When Bryan Speaks

Related poetry:

1. PROXIMITY OF THE BELOVED ONE I THINK of thee, whene’er the sun his beams O’er ocean flings; I think of thee, whene’er the moonlight gleams In silv’ry springs. I see thee, when upon the distant ridge The dust awakes; At midnight’s hour, when on the fragile bridge The wanderer quakes. I hear thee, when yon billows rise on high, With […]...
2. Any Man Speaks I, after difficult entry through my mother’s blood And stumbling childhood (hitting my head against the world); I, intricate, easily unshipped, untracked, unaligned; Cut off in my communications; stammering; speaking A dialect shared by you, but not you and you; I, strangely undeft, bereft; I searching always For my lost rib (clothed in laughter yet […]...
3. THE MAIDEN SPEAKS How grave thou loookest, loved one! wherefore so? Thy marble image seems a type of thee; Like it, no sign of life thou giv’st to me; Compared with thee, the stone appears to glow. Behind his shield in ambush lurks the foe, The friend’s brow all-unruffled we should see. I seek thee, but thou seek’st […]...
4. Simon the Cyrenian Speaks He never spoke a word to me, And yet He called my name; He never gave a sign to me, And yet I knew and came. At first I said, “I will not bear His cross upon my back; He only seeks to place it there Because my skin is black.” But He was dying […]...
5. The Negro Speaks Of Rivers I’ve known rivers: I’ve known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human blood in human veins. My soul has grown deep like the rivers. I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young. I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep. I looked upon the […]...
6. Queen Elizabeth Speaks My hands were stained with blood, my heart was Proud and cold, My soul is black with shame. . . but I gave Shakespeare gold. So after aeons of flame, I may, by grace of God, Rise up to kiss the dust that Shakespeare’s feet have trod....
7. 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 […]...
8. Clock-O'-Clay In the cowslip pips I lie, Hidden from the buzzing fly, While green grass beneath me lies, Pearled with dew like fishes’ eyes, Here I lie, a clock-o’-clay, Waiting for the time o’ day. While the forest quakes surprise, And the wild wind sobs and sighs, My home rocks as like to fall, On its […]...
9. Jefferson Howard My valiant fight! For I call it valiant, With my father’s beliefs from old Virginia: Hating slavery, but no less war. I, full of spirit, audacity, courage Thrown into life here in Spoon River, With its dominant forces drawn from New England, Republicans, Calvinists, merchants, bankers, Hating me, yet fearing my arm. With wife and […]...
10. Spring Pools These pools that, though in forests, still reflect The total sky almost without defect, And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver, Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone, And yet not out by any brook or river, But up by roots to bring dark foliage on. The trees that have it […]...
11. The Fairy Bridal-Hymn [This is the hymn to Eleanor, daughter of Mab and a golden drone, sung by the Locust choir when the fairy child marries her God, the yellow rose] This is a song to the white-armed one Cold in the breast as the frost-wrapped Spring, Whose feet are slow on the hills of life, Whose round […]...
12. The Wind that Shakes the Barley There’s music in my heart all day, I hear it late and early, It comes from fields are far away, The wind that shakes the barley. Above the uplands drenched with dew The sky hangs soft and pearly, An emerald world is listening to The wind that shakes the barley. Above the bluest mountain crest […]...
13. Her face was in a bed of hair Her face was in a bed of hair, Like flowers in a plot Her hand was whiter than the sperm That feeds the sacred light. Her tongue more tender than the tune That totters in the leaves Who hears may be incredulous, Who witnesses, believes....
14. Epic I have lived in important places, times When great events were decided, who owned That half a rood of rock, a no-man’s land Surrounded by our pitchfork-armed claims. I heard the Duffys shouting “Damn your soul” And old McCabe stripped to the waist, seen Step the plot defying blue cast-steel- “Here is the march along […]...
15. Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks I am the blossom pressed in a book, Found again after two hundred years. . . . I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper. . . . When the young girl who starves Sits down to a table She will sit beside me. . . . I am food on the prisoner’s plate. […]...
16. I worked for chaff and earning Wheat I worked for chaff and earning Wheat Was haughty and betrayed. What right had Fields to arbitrate In matters ratified? I tasted Wheat and hated Chaff And thanked the ample friend Wisdom is more becoming viewed At distance than at hand....
17. Honor Among Scamps We are the smirched. Queen Honor is the spotless. We slept thro’ wars where Honor could not sleep. We were faint-hearted. Honor was full-valiant. We kept a silence Honor could not keep. Yet this late day we make a song to praise her. We, codeless, will yet vindicate her code. She who was mighty, walks […]...
18. An Antiquated Tree An Antiquated Tree Is cherished of the Crow Because that Junior Foliage is disrespectful now To venerable Birds Whose Corporation Coat Would decorate Oblivion’s Remotest Consulate....
19. Letter To N. Y For Louise Crane In your next letter I wish you’d say Where you are going and what you are doing; How are the plays and after the plays What other pleasures you’re pursuing: Taking cabs in the middle of the night, Driving as if to save your soul Where the road gose round and round […]...
20. The Flower-Fed Buffaloes THE flower-fed buffaloes of the spring In the days of long ago, Ranged where the locomotives sing And the prarie flowers lie low: The tossing, blooming, perfumed grass Is swept away by wheat, Wheels and wheels and wheels spin by In the spring that still is sweet. But the flower-fed buffaloes of the spring Left […]...
21. Beginning The moon drops one or two feathers into the fiels. The dark wheat listens. Be still. Now. There they are, the moon’s young, trying Their wings. Between trees, a slender woman lifts up the lovely shadow Of her face, and now she steps into the air, now she is gone Wholly, into the air. I […]...
