All Poems

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Parting

© Charlotte Bronte

THERE'S no use in weeping,
Though we are condemned to part:
There's such a thing as keeping
A remembrance in one's heart:

On The Death Of Anne Bronte

© Charlotte Bronte

There's little joy in life for me,
And little terror in the grave;
I've lived the parting hour to see
Of one I would have died to save.

Passion

© Charlotte Bronte

SOME have won a wild delight,
By daring wilder sorrow;
Could I gain thy love to-night,
I'd hazard death to-morrow.

Life

© Charlotte Bronte

Rapidly, merrily,
Life's sunny hours flit by,
Gratefully, cheerily,
Enjoy them as they fly !

Love Song to My Neighborhoods

© Kelli Russell Agodon

Sometimes I stroll through forests
just sprayed for the gypsy moths. I throw a rock
into the bushes to distract the hunters. Deer
me. I am writing to my hazards.

As a girl, she hated the grain of anything
on her fins. Now she is part fire ant, part centipede.
Where dunes stretch into pathways, arteries appear.
Her blood pressure is temperature plus wind speed.

Snapshot of a Lump

© Kelli Russell Agodon

My breast is pressed flat - a torpedo,
a pyramid, a triangle, a rocket on this altar;
this can't be good for anyone.

Neruda's Hat

© Kelli Russell Agodon

On a day when weather stole every breeze,
Pablo told her he kept bits of his poems
tucked behind the band in his hat.

Of a Forgetful Sea

© Kelli Russell Agodon

In her palm,
she holds small creatures,
tracks an ant, a flea
moving over each grain.

In the 70s, I Confused Macram? and Macabre

© Kelli Russell Agodon

I.
I wanted the macabre plant holder
hanging in Janet and Chrissys apartment.
My friend said her cousin tried to kill himself

To the Muse

© Alexander Blok

In your hidden memories
There are fatal tidings of doom...
A curse on sacred traditions,
A desecration of happiness;

The Twelve

© Alexander Blok

III
Our sons have gone
to serve the Reds
to serve the Reds
to risk their heads!

The Stranger

© Alexander Blok

And every evening beyond the barriers
Gentlemen of practiced wit and charm
Go strolling beside the drainage ditches --
A tilted derby and a lady at the arm.

The Faithless Shadows.

© Alexander Blok

The faithless shadows of day are running
And high and clear is the call of bells,
Steps of the church are blazed as with the lightning,
Their stones are alive and wait for your light steps.

The Death of Grandfather

We waited commonly for sleep or even death.
The instances were wearisome as ages.
But suddenly the wind's refreshing breath
Touched through the window the Holy Bible's pages:

On the Field of Kulicovo

The river stretched. It flows, idly grieves,
And washes both banks.
In steppe, above light clay of cliffs
Rinks mourn in ranks.

I Wait For You...

I wait for you. The years in silence pass
And as the image, one, I wait for you again. The distance is in flame -- and clear one as glass,
I, silent, wait -- with sadness, love and pain. The distance is in flame, and you are coming fast,
But I'm afraid that you will change your image yet, And will initiate the challenging mistrust

I Prefer the Gorgeous Freedom

I prefer the gorgeous freedom,
And I fly to lands of grace,
Where in wide and clear meadows
All is good, as dreams, and blest.

He, who was born

He, who was born in stagnant year
Does not remember own way.
We, kids of Russia's years of fear,
Remember every night and day.

Halls grew darker

Halls grew darker and somehow faded.
Grates of windows drowned in black.
Every knight, every beautiful lady
Knew the tiding: "The Queen's deadly sick."