All Poems

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We Were Boys Together

© Morris George Pope

We were boys together, And never can forgetThe school-house on the heather, In childhood where we met --The humble home, to memory dear; Its sorrows and its joys

I'm the Iron Needle-Woman! Wrought of sterner stuff than clay;And, unlike the drudges human, Never weary night or day;Never shedding tears of sorrow, Never mourning friends untrue,Never caring for the morrow, Never begging work to do

My Mother's Bible

© Morris George Pope

This book is all that's left me now! -- Tears will unbidden start --With faltering lip and throbbing brow, I press it to my heart

The Flag of Our Union

© Morris George Pope

"A song for our banner?" -- The watchword recall Which gave the Republic her station:"United we stand -- divided we fall!" -- It made and preserves us a nation!The union of lakes -- the union of lands -- The union of States none can sever --The union of hearts -- the union of hands -- And the Flag of the Union for ever And ever! The Flag of our Union for ever

What God in his mercy and wisdom designed, And armed with his weapons of thunder,Not all the earth's despots and factions combined Have the power to conquer or sunder!The union of lakes -- the union of lands -- The union of states none can sever --The union of hearts -- the union of hands -- And the Flag of the Union for ever And ever! The Flag of our Union for ever!

Oh, keep that flag flying! -- The pride of the van! To all other nations display it!The ladies for union are all to a -- man! But not to the man who'd betray it

Your Idea of Embracing Horror

© Moritz Albert Frank

Your idea of embracing horrorwas overwhelmed by the horror:

What Is Impossible

© Moritz Albert Frank

About the age of twenty, when the first hairfallsignals that nature is finished with the organismand we just begin to conceive the use of women(having been all this timemore enamored of the fountain than the cistern),we retire to nursing homes,whether they be kaleidoscopic gardensaimed like a blunderbuss of hermeticism at our neighbors,or a desperate dream safari through old Zambesi,where the suicidal waves of angry nativesgive the illusion that we are advancing rapidly,or the crow's-nest of this windless office blockwhere the cook is already boiling the last sail

Uninvited Reader

© Moritz Albert Frank

She notes in the poem she's reading where the disembodiedvoice speaking encounters

Orpheus

© Moritz Albert Frank

He glanced around to check if the treacherous godshad really given him the reward promised for his accomplished songand there she was, Eurydice restored, perfectly naked and fleshedin her rhyming body again, the upper and lower smiles and eyes,the line of mouth-sternum-navel-cleft, the chime of breasts and hipsand of the two knees, the feet, the toes, and that expressionof an unimaginable intelligence that yoked all these with a skillshe herself had forgotten the learning of: there she was, with him once morejust for an instant as she vanished

One With The Sun

© Moritz Albert Frank

Childone with the sunin trackless fieldsof yellow grass and thistle, scentof humid heavy air and the wing musicof bees and flies.

On the Preserved Body of an Inca Child Frozen to Death as a Sacrifice to the Sun

The priests collected your teeth,all your cut hairs from the ground,the parings of your nails,so that, dead, in another worldyou do not have to go searching farfor the parts of your body

On Distinction

We won't pretend we're not hungry for distinctionbut what can ever distinguish us enough?This country, this language won't last long, the racewill die, later the cockroach, earth itself,

Native Woman

Her hair back from the wide round faceflows, almost a girl's, so thick,caught back in combs, racingand curling through them with blackestvigor, although it is pure white

Lost Content

You couples lyingwhere moon-scythes and day-scythes reaped you,browning fruit falls and sleepsin tangled nests, the wild grass,falls from your apple tree that still grows here:cry for your dead hero, his weak sword, his flight,that you were slaughtered and your bed poured whiteness,the issue of murdered marriage dawns

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