Clouds

Related poetry:

1. To The Whore Who Took My Poems some say we should keep personal remorse from the Poem, Stay abstract, and there is some reason in this, But jezus; Twelve poems gone and I don’t keep carbons and you have My Paintings too, my best ones; its stifling: Are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them? Why didn’t you […]...
2. These Are The Clouds These are the clouds about the fallen sun, The majesty that shuts his burning eye: The weak lay hand on what the strong has done, Till that be tumbled that was lifted high And discord follow upon unison, And all things at one common level lie. And therefore, friend, if your great race were run […]...
3. Clouds 1 Dawn. First light tearing At the rough tongues of the zinnias, At the leaves of the just born. Today it will rain. On the road Black cars are abandoned, but the clouds Ride above, their wisdom intact. They are predictions. They never matter. The jet fighters lift above the flat roofs, Black arrowheads trailing […]...
4. Joy-notes when the time comes Yield To the forces outside you Images simply Of your inner compulsions When the time comes Invite Your enemies inside you Inversions simply Of your face on the world When the time comes Die From the fears that hold you The action simply Of seceding old skins When the time comes […]...
5. Ghosts in Love “Tell me, where do ghosts in love Find their bridal veils?” “If you and I were ghosts in love We’d climb the cliffs of Mystery, Above the sea of Wails. I’d trim your gray and streaming hair With veils of Fantasy From the tree of Memory. ‘Tis there the ghosts that fall in love Find […]...
6. Some Clouds Now that I’ve unplugged the phone, No one can reach me At least for this one afternoon They will have to get by without my advice Or opinion. Now nobody else is going to call & ask in a tentative voice If I haven’t yet heard that she’s dead, That woman I once loved Nothing […]...
7. Clouds Above The Sea My father and mother, two tiny figures, Side by side, facing the clouds that move In from the Atlantic. August, ’33. The whole weight of the rain to come, the weight Of all that has fallen on their houses Gathers for a last onslaught, and yet they Hold, side by side, in the eye of […]...
8. Clouds Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow, Now tread the far South, or lift rounds of snow Up to the white moon’s hidden loveliness. Some pause in their grave wandering comradeless, And turn with profound gesture vague and slow, As who would pray good for the […]...
9. The Sky is low the Clouds are mean The Sky is low the Clouds are mean. A Travelling Flake of Snow Across a Barn or through a Rut Debates if it will go A Narrow Wind complains all Day How some one treated him Nature, like Us is sometimes caught Without her Diadem....
10. Clouds Gathering It seemed the kind of life we wanted. Wild strawberries and cream in the morning. Sunlight in every room. The two of us walking by the sea naked. Some evenings, however, we found ourselves Unsure of what comes next. Like tragic actors in a theater on fire, With birds circling over our heads, The dark […]...
11. The House Of Clouds I would build a cloudy House For my thoughts to live in; When for earth too fancy-loose And too low for Heaven! Hush! I talk my dream aloud – I build it bright to see, – I build it on the moonlit cloud, To which I looked with thee. Cloud-walls of the morning’s grey, Faced […]...
12. Gloomily the Clouds Gloomily the clouds are sailing O’er the dimly moonlit sky; Dolefully the wind is wailing; Not another sound is nigh; Only I can hear it sweeping Heathclad hill and woodland dale, And at times the nights’s sad weeping Sounds above its dying wail. Now the struggling moonbeams glimmer; Now the shadows deeper fall, Till the […]...
13. Clouds and Waves Mother, the folk who live up in the clouds call out to me- “We play from the time we wake till the day ends. We play with the golden dawn, we play with the silver moon.” I ask, “But how am I to get up to you?” They answer, “Come to the edge of the […]...
14. In the night In the night Grey heavy clouds muffled the valleys, And the peaks looked toward God alone. “O Master that movest the wind with a finger, Humble, idle, futile peaks are we. Grant that we may run swiftly across the world To huddle in worship at Thy feet.” In the morning A noise of men at […]...
15. The Clouds their Backs together laid The Clouds their Backs together laid The North begun to push The Forests galloped till they fell The Lightning played like mice The Thunder crumbled like a stuff How good to be in Tombs Where Nature’s Temper cannot reach Nor missile ever comes...
16. The livid lightnings flashed in the clouds The livid lightnings flashed in the clouds; The leaden thunders crashed. A worshipper raised his arm. “Hearken! Hearken! The voice of God!” “Not so,” said a man. “The voice of God whispers in the heart So softly That the soul pauses, Making no noise, And strives for these melodies, Distant, sighing, like faintest breath, And […]...
17. The Portent Hanging from the beam, Slowly swaying (such the law), Gaunt the shadow on the green, Shenandoah! The cut is on the crown (Lo, John Brown), And the stabs shall heal no more. Hidden in the cap Is the anguish none can draw; So your future veils its face, Shenandoah! But the streaming beard is shown […]...
18. Bonnie Dundee in 1878 Oh, Bonnie Dundee! I will sing in thy praise A few but true simple lays, Regarding some of your beauties of the present day And virtually speaking, there’s none can them gainsay; There’s no other town I know of with you can compare For spinning mills and lasses fair, And for stately buildings there’s none […]...
19. THE DEATH OF ART “Reading well is one of the great pleasures that solitude can afford you.” -critic Harold Bloom, who first called slam poetry “the death of art.” I am not a poet. I want to be rich and buy things for my family. Besides, I am sort of popular and can honestly say I’ve had a great […]...
20. The Incarnate One The windless northern surge, the sea-gull’s scream, And Calvin’s kirk crowning the barren brae. I think of Giotto the Tuscan shepherd’s dream, Christ, man and creature in their inner day. How could our race betray The Image, and the Incarnate One unmake Who chose this form and fashion for our sake? The Word made flesh […]...