22. Convention (To Grandma) Convention will fail us, grandma dear One of these days, as another birthday is drawing near I hope I can manage with a proper wish On something you no longer cherish And if I can’t help wishing you A happy birthday anyway Just look at me in the eyes And see what I […]...
23. The best days of my life What is it about Bryan Adams and his song ‘Summer of 69’? Why do the lyrics linger? Was it 90° in the shade and the harbinger of the end Of the golden weather, or the impending closure Of a glorious decade? He should have called it ‘The best days of my life’, it would have […]...
24. Je Suis une table It has happened suddenly, By surprise, in an arbor, Or while drinking good coffee, After speaking, or before, That I dumbly inhabit A density; in language, There is nothing to stop it, For nothing retains an edge. Simple ignorance presents, Later, words for a function, But it is common pretense Of speech, by a convention, […]...
25. The Voice Where is the distant voice That speaks like my soul? Buried beneath daylight’s clamor Gold and the seasons Beneath groaning streets And the ferment of cities In my grave of care And blond laughter In what bare tomb must I lie To summon the voice That speaks like my soul?...
26. There is another sky There is another sky, Ever serene and fair, And there is another sunshine, Though it be darkness there; Never mind faded forests, Austin, Never mind silent fields – Here is a little forest, Whose leaf is ever green; Here is a brighter garden, Where not a frost has been; In its unfading flowers I hear […]...
27. 'Fall, leaves, fall&#039 Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away; Lengthen night and shorten day; Every leaf speaks bliss to me Fluttering from the autumn tree. I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow; I shall sing when night’s decay Ushers in a drearier day....
28. 500. Song-Craigieburn Wood (Second Version) SWEET fa’s the eve on Craigieburn, And blythe awakes the morrow; But a’ the pride o’ Spring’s return Can yield me nocht but sorrow. I see the flowers and spreading trees, I hear the wild birds singing; But what a weary wight can please, And Care his bosom wringing! Fain, fain would I my griefs […]...
29. Love's Vicissitudes AS Love and Hope together Walk by me for a while, Link-armed the ways they travel For many a pleasant mile – Link-armed and dumb they travel, They sing not, but they smile. Hope leaving, Love commences To practise on the lute; And as he sings and travels With lingering, laggard foot, Despair plays obligato […]...
30. Why I Am a Liberal “Why?” Because all I haply can and do, All that I am now, all I hope to be, Whence comes it save from fortune setting free Body and soul the purpose to pursue, God traced for both? If fetters, not a few, Of prejudice, convention, fall from me, These shall I bid men each in […]...
31. St. Valentine's Day The South is a dream of flowers With a jewel for sky and sea, Rose-crowns for the dancing hours, Gold fruits upon every tree; But cold from the North The wind blows forth That blows my love to me. The stars in the South are gold Like lamps between sky and sea; The flowers that […]...
32. Joy Let a joy keep you. Reach out your hands And take it when it runs by, As the Apache dancer Clutches his woman. I have seen them Live long and laugh loud, Sent on singing, singing, Smashed to the heart Under the ribs With a terrible love. Joy always, Joy everywhere Let joy kill you! […]...
33. The Bombardment Slowly, without force, the rain drops into the City. It stops a moment On the carved head of Saint John, then slides on again, slipping And trickling Over his stone cloak. It splashes from the lead conduit Of a gargoyle, And falls from it in turmoil on the stones in the Cathedral square. Where are […]...
34. A Farmhouse on the Wei River In the slant of the sun on the country-side, Cattle and sheep trail home along the lane; And a rugged old man in a thatch door Leans on a staff and thinks of his son, the herdboy. There are whirring pheasants, full wheat-ears, Silk-worms asleep, pared mulberry-leaves. And the farmers, returning with hoes on their […]...
35. Poppies on the Wheat Along Ancona’s hills the shimmering heat, A tropic tide of air with ebb and flow Bathes all the fields of wheat until they glow Like flashing seas of green, which toss and beat Around the vines. The poppies lithe and fleet Seem running, fiery torchmen, to and fro To mark the shore. The farmer does […]...
36. From A German War Primer AMONGST THE HIGHLY PLACED It is considered low to talk about food. The fact is: they have Already eaten. The lowly must leave this earth Without having tasted Any good meat. For wondering where they come from and Where they are going The fine evenings find them Too exhausted. They have not yet seen The […]...
37. Sorry Please forgive us should You find this insolent Or see no tears we shed after the latest trick of Yours But writhing inside, we have been guessing the motive Eeach time one disaster rallies against another; Guess we should know better that we should know better Dumbstruck by quakes and tsunamis we wish to arrive […]...
38. Song of the Wheat We have sung the song of the droving days, Of the march of the travelling sheep; By silent stages and lonely ways Thin, white battalions creep. But the man who now by the land would thrive Must his spurs to a plough-share beat. Is there ever a man in the world alive To sing the […]...
39. The Harvest Sun on the mountain, Shade in the valley, Ripple and lightness Leaping along the world, Sun, like a gold sword Plucked from the scabbard, Striking the wheat-fields, Splendid and lusty, Close-standing, full-headed, Toppling with plenty; Shade, like a buckler Kindly and ample, Sweeping the wheat-fields Darkening and tossing; There on the world-rim Winds break and […]...
40. Lover's Gifts XLVII: The Road Is The road is my wedded companion. She speaks to me under my feet all Day, she sings to my dreams all night. My meeting with her had no beginning, it begins endlessly at Each daybreak, renewing its summer in fresh flowers and songs, and Her every new kiss is the first kiss to me. The […]...