live, Song that should spur you to soar. All things were nothing to give Once to have sense of you more, Touch […]...
15. The Skies can't keep their secret! The Skies can’t keep their secret! They tell it to the Hills The Hills just tell the Orchards And they the Daffodils! A Bird by chance that goes that way Soft overhears the whole If I should bribe the little Bird Who knows but she would tell? I think I won’t however It’s finer not […]...
16. Good-night MANY ways to spell good night. Fireworks at a pier on the Fourth of July spell it with red wheels and yellow spokes. They fizz in the air, touch the water and quit. Rockets make a trajectory of gold-and-blue and then go out. Railroad trains at night spell with a smokestack mushrooming a white pillar. […]...
17. White Ash THERE is a woman on Michigan Boulevard keeps a parrot and goldfish and two white mice. She used to keep a houseful of girls in kimonos and three pushbuttons on the front door. Now she is alone with a parrot and goldfish and two white mice… but these are some of her thoughts: The love […]...
18. Drink of This Cup Drink of this cup; you’ll find there’s a spell in Its every drop ‘gainst the ills of mortality; Talk of the cordial that sparkled for Helen; Her cup was a fiction, but this is reality. Would you forget the dark world we are in Just taste of the bubble that gleams on the top of […]...
19. Cat The fat cat on the mat May seem to dream Of nice mice that suffice For him, or cream; But he free, maybe, Walks in thought Unbowed, proud, where loud Roared and fought His kin, lean and slim, Or deep in den In the East feasted on beasts And tender men. The giant lion with […]...
20. After the Earthquake After the first astounding rush, After the weeks at the lake, The crystal, the clouds, the water lapping the rocks, The snow breaking under our boots like skin, & the long mornings in bed. . . After the tangos in the kitchen, & our eyes fixed on each other at dinner, As if we would […]...
21. Strawberries again today The red berries wreak an awesome spell that some would dread; Others, weak and soulless, must succumb, they treasure with the eyes The plump and soulful fruit, the shape inspires a heady heart that beats Aright as if in love, and love it is that drives the buds describing taste. You treasure with the tongue, […]...
22. Valentine Too high, too high to pluck My heart shall swing. A fruit no bee shall suck, No wasp shall sting. If on some night of cold It falls to ground In apple-leaves of gold I’ll wrap it round. And I shall seal it up With spice and salt, In a carven silver cup, In a […]...
23. THE CRUEL MAID AND, cruel maid, because I see You scornful of my love, and me, I’ll trouble you no more, but go My way, where you shall never know What is become of me; there I Will find me out a path to die, Or learn some way how to forget You and your name for ever; […]...
24. The Old Gumbie Cat I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots; Her coat is of the tabby kind, with tiger stripes and leopard spots. All day she sits upon the stair or on the steps or on the mat; She sits and sits and sits and sits and that’s what makes a Gumbie Cat! But […]...
25. Children Selecting Books In A Library With beasts and gods, above, the wall is bright. The child’s head, bent to the book-colored shelves, Is slow and sidelong and food-gathering, Moving in blind grace… yet from the mural, Care The grey-eyed one, fishing the morning mist, Seizes the baby hero by the hair And whispers, in the tongue of gods and children, […]...
26. A Memory of the Players in a Mirror at Midnight They mouth love’s language. Gnash The thirteen teeth Your lean jaws grin with. Lash Your itch and quailing, nude greed of the flesh. Love’s breath in you is stale, worded or sung, As sour as cat’s breath, Harsh of tongue. This grey that stares Lies not, stark skin and bone. Leave greasy lips their kissing. […]...
27. Bessie's Boil Says I to my Missis: “Ba goom, lass! you’ve something I see, on your mind.” Says she: “You are right, Sam, I’ve something. It ‘appens it’s on me be’ind. A Boil as ‘ud make Job jealous. It ‘urts me no end when I sit.” Says I: “Go to ‘ospittel, Missis. They might ‘ave to coot […]...
