As I lay with Head in your Lap, Camerado

Related poetry:

1. A Bronze Head Here at right of the entrance this bronze head, Human, superhuman, a bird’s round eye, Everything else withered and mummy-dead. What great tomb-haunter sweeps the distant sky (Something may linger there though all else die;) And finds there nothing to make its tetror less Hysterica passio of its own emptiness? No dark tomb-haunter once; her […]...
2. Head Against The Walls There were only a few of them In all the earth Each one thought he was alone They sang, they were right To sing But they sang the way you sack a city The way you kill yourself. Frayed moist night Shall we endure you Longer Shall we not shake Your cloacal evidence We shall […]...
3. Thought OF what I write from myself-As if that were not the resumé; Of Histories-As if such, however complete, were not less complete than the preceding poems; As if those shreds, the records of nations, could possibly be as lasting as the preceding poems; As if here were not the amount of all nations, and of […]...
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. If ever the lid gets off my head If ever the lid gets off my head And lets the brain away The fellow will go where he belonged Without a hint from me, And the world if the world be looking on Will see how far from home It is possible for sense to live The soul there all the time....
6. Here, where the Daisies fit my Head Here, where the Daisies fit my Head ‘Tis easiest to lie And every Grass that plays outside Is sorry, some, for me. Where I am not afraid to go I may confide my Flower Who was not Enemy of Me Will gentle be, to Her. Nor separate, Herself and Me By Distances become A single […]...
7. I've a Pain in my Head ‘I’ve a pain in my head’ Said the suffering Beckford; To her Doctor so dread. ‘Oh! what shall I take for’t?’ Said this Doctor so dread Whose name it was Newnham. ‘For this pain in your head Ah! What can you do Ma’am?’ Said Miss Beckford, ‘Suppose If you think there’s no risk, I take […]...
8. On Home Beaches Back, in my fifties, fatter that I was then, I step on the sand, belch down slight horror to walk A wincing pit edge, waiting for the pistol shot Laughter. Long greening waves cash themselves, foam change Sliding into Ocean’s pocket. She turns: ridicule looks down, Strappy, with faces averted, or is glare and families. […]...
9. Painted Head By dark severance the apparition head Smiles from the air a capital on no Column or a Platonic perhaps head On a canvas sky depending from nothing; Stirs up an old illusion of grandeur By tickling the instinct of heads to be Absolute and to try decapitation And to play truant from the body bush; […]...
10. As the Team's Head – Brass As the team’s head-brass flashed out on the turn The lovers disappeared into the wood. I sat among the boughs of the fallen elm That strewed the angle of the fallow, and Watched the plough narrowing a yellow square Of charlock. Every time the horses turned Instead of treading me down, the ploughman leaned Upon […]...
11. The Grave of the Hundered Head There’s a widow in sleepy Chester Who weeps for her only son; There’s a grave on the Pabeng River, A grave that the Burmans shun, And there’s Subadar Prag Tewarri Who tells how the work was done. A Snider squibbed in the jungle, Somebody laughed and fled, And the men of the First Shikaris Picked […]...
12. HUGHES' VOICE IN MY HEAD As soon as we crossed into Yorkshire Hughes’ voice assailed me, unmistakable Gravel and honey, a raw celebration of rain Like a tattered lacework window; Black glisten on roof slates, Tarmac turned to shining ice, Blusters of naked wind whipping The wavelets of shifting water To imaginary floating islets On the turbulent river Glumly he […]...
13. To hang our head ostensibly To hang our head ostensibly And subsequent, to find That such was not the posture Of our immortal mind Affords the sly presumption That in so dense a fuzz You too take Cobweb attitudes Upon a plane of Gauze!...
14. Head of a White Woman Winking She has one good bumblebee Which she leads about town On a leash of clover. It’s as big as a Saint Bernard But also extremely fragile. People want to pet its long, shaggy coat. These would be mostly whirling dervishes Out shopping for accessories. When Lily winks they understand everything, Right down to the particle […]...
15. Little Sleep's-Head Sprouting Hair In The Moonlight 1 You scream, waking from a nightmare. When I sleepwalk Into your room, and pick you up, And hold you up in the moonlight, you cling to me Hard, As if clinging could save us. I think You think I will never die, I think I exude To you the permanence of smoke or stars, […]...
16. Modern Love XXXI: This Golden Head This golden head has wit in it. I live Again, and a far higher life, near her. Some women like a young philosopher; Perchance because he is diminutive. For woman’s manly god must not exceed Proportions of the natural nursing size. Great poets and great sages draw no prize With women: but the little lap-dog […]...
17. Sonnet 148: O me! what eyes hath love put in my head O me! what eyes hath love put in my head, Which have no correspondence with true sight! Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled, That censures falsely what they see aright? If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, What means the world to say it is not so? If it be […]...
