All Poems

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3210

On a Wife

© Grose Francis

My dame and I, full twenty years,Liv'd man and wife together;I could no longer keep her here,She's gone the Lord knows whither

I, with whose colours Myra dress'd her head, I, that ware posies of her own hand-making,I, that mine own name in the chimneys read By Myra finely wrought ere I was waking: Must I look on, in hope time coming may With change bring back my turn again to play?

I, that on Sunday at the church-stile found A garland sweet, with true-love knots in flowers,Which I to wear about mine arm was bound, That each of us might know that all was ours: Must I now lead an idle life in wishes, And follow Cupid for his loaves and fishes?

I, that did wear the ring her mother left, I, for whose love she gloried to be blamed,I, with whose eyes her eyes committed theft, I, who did make her blush when I was named: Must I lose ring, flowers, blush, theft, and go naked, Watching with sighs till dead love be awaked?

I, that, when drowsy Argus fell asleep, Like jealousy o'erwatched with desire,Was even warned modesty to keep, While her breath, speaking, kindled Nature's fire: Must I look on a-cold, while others warm them? Do Vulcan's brothers in such fine nets arm them?

Was it for this that I might Myra see Washing the water with her beauties white?Yet would she never write her love to me

Into Battle

© Grenfell Julian

The naked earth is warm with Spring,And with green grass and bursting treesLeans to the sun's gaze glorying,And quivers in the sunny breeze;And life is Colour and Warmth and Light,And a striving evermore for these;And he is dead who will not fight,And who dies fighting has increase

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content

© Robert Greene

Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content; The quiet mind is richer than a crown;Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent; The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown:Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss

Menaphon: Sephesta's Song to her Child

© Robert Greene

The Years

© Greene Richard

For Cyril Pine

Whaler

© Greene Richard

Great-grandfather, whaler out of Nantucket,the harder sort who threw the harpoon, drew warm blood,made huge death on the open sea.

Utopia

© Greene Richard

An immense acreage of solitude

Philosophers

© Greene Richard

Lonely outposts of the mindWhere armistice is undeclared,And men in ragged putteesKeep watch over the islandsClutching spindly riflesAnd their long rusted swords

Palliative Care

© Greene Richard

The journey goes past healing to placeslike this, where Demerol and morphineseparate the last of our consciousnessfrom a body shrinking away to pain

Pachelbel’s Canon

© Greene Richard

Is there a word or the fading of a noteas it leaves the string and nothing follows

Over the Border

© Greene Richard

II. Austin

On Sherbourne Street

© Greene Richard

I am at home in a high-risewhere at night the voice of being humanis a siren blare or a drunk crying fucksomething or other on Sherbourne Street

Extinction

© Greene Richard

Motion within motion,Deep movement in the darkest waters:It is the primal wit in the sea's heart,This creature that journeys out its yearsAnd propagates its simple appetitesAt the ocean's floor

At the College

Serpentine, the path unwinds its innocencefrom building to building in flickering shadewhere my students feed lazy raccoons muffins

What's the Matter with Love

© Green Lil

You got me feeling sadThe worst feelingI ever had

How Can I Go on

© Green Lil

I'm so sorry you heardI don't know what to doI'm sorry for the timeI made you blue

To Arthur Edmonds

Geranium, houseleek, laid in oblong bedsOn the trim grass. The daisies' leprous stainIs fresh. Each night the daisies burst again,Though every day the gardener crops their heads.