28. The poem The poem That I chose for you Is simple, As are all my singing poems. It has the trace of a veil, A little balsam, And a taste of the honey Of lies. There is also The coming end of summer When heat scorches the meadow And the quick waters Of the river Cease to […]...
29. The Lung Fish The Honorable Ardleigh Wyse Was every fisherman’s despair; He caught his fish on floating flies, In fact he caught them in the air, And wet-fly men good sports, perhaps He called “those chuck-and-chance-it chaps”. And then the Fates that sometimes play A joke on such as me and you Deported him up Queensland way To […]...
30. Breakfast Of all the meals that glad my day My morning one’s the best; Purveyed me on a silver tray, Immaculately dressed. I rouse me when the dawn is bright; I leap into the sea, Returning with a rare delight To honey, toast and tea. My appetite was razor edged When I was in my prime; […]...
31. TO HIS PECULIAR FRIEND, MR JOHN WICKS Since shed or cottage I have none, I sing the more, that thou hast one; To whose glad threshold, and free door I may a Poet come, though poor; And eat with thee a savoury bit, Paying but common thanks for it. Yet should I chance, my Wicks, to see An over-leaven look in thee, […]...
32. THE PRESENT; OR, THE BAG OF THE BEE Fly to my mistress, pretty pilfering bee, And say thou bring’st this honey-bag from me; When on her lip thou hast thy sweet dew placed, Mark if her tongue but slyly steal a taste; If so, we live; if not, with mournful hum, Toll forth my death; next, to my burial come....
33. Dedication To W. R. B. And so, to you, who always were Perseus, D’Artagnan, Lancelot To me, I give these weedy rhymes In memory of earlier times. Now all those careless days are not. Of all my heroes, you endure. Words are such silly things! too rough, Too smooth, they boil up or congeal, And neither […]...
34. The Lure Of Little Voices There’s a cry from out the loneliness oh, listen, Honey, listen! Do you hear it, do you fear it, you’re a-holding of me so? You’re a-sobbing in your sleep, dear, and your lashes, how they glisten Do you hear the Little Voices all a-begging me to go? All a-begging me to leave you. Day and […]...
35. The Jackfruit I am like a jackfruit on the tree. To taste you must plug me quick, while fresh: The skin rough, the pulp thick, yes, But oh, I warn you against touching The rich juice will gush and stain your hands...
36. LoveSpell: Against Endings All the endings in my life Rise up against me Like that sea of troubles Shakespeare mixed With metaphors; Like Vikings in their boats Singing Wagner, Like witches Burning at The stake I submit To my fate. I know beginnings, Their sweetnesses, And endings, Their bitternesses But I do not know Continuance I do not […]...
37. Symbolically concerned dodona oak (the tree of life) sheds leaves Nutritious-which feeds blood and mind today There’s not a jot (from which the present cleaves) Can be dispensed with – all life’s array From first to last has leaf-mould in its clay Eve is that apple she took her bite from The best and worst can’t thwart […]...
38. The Agony Philosophers have measur’d mountains, Fathom’d the depths of the seas, of states, and kings, Walk’d with a staff to heav’n, and traced fountains: But there are two vast, spacious things, The which to measure it doth more behove: Yet few there are that sound them; Sin and Love. Who would know SIn, let him repair […]...
39. Day of These Days Such a morning it is when love Leans through geranium windows And calls with a cockerel’s tongue. When red-haired girls scamper like roses Over the rain-green grass; And the sun drips honey. When hedgerows grow venerable, Berries dry black as blood, And holes suck in their bees. Such a morning it is when mice Run […]...
40. Anorexic Flesh is heretic. My body is a witch. I am burning it. Yes I am torching Ber curves and paps and wiles. They scorch in my self denials. How she meshed my head In the half-truths Of her fevers Till I renounced Milk and honey And the taste of lunch. I vomited Her hungers. Now […]...