All Poems
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Jimmy Jet And His TV Set
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
I'll tell you the story of Jimmy Jet--
And you know what I tell you is true.
He loved to watch his TV set
Almost as much as you.
Nothing Formed In Vain
© James Thomson
Let no presuming impious railer tax
Creative wisdom, as if aught was form'd
In vain, or not for admirable ends.
Shall little haughty ignorance pronounce
Her Waiting Face
© James Whitcomb Riley
In some strange place
Of long-lost lands he finds her waiting face--
Comes marveling upon it, unaware,
Set moonwise in the midnight of her hair.
This Morning in a Morning Voice by Todd Boss : American Life in Poetry #221 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet La
© Ted Kooser
Sometimes, it's merely the sound of a child's voice in a nearby room that makes a parent feel immensely lucky. To celebrate Father's Day, here's a joyful poem of fatherhood by Todd Boss, who lives in St. Paul, Minnesota.
This Morning in a Morning Voice
to beat the froggiest
To Joseph Jefferson
© Henry Van Dyke
May 4th, 1898.To-day, fishing down the Swiftwater, I found Joseph Jefferson on a big rock in the middle of the brook, casting the fly for trout. He said he had fished this very stream three-and-forty years ago; and near by, in the Paradise Valley, he wrote his famous play.Leaf from my Diary.
We met on Nature's stage,
Sedan
© Henry Kendall
Another battle! and the sounds have rolled
By many a gloomy gorge and wasted plain
The Dilemma
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
Now, by the blessed Paphian queen,
Who heaves the breast of sweet sixteen;
Bearing The Light
© Denise Levertov
Rain-diamonds, this winter morning, embellish the tangle of unpruned pear-tree twigs; each solitaire, placed, it appearrs, with considered judgement, bears the light beneath the rifted clouds - the indivisible shared out in endless abundance
The Summons
© Katharine Tynan
Straight to his death he went,
A smile on his lips,
All his life's joy unspent,
Into eclipse.
The Horkey
© Robert Bloomfield
What gossips prattled in the sun,
Who talk'd him fairly down,
Up, memory! tell; 'tis Suffolk fun,
And lingo of their own.
For Deliverance from a feaver.
© Anne Bradstreet
When Sorrowes had begyrt me rovnd,
And Paines within and out,
Tableau
© Countee Cullen
Locked arm in arm they cross the way
The black boy and the white,
The golden splendor of the day
The sable pride of night.
The Sword
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
At the forging of the Sword--
The mountain roots were stirr'd,
Like the heart-beats of a bird;
Like flax the tall trees wav'd,
So fiercely struck the Forgers of the Sword.
The Glove Of The Live Lady.
© Robert Crawford
Her glove! It was rare Ben who sung it,
That best of gloves of the lady dead!
Another's here, as one had flung it
In anger at her lover's head.
Aunty
© Edgar Albert Guest
I'm sorry for a feller if he hasn't any aunt,
To let him eat and do the things his mother says he can't.
An aunt to come a visitin' or one to go and see
Is just about the finest kind of lady there could be.
Of course she's not your mother, an' she hasn't got her ways,
But a part that's most important in a feller's life she plays.
I Said To The Wanting-Creature Inside Me
© Kabir
I said to the wanting-creature inside me:
What is this river you want to cross?
There are no travelers on the river-road, and no road.
Do you see anyone moving about on that bank, or resting?
Reply to Mr. Liu Yazi 1949
© Mao Zedong
I still remember our drinking tea in Guangzhou
And your asking for verses in Chongqing as the leaves yellowed.
Griselda: A Society Novel In Verse - Chapter I
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
And thus I first beheld her, standing calm
In the swayed crowd upon her husband's arm,
One opera night, the centre of all eyes,
So proud she seemed, so fair, so sweet, so wise.
Some one behind me whispered ``Lady L.!
His Lordship too! and thereby hangs a tale.''
The Poetry Of Wordsworth
© George Meredith
A breath of the mountains, fresh born in the regions majestic,
That look with their eye-daring summits deep into the sky.
The voice of great Nature; sublime with her lofty conceptions,
Yet earnest and simple as any sweet child of the green lowly vale.
