All Poems
/ page 124 of 3210 /
Anacreontics
© Abraham Cowley
The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,And drinks, and gapes for drink again
Union Station
© Couture Dani
I cannot love you all and I won't.The shoulder knows the will of the heart.The clam-soft give. The crack of the shell.
midnight grocery shopping after watching days and days of viking week on the history channel
© Couture Dani
grocery cartswould not make good long boats:too many holes
Fracture
© Couture Dani
There are things my body is not telling me:late nights and friends I'll never meet
To the Hills!
© Cory Adela Florence Nicolson
'Tis eight miles out, and eight miles in,Just at the break of morn.'Tis ice without and flame within,To gain a kiss at dawn!
The River of Pearls at Fez: Translation
© Cory Adela Florence Nicolson
One evening we sat togetherBy the river of Pearls at Fez,Stringing verses and sometimes singing
The Net of Memory
© Cory Adela Florence Nicolson
I cast the Net of Memory,Man's torment and delight,Over the level Sands of YouthThat lay serenely bright,Their tranquil gold at times submergedIn the Spring Tides of Love's Delight.
"Less than the Dust"
© Cory Adela Florence Nicolson
Less than the dust, beneath thy Chariot wheel,Less than the rust, that never stained thy Sword,Less than the trust thou hast in me, Oh, Lord, Even less than these!
[To Margot Heinemann]
© Rupert John Cornford
Heart of the heartless world,Dear heart, the thought of youIs the pain at my side,The shadow that chills my view.
Sergei Mironovitch Kirov
© Rupert John Cornford
Nothing is ever certain, nothing is ever safe,To-day is overturning yesterday's settled good
I have been a Foster
© Daniel Cooper
I have been a foster Long and many a day.Foster will I be no more-- No longer shoot I may. Yet have I been a foster.
Requiescat in Pace
© Cooke Edmund Vance
The man who fears to go his way alone, But follows where the greater number tread,Should hasten to his rest beneath a stone; The great majority of men are dead.
Poetry
© Cooke Edmund Vance
To deftly do what many dimly think; To fund a feeling for the world to borrow;To turn a tear to printer's ink; To make a sonnet of a sorrow.
How Did You Die?
© Cooke Edmund Vance
Did you tackle that trouble that came your way With a resolute heart and cheerful?Or hide your face from the light of day With a craven soul and fearful?Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce, Or a trouble is what you make it,And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts, But only how did you take it?
You are beaten to earth? Well, well, what's that? Come up with a smiling face
Don't Take Your Troubles to Bed
© Cooke Edmund Vance
You may labor your fill, friend of mine, if you will; You may worry a bit, if you must;You may treat your affairs as a series of cares, You may live on a scrap and a crust;But when the day's done, put it out of your head;Don't take your troubles to bed
