All Poems

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I wish I could take a quiet corner in the heart of my baby's very
own world.
I know it has stars that talk to him, and a sky that stoops
down to his face to amuse him with its silly clouds and rainbows.

Baby's Way

© Rabindranath Tagore

If baby only wanted to, he could fly up to heaven this moment.
It is not for nothing that he does not leave us.
He loves to rest his head on mother's bosom, and cannot ever
bear to lose sight of her.

Authorship

© Rabindranath Tagore

You say that father write a lot of books, but what he write I don't
understand.
He was reading to you all the evening, but could you really
make out what he meant?

A Moments Indulgence

© Rabindranath Tagore

I ask for a moment's indulgence to sit by thy side. The works
that I have in hand I will finish afterwards. Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite,
and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil. Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs; and
the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the flowering grove. Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing

To the Moon

© Giacomo Leopardi

Oh gracious moon, now as the year turns,
I remember how, heavy with sorrow,
I climbed this hill to gaze on you,
And then as now you hung above those trees

To Silvia

© Giacomo Leopardi

Silvia, do you remember
the moments, in your mortal life,
when beauty still shone
in your sidelong, laughing eyes,

To Himself

© Giacomo Leopardi

Now will you rest forever,
My tired heart. Dead is the last
deception,
That I thought eternal. Dead. Well I

Infinite

© Giacomo Leopardi

These solitary hills have always been dear to me.
Seated here, this sweet hedge, which blocks the distant horizon opening inner silences and interminable distances.
I plunge in thought to where my heart, frightened, pulls back.
Like the wind which I hear tossing the trembling plants which surround me, a voice from the inner depths of spirit shakes the certitudes of thought.

We Are Going

© Oodgeroo Noonuccal

They came in to the little town
A semi-naked band subdued and silent
All that remained of their tribe.
They came here to the place of their old bora ground

Understand Old One

© Oodgeroo Noonuccal

What if you came back now
To our new world, the city roaring
There on the old peaceful camping place
Of your red fires along the quiet water,

Municipal Gum

© Oodgeroo Noonuccal

Gumtree in the city street,
Hard bitumen around your feet,
Rather you should be
In the cool world of leafy forest halls

Love Poem

© John Frederick Nims

My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases,
At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring,
Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen,
And have no cunning with any soft thing

She Didn't Mean To Do It

© Daisy Fried

Oh, she was sad, oh, she was sad.
She didn't mean to do it.Certain thrills stay tucked in your limbs,
go no further than your fingers, move your legs through their paces,
but no more. Certain thrills knock you flat

My Last Dance

© Julia Ward Howe

Then, like a gallant swimmer, flinging high
My breast against the golden waves of sound,
I rode the madd'ning tumult of the dance,
Mocking fatigue, that never could be found.

Mother's Day Proclamation

Arise then...women of this day!
Arise, all women who have hearts!
Whether your baptism be of water or of tears!
Say firmly:

Mother Mind

I never made a poem, dear friend--I never sat me down, and said,This cunning brain and patient handShall fashion something to be read.

Coquette et Froide

Would that Love's fond pursuit
Were crownèd never,
Or that his virgin kiss
Lasted for ever!

Battle Hymn of the Republic

He has sounded out the trumpet that shall never call retreat,
He has waked the earth's dull sorrow with a high ecstatic beat,
Oh! be swift my soul to answer him, be jubilant my feet
Our God is marching on.

The Harbour

© Eavan Boland

This harbour was made by art and force.
And called Kingstown and afterwards Dun Laoghaire.
And holds the sea behind its barrier
less than five miles from my house.

Witness

© Eavan Boland

Here is the city
its worn-down mountains,
its grass and iron,
its smoky coast
seen from the high roads
on the Wicklow side.