All Poems
/ page 3019 of 3210 /
Petit Dejeuner
© Linda Pastan
I sing a song
of the croissant
and of the wily French
who trick themselves daily
A New Poet
© Linda Pastan
Finding a new poet
is like finding a new wildflower
out in the woods. You don't see
Meditation By The Stove
© Linda Pastan
I have banked the fires
of my body
into a small but steady blaze
here in the kitchen
Something About The Trees
© Linda Pastan
I remember what my father told me:
There is an age when you are most yourself.
He was just past fifty then,
Was it something about the trees that make him speak?
Wind Chill
© Linda Pastan
The door of winter
is frozen shut, and like the bodies
of long extinct animals, cars lie abandoned wherever
the cold road has taken them. How ceremonious snow is,
Emily Dickinson
© Linda Pastan
We think of hidden in a white dress
among the folded linens and sachets
of well-kept cupboards, or just out of sight
sending jellies and notes with no address
Jump Cabling
© Linda Pastan
When our cars touched
When you lifted the hood of mine
To see the intimate workings underneath,
When we were bound together
Self-Portrait
© Linda Pastan
After Adam ZagajewskiI am child to no one, mother to a few,
wife for the long haul.
On fall days I am happy
with my dying brethren, the leaves,
The New Dog
© Linda Pastan
Into the gravity of my life,
the serious ceremonies
of polish and paper
and pen, has come
The Happiest Day
© Linda Pastan
It was early May, I think
a moment of lilac or dogwood
when so many promises are made
it hardly matters if a few are broken.
What We Want
© Linda Pastan
What we want
is never simple.
We move among the things
we thought we wanted:
Prosody 101
© Linda Pastan
When they taught me that what mattered most
was not the strict iambic line goose-stepping
over the page but the variations
in that line and the tension produced
Home For Thanksgiving
© Linda Pastan
The gathering family
throws shadows around us,
it is the late afternoon
Of the family.
To A Daughter Leaving Home
© Linda Pastan
When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
Autumn
© P. K. Page
Whoever has no house now will never have one.
Whoever is alone will stay alone
Will sit, read, write long letters through the evening
And wander on the boulevards, up and down...
Adolescence
© P. K. Page
In love they wore themselves in a green embrace.
A silken rain fell through the spring upon them.
In the park she fed the swans and he
whittled nervously with his strange hands.
And white was mixed with all their colours
as if they drew it from the flowering trees.
Kinderhymne (Children's Hymn)
© Bertolt Brecht
Anmut sparet nicht noch M?he
Leidenschaft nicht noch Verstand
Da? ein gutes Deutschland bl?he
Wie ein andres gutes Land
Ich habe dich nie je so geliebt...
© Bertolt Brecht
Ich habe dich nie je so geliebt, ma soeur
Als wie ich fortging von dir in jenem Abendrot.
Der Wald schluckte mich, der blaue Wald, ma soeur
Über dem immer schon die bleichen Gestirne im Westen standen.
To The Students Of The Workers' And Peasants' Faculty
© Bertolt Brecht
So there you sit. And how much blood was shed
That you might sit there. Do such stories bore you?
Well, don't forget that others sat before you
who later sat on people. Keep your head!
