All Poems

/ page 112 of 3210 /

Order by :

1
. . .
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
. . .
3210

No Snake

© Annie Finch

Inside my Eden I can find no snake.There's not one I could look to and believe,obey and then be ruined by and leavebecause of, bearing children and an ache.

The Menstrual Hut

© Annie Finch

How can I listen to the moon?Your blood will listen, like a charm.

When I cut words you never may have saidinto fresh patterns, pierced in place with pins,ready to hold them down with my own thread,they change and twist sometimes, their color spinsloose, and your spider generositylends them from language that will never befree of you after all

Ghazal For A Poetess

© Annie Finch

Many the nights that have passed,But I rememberThe river of pearls at FezAnd Seomar whom I loved.

Fragment in Imitation of Wordsworth

© Fanshawe Catherine Maria

There is a river clear and fair, 'Tis neither broad nor narrow;It winds a little here and there --It winds about like any hare;And then it takes as straight a courseAs on the turnpike road a horse, Or through the air an arrow

The Puff-adder

© Fairbridge Kingsley

Here where the grey rhenoster clothes the hill, Drowsing beside a boulder in the sun,Slumbrous-inert, so gloomy and so still, On the warm steep where aimless sheep-paths run,A short thick length of chevron-pattern's skin, A wide flat head so lazy on the sand,Unblinking eyes that warn of power within, Lies he, -- the limbless terror of the land

Magwere, Who Waits Wondering

© Fairbridge Kingsley

INear the edge of the big swamp where cane rats live,Grew Magwere the mealie.

Burial

© Fairbridge Kingsley

Among the Manyika, a dead infant is buried by its Mother without a ceremony.

The Women of the West

© George Essex Evans

They left the vine-wreathed cottage and the mansion on the hill,The houses in the busy streets where life is never still,The pleasures of the city, and the friends they cherished best:For love they faced the wilderness -- the Women of the West

To a Very Young Lady

© Sir George Etherege

To a Lady, Asking him how Long he would Love her

© Sir George Etherege

It is not, Celia, in our power To say how long our love will last;It may be we within this hour May lose those joys we now do taste:The blessed, that immortal be,From change in love are only free.

Song from Love in a Tub

© Sir George Etherege

If she be not as kind as fair, But peevish and unhandy,Leave her, she's only worth the care Of some spruce Jack-a-dandy

Ben Bolt

© English Thomas Dunn

Don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt -- Sweet Alice whose hair was so brown,Who wept with delight when you gave her a smile, And trembled with fear at your frown?In the old church-yard in the valley, Ben Bolt, In a corner obscure and alone,They have fitted a slab of the granite so grey, And Alice lies under the stone

Hymn: Sung at the Completion of the Concord Monument, April 19, 1836

© Ralph Waldo Emerson

By the rude bridge that arched the flood, Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world.

Written with a Pencil in Darfield Churchyard

Man draws his fleeting breathIn doubt and fear,Though life for ever blooms,And smiling ev'n on tombs,Bids beauty say to death,"What dost thou here?"

Song

Child, is thy father dead? Father is gone!Why did they tax his bread? God's will be done!Mother has sold her bed;Better to die than wed!Where shall she lay her head? Home we have none!

Epigram

Companionship in toil or sorrow Makes every man a brother:Till we have work'd or wept together We do not know each other.

Written with a Diamond on her Window at Woodstock

© Elizabeth I

Much suspected by me,Nothing proved can be,Quoth Elizabeth prisoner.

Written on a Wall at Woodstock

© Elizabeth I

Oh Fortune, thy wresting wavering stateHath fraught with cares my troubled wit,Whose witness this present prison lateCould bear, where once was joy's loan quit