18. On The Yong Baronett Portman Dying Of An Impostume In's Head Is Death so cunning now that all her blowe Aymes at the heade? Doth now her wary Bowe Make surer worke than heertofore? The steele Slew warlike heroes onely in the heele. New found out slights, when men themselves begin To be theyr proper Fates by new found sinne. Tis cowardize to make a wound […]...
19. Since The Majority Of Me Since the majority of me Rejects the majority of you, Debating ends forwith, and we Divide. And sure of what to do We disinfect new blocks of days For our majorities to rent With unshared friends and unwalked ways, But silence too is eloquent: A silence of minorities That, unopposed at last, return Each night […]...
20. Song For The Severed Head In 'The King Of The Great Clock Tower&#039 Saddle and ride, I heard a man say, Out of Ben Bulben and Knocknarea, What says the Clock in the Great Clock Tower? All those tragic characters ride But turn from Rosses’ crawling tide, The meet’s upon the mountain-side. A slow low note and an iron bell. What brought them there so far from their […]...
21. Walking To Oak-Head Pond, And Thinking Of The Ponds I Will Visit In The Next Days And Weeks What is so utterly invisible As tomorrow? Not love, Not the wind, Not the inside of a stone. Not anything. And yet, how often I’m fooled I’m wading along In the sunlight And I’m sure I can see the fields and the ponds shining Days ahead I can see the light spilling Like a shower […]...
22. HERODIAS Daughter presenting to her Mother St. JOHN's Head in a Charger, also Painted by her self BEhold, dear Mother, who was late our Fear, Disarm’d and Harmless, I present you here; The Tongue ty’d up, that made all Jury quake, And which so often did our Greatness shake; No Terror sits upon his Awful Brow, Where Fierceness reign’d, there Calmness triumphs now; As Lovers use, he gazes on my Face, With […]...
23. Great are the Myths 1 GREAT are the myths-I too delight in them; Great are Adam and Eve-I too look back and accept them; Great the risen and fallen nations, and their poets, women, sages, inventors, rulers, warriors, and priests. Great is Liberty! great is Equality! I am their follower; Helmsmen of nations, choose your craft! where you sail, […]...
24. 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 […]...
25. Some Like Poetry Write it. Write. In ordinary ink On ordinary paper: they were given no food, They all died of hunger. “All. How many? It’s a big meadow. How much grass For each one?” Write: I don’t know. History counts its skeletons in round numbers. A thousand and one remains a thousand, As though the one had […]...
26. 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 […]...
27. 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 […]...
28. Not the Pilot NOT the pilot has charged himself to bring his ship into port, though beaten back, and many times baffled; Not the path-finder, penetrating inland, weary and long, By deserts parch’d, snows-chill’d, rivers wet, perseveres till he reaches his destination, More than I have charged myself, heeded or unheeded, to compose a free march for These […]...
29. Me Imperturbe ME imperturbe, standing at ease in Nature, Master of all, or mistress of all-aplomb in the midst of irrational things, Imbued as they-passive, receptive, silent as they, Finding my occupation, poverty, notoriety, foibles, crimes, less important than I thought; Me private, or public, or menial, or solitary-all these subordinate, (I am eternally equal with the […]...
30. Immortality Full well I trow that when I die Down drops the curtain; Another show is all my eye And Betty Martin. I know the score, and with a smile Of rueful rating, I reckon I am not worth while Perpetuating. I hope that God, if God there be Of love and glory, Will let me […]...
31. 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 […]...
32. Psalm 71 part 3 v.17-21 C. M. The aged Christian’s prayer and song. God of my childhood and my youth, The guide of all my days, I have declared thy heav’nly truth, And told thy wondrous ways. Wilt thou forsake my hoary hairs, And leave my fainting heart? Who shall sustain my sinking years, If God my strength depart? […]...
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. Veteran Sirens The ghost of Ninon would be sorry now To laugh at them, were she to see them here, So brave and so alert for learning how To fence with reason for another year. Age offers a far comelier diadem Than theirs; but anguish has no eye for grace, When time’s malicious mercy cautions them To […]...
35. 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 […]...
36. 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 […]...
37. 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....
38. The Bobolink is gone The Bobolink is gone The Rowdy of the Meadow And no one swaggers now but me The Presbyterian Birds Can now resume the Meeting He boldly interrupted that overflowing Day When supplicating mercy In a portentous way He swung upon the Decalogue And shouted let us pray...
39. Misgivings “Perhaps you’ll tire of me,” muses My love, although she’s like a great city To me, or a park that finds new Ways to wear each flounce of light And investiture of weather. Soil doesn’t tire of rain, I think, But I know what she fears: plans warp, Planes explode, topsoil gets peeled away By […]...
40. San Francisco Night Windows So hangs the hour like fruit fullblown and sweet, Our strict and desperate avatar, Despite that antique westward gulls lament Over enormous waters which retreat Weary unto the white and sensual star. Accept these images for what they are Out of the past a fragile element Of substance into accident. I would speak honestly and […]...