All Poems

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Returned To Say

© William Stafford

When I face north a lost Cree
on some new shore puts a moccasin down,
rock in the light and noon for seeing,
he in a hurry and I beside him

The Given Love

© Abraham Cowley

I'LL on; for what should hinder me

From loving and enjoying thee?

Just Thinking

© William Stafford

Got up on a cool morning. Leaned out a window.
No cloud, no wind. Air that flowers held
for awhile. Some dove somewhere.

What Father Knows

© Edgar Albert Guest

My father knows the proper way

The nation should be run;

A Ritual To Read To Each Other

© William Stafford

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

Soars still thy spirit, Child of Fire?
Dost hear the camps of Europe hum?
On eagle wings dost hover nigher
At the far rolling of the drum?
To see the harvest thou hast sown
Smilest thou now, Napoleon?

Ask Me

© William Stafford

Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into

Before a Midnight Breaks in Storm

© Rudyard Kipling

Before a midnight breaks in storm,

Or herded sea in wrath,

Traveling Through The Dark

© William Stafford

Traveling through the dark I found a deer
dead on the edge of the Wilson River road.
It is usually best to roll them into the canyon:
that road is narrow; to swerve might make more dead.

Thou Flower Of Summer

© John Clare

When in summer thou walkest

In the meads by the river,

Notice What This Poem Is Not Doing

© William Stafford

The light along the hills in the morning
comes down slowly, naming the trees
white, then coasting the ground for stones to nominate.

Lives

© Arthur Rimbaud

I remember silver hours and sunlight by the rivers,
the hand of the country on my shoulder
and our carresses standing on the spicy plains.--
A flight of scarlet pigeons thunders round my thoughts.

The Yukon

© Joaquin Miller

THE moon resumed all heaven now,
She shepherded the stars below
Along her wide, white steeps of snow,
Nor stooped nor rested, where or how.

Summer Night, Riverside

© Sara Teasdale

And now, far off
In the fragrant darkness
The tree is tremulous again with bloom
For June comes back.

Sea-blown

AH! there be souls none understand;
Like clouds, they cannot touch the land.
Unanchored ships, they blow and blow,
Sail to and fro, and then go down

From The Woolworth Tower

Vivid with love, eager for greater beauty
Out of the night we come
Into the corridor, brilliant and warm.
A metal door slides open,

Byron

IN men whom men condemn as ill
I find so much of goodness still,
In men whom men pronounce divine
I find so much of sin and blot,
I do not dare to draw a line
Between the two, where God has not.