21. A Message to Commissioner Li At Zizhou From ten thousand valleys the trees touch heaven; On a thousand peaks cuckoos are calling; And, after a night of mountain rain, From each summit come hundreds of silken cascades. …If girls are asked in tribute the fibre they weave, Or farmers quarrel over taro fields, Preside as wisely as Wenweng did…. Is fame to […]...
22. Judson Stoddard On a mountain top above the clouds That streamed like a sea below me I said that peak is the thought of Budda, And that one is the prayer of Jesus, And this one is the dream of Plato, And that one there the song of Dante, And this is Kant and this is Newton, […]...
23. Ingrateful Beauty Threatened Know Celia, since thou art so proud, ‘Twas I that gave thee thy renown; Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd Of common beauties, liv’d unknown, Had not my verse exhal’d thy name, And with it imp’d the wings of fame. That killing power is none of thine, I gave it to thy voice, and eyes; […]...
24. Waves I saw a tiny God Sitting Under a bright blue umbrella That had white tassels And forked ribs of gold. Below him His little world Lay open to the sun. The shadow of His hat Lay upon a city. When he stretched forth His hand A lake became a dark tremble. When he kicked up […]...
25. Know, Celia, Since Thou Art So Proud Know, Celia, since thou art so proud, ‘Twas I that gave thee thy renown. Thou hadst in the forgotten crowd Of common beauties lived unknown Had not my verse extolled thy name, And with it imped the wings of Fame. That killing power is none of thine; I gave it to thy voice and eyes. […]...
26. Return A little too abstract, a little too wise, It is time for us to kiss the earth again, It is time to let the leaves rain from the skies, Let the rich life run to the roots again. I will go to the lovely Sur Rivers And dip my arms in them up to the […]...
27. The Martyr Poets did not tell The Martyr Poets did not tell But wrought their Pang in syllable That when their mortal name be numb Their mortal fate encourage Some The Martyr Painters never spoke Bequeathing rather to their Work That when their conscious fingers cease Some seek in Art the Art of Peace...
28. 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 […]...
29. Ariste Let ancient stories round the painter’s art, Who stole from many a maid his Venus’ charms, Till warm devotion fired each gazer’s heart And every bosom bounded with alarms. He culled the beauties of his native isle, From some the blush of beauty’s vermeil dyes, From some the lovely look, the winning smile, From some […]...
30. John Horace Burleson I won the prize essay at school Here in the village, And published a novel before I was twenty-five. I went to the city for themes and to enrich my art; There married the banker’s daughter, And later became president of the bank- Always looking forward to some leisure To write an epic novel of […]...
31. Albert Einstein To Archibald Macleish I should have been a plumber fixing drains. And mending pure white bathtubs for the great Diogenes (who scorned all lies, all liars, and all tyrannies), And then, perhaps, he would bestow on me majesty! (O modesty aside, forgive my fallen pride, O hidden majesty, The lamp, the lantern, the lucid light he sought for […]...
32. The Benefactors Of The Little Box We’ll return the little box Into the arms Of her inconspicuously honest properties We won’t do anything Against her will We’ll simply take her apart We’ll crucify her On her own cross Piece her bloated emptiness And let ooze All the blue cosmic blood she gathered We’ll sweet her clean of stars And anti-stars And […]...
33. Clothes chapter X And the weaver said, “Speak to us of Clothes.” And he answered: Your clothes conceal much of your beauty, yet they hide not the unbeautiful. And though you seek in garments the freedom of privacy you may find in them a harness and a chain. Would that you could meet the sun and the wind […]...
34. The Summit Redwood Only stand high a long enough time your lightning will come; that is what blunts the peaks of redwoods; But this old tower of life on the hilltop has taken it more than twice a century, this knows in every Cell the salty and the burning taste, the shudder and the voice. The fire from […]...
35. Thomas Bailey Aldrich I BIRTHDAY VERSES Dear Aldrich, now November’s mellow days Have brought another Festa round to you, You can’t refuse a loving-cup of praise From friends the fleeting years have bound to you. Here come your Marjorie Daw, your dear Bad Boy, Prudence, and Judith the Bethulian, And many more, to wish you birthday joy, And […]...
36. Daybreak In Alabama When I get to be a composer I’m gonna write me some music about Daybreak in Alabama And I’m gonna put the purtiest songs in it Rising out of the ground like a swamp mist And falling out of heaven like soft dew. I’m gonna put some tall tall trees in it And the scent […]...
37. Room 4: The Painter Chap He gives me such a bold and curious look, That young American across the way, As if he’d like to put me in a book (Fancies himself a poet, so they say.) Ah well! He’ll make no “document” of me. I lock my door. Ha! ha! Now none shall see. . . . Pictures, just […]...
38. Poeta Fit, Non Nascitur “How shall I be a poet? How shall I write in rhyme? You told me once the very wish Partook of the sublime: Then tell me how. Don’t put me off With your ‘another time’.” The old man smiled to see him, To hear his sudden sally; He liked the lad to speak his mind […]...
39. Circumstantial Evidence She does not mind a good cigar (The kind, that is, I smoke); She thinks all men quite stupid are, (But laughs whene’er I joke). She says she does not care for verse (But praises all I write); She says that punning is a curse, (But then mine are so bright!) She does not like […]...
40. The Travelling Post Office The roving breezes come and go, the reed-beds sweep and sway, The sleepy river murmers low, and loiters on its way, It is the land of lots o’time along the Castlereagh. . . .. . . . . The old man’s son had left the farm, he found it full and slow, He drifted to […]...