Kittens

Related poetry:

1. The Cuckoo No lyric line I ever penned The praise this parasitic bird; And what is more, I don’t intend To write a laudatory word, Since in my garden robins made A nest with eggs of dainty spot, And then a callous cuckoo laid A lone on on the lot. Of course the sillies hatched it out […]...
2. Authorship You say that father write a lot of books, but what he write I don’t Understand. He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really Make out what he meant? What nice stores, mother, you can tell us! Why can’t father Write like that, I wonder? Did he never hear from his […]...
3. Charlene-n-Booker 4ever And the old men, supervising grown grandsons, nephews, Any man a boy given this chance of making A new sidewalk outside the apartment building where Some of them live, three old men and their wives, The aging unmarrying children, and the child Who is a cousin, whose mother has sent her here Because she doesn’t […]...
4. The Mole Said he: “I’ll dive deep in the Past, And write a book of direful days When summer skies were overcast With smoke of humble hearths ablaze; When War was rampant in the land, And poor folk cowered in the night, While ruin gaped on every hand – Of ravishing and wrath I’ll write.” Ten years […]...
5. The Wicked Postman Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me, Mother dear? The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all Wet, and you don’t mind it. Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother To come home from school. What has happened […]...
6. Admire their style I’m reading fellow poets’ blogs today, A sustaining source of entertainment; I admire their style without exciting comment Or resorting to an unkind eye, simple though It is to sigh about uneasy affirmation. I hope when they read me (if they ever do) They rest as easy on my lack of finished form, The hazy, […]...
7. An Old Story (Retold in Rhyme) They threw him in a prison cell; He moaned upon his bed. And when he crept from coils of hell: “Last night you killed,” they said. “last night in drunken rage you slew A being brave with breath; A radiant soul, because of you Lies dark in death.” “last night I killed,” […]...
8. Nature's Touch In kindergarten classed Dislike they knew; And as the years went past It grew and grew; Until in maidenhood Each sought a mate, Then venom in their mood Was almost hate. The lure of love they learned And they were wed; Yet when they met each turned Away a head; Each went her waspish way […]...
9. The Barrier I must not gaze at them although Your eyes are dawning day; I must not watch you as you go Your sun-illumined way; I hear but I must never heed The fascinating note, Which, fluting like a river reed, Comes from your trembing throat; I must not see upon your face Love’s softly glowing spark; […]...
10. Pretty Words Poets make pets of pretty, docile words: I love smooth words, like gold-enamelled fish Which circle slowly with a silken swish, And tender ones, like downy-feathred birds: Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed deer in herds, Come to my hand, and playful if I wish, Or purring softly at a silver dish, Blue Persian kittens fed […]...
11. Disobedience James James Morrison Morrison Weatherby George Dupree Took great Care of his Mother, Though he was only three. James James Said to his Mother, “Mother,” he said, said he; “You must never go down To the end of the town, If you don’t go down with me.” James James Morrison’s Mother Put on a golden […]...
12. The Mysterious Cat A chant for a children’s pantomime dance, suggested by a picture painted by George Mather Richards. I saw a proud, mysterious cat, I saw a proud, mysterious cat Too proud to catch a mouse or rat- Mew, mew, mew. But catnip she would eat, and purr, But catnip she would eat, and purr. And goldfish […]...
13. Josiah Tompkins I was well known and much beloved And rich, as fortunes are reckoned In Spoon River, where I had lived and worked. That was the home for me, Though all my children had flown afar- Which is the way of Nature-all but one. The boy, who was the baby, stayed at home, To be my […]...
14. The Guppy Whales have calves, Cats have kittens, Bears have cubs, Bats have bittens, Swans have cygnets, Seals have puppies, But guppies just have little guppies....
15. 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 […]...
16. Rain and the Robin A ROBIN in the morning, In the morning early, Sang a song of warning, “There’ll be rain, there’ll be rain.” Very, very clearly From the orchard Came the gentle horning, “There’ll be rain.” But the hasty farmer Cut his hay down, Did not heed the charmer From the orchard, And the mower’s clatter Ceased at […]...
17. Post-Vacation Tristesse The Jumbo Jet has barely shuddered off The ground, and I’m depressed. My scuba mask And fins, my fly rod and beach hat Crush each other in an overhead locker Dark as the bedroom closet they’re returning to. Already the week’s good times melt Together like caramels in a hot car. My vow to “Do […]...
18. MOTIVES IF to a girl who loves us truly Her mother gives instruction duly In virtue, duty, and what not, And if she hearkens ne’er a jot, But with fresh-strengthen’d longing flies To meet our kiss that seems to burn, Caprice has just as much concerned As love in her bold enterprise. But if her mother […]...
19. Infelice Walking swiftly with a dreadful duchess, He smiled too briefly, his face was pale as sand, He jumped into a taxi when he saw me coming, Leaving my alone with a private meaning, He loves me so much, my heart is singing. Later at the Club when I rang him in the evening They said: […]...
20. The Prohibition Take heed of loving me; At least remember I forbade it thee; Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste Of breath and blood, upon thy sighs and tears, By being to thee then what to me thou wast; But so great joy our life at once outwears; Then, lest thy love by my death […]...
21. The Sceptic My Father Christmas passed away When I was barely seven. At twenty-one, alack-a-day, I lost my hope of heaven. Yet not in either lies the curse: The hell of it’s because I don’t know which loss hurt the worse My God or Santa Claus....
22. Man Child All day he lay upon the sand When summer sun was bright, And let the grains sift through his hand With infantile delight; Just like a child, so soft and fair, Though he was twenty-five – An innocent, my mother – care Had kept so long alive. Oh it is hard to bear a cross […]...
23. Poor Poet ‘A man should write to please himself,’ He proudly said. Well, see his poems on the shelf, Dusty, unread. When he came to my shop each day, So peaked and cold, I’d sneak one of his books away And say ’twas sold. And then by chance he looked below, And saw a stack Of his […]...
24. In Snow O English mother, in the ruddy glow Hugging your baby closer when outside You see the silent, soft, and cruel snow Falling again, and think what ills betide Unshelter’d creatures, your sad thoughts may go Where War and Winter now, two spectre-wolves, Hunt in the freezing vapour that involves Those Asian peaks of ice and […]...
25. Mother o' Mine If I were hanged on the highest hill, Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine! I know whose love would follow me still, Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine! If I were drowned in the deepest sea, Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine! I know whose tears would come down to me, Mother […]...
26. A Cat She had a name among the children; But no one loved though someone owned Her, locked her out of doors at bedtime And had her kittens duly drowned. In Spring, nevertheless, this cat Ate blackbirds, thrushes, nightingales, And birds of bright voice and plume and flight, As well as scraps from neighbours’ pails. I loathed […]...
27. We talked as Girls do We talked as Girls do Fond, and late We speculated fair, on every subject, but the Grave Of ours, none affair We handled Destinies, as cool As we Disposers be And God, a Quiet Party To our Authority But fondest, dwelt upon Ourself As we eventual be When Girls to Women, softly raised We occupy […]...
28. 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 […]...
29. Nellie Clark I was only eight years old; And before I grew up and knew what it meant I had no words for it, except That I was frightened and told my Mother; And that my Father got a pistol And would have killed Charlie, who was a big boy, Fifteen years old, except for his Mother. […]...
30. Marie Antoinette They told to Marie Antoinette: “The beggers at your gate Have eyes too sad for tears to wet, And for your pity wait.” But Marie only laughed and said: “My heart they will not ache: If people starve for want of bread Let them eat cake.” The Court re-echoed her bon mot; It rang around […]...
31. Old Tom The harridan who holds the inn At which I toss a pot, Is old and uglier than sin, I’m glad she knows me not. Indeed, for me it’s hard to think, Although my pow’s like snow, She was the lass so fresh and pink I courted long ago. I wronged her, yet it’s sadly true […]...
32. Talisman it is written The act of writing is Holy words are Sacred and your breath Brings out the God in them I write these words Quickly repeat them Softly to myself This talisman for you Fold this prayer Around your neck fortify Your back with these Whispers May you walk ever Loved and in love […]...
33. In My Craft Or Sullen Art In my craft or sullen art Exercised in the still night When only the moon rages And the lovers lie abed With all their griefs in their arms I labour by singing light Not for ambition or bread Or the strut and trade of charms On the ivory stages But for the common wages Of […]...
34. Aftermath I learnt to write to you in happier days, And every letter was a piece I chipped From off my heart, a fragment newly clipped From the mosaic of life; its blues and grays, Its throbbing reds, I gave to earn your praise. To make a pavement for your feet I stripped My soul for […]...
35. 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....
36. The Palace Grimy men with picks and shovels Who in darkness sweat unseen, Climb from out your lousy hovels, Build a palace for the Queen; Praise the powers that be for giving You a chance to make a living. Yet it would be better far Could you build with cosy lure Skyey tenements where are Rabbit-warrens of […]...
37. Cacoethes Scribendi If all the trees in all the woods were men; And each and every blade of grass a pen; If every leaf on every shrub and tree Turned to a sheet of foolscap; every sea Were changed to ink, and all earth’s living tribes Had nothing else to do but act as scribes, And for […]...
38. Lullaby My mother’s an expert in one thing: Sending people she loves into the other world. The little ones, the babies these She rocks, whispering or singing quietly. I can’t say What she did for my father; Whatever it was, I’m sure it was right. It’s the same thing, really, preparing a person For sleep, for […]...
39. As Soon as Fred Gets Out of Bed As soon as Fred gets out of bed, His underwear goes on his head. His mother laughs, “Don’t put it there, A head’s no place for underwear!” But near his ears, above his brains, Is where Fred’s underwear remains. At night when Fred goes back to bed, He deftly plucks it off his head. His […]...
40. Her Letter “I’m taking pen in hand this night, and hard it is for me; My poor old fingers tremble so, my hand is stiff and slow, And even with my glasses on I’m troubled sore to see. . . . You’d little know your mother, boy; you’d little, little know. You mind how brisk and bright […]...