Poems begining by B
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Ben Trovato
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Though blind, with but a wandering hour to live,
He felt the other woman in the fur
That now the wife had on. Could she forgive
All that? Apparently. Her rings were gone,
Of course; and when he found that she had none,
He smiledas he had never smiled at her.
Ballad by the Fire
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Then, with a melancholy glee
To think where once my fancy strayed,
I muse on what the years may be
Whose coming tales are all unsaid,
Till tongs and shovel, snugly laid
Within their shadowed niches, grow
Bewick Finzer
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Time was when his half million drew
The breath of six per cent;
But soon the worm of what-was-not
Fed hard on his content;
And something crumbled in his brain
When his half million went.
Ballad of Broken Flutes
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
So, Rock, I join the common fray,
To fight where Mammon may decree;
And leave, to crumble as they may,
The broken flutes of Arcady.
Boston
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
My northern pines are good enough for me,
But theres a town my memory uprears
A town that always like a friend appears,
And always in the sunrise by the sea.
But for the Grace of God
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
There is a question that I ask,
And ask again:
What hunger was half-hidden by the mask
That he wore then?
Bon Voyage
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Child of a line accurst
And old as Troy,
Bringer of best and worst
In wild alloy
Light, like a linnet first,
He sang for joy.
Ballad of Dead Friends
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
And thus we all are nighing
The truth we fear to know:
Death will end our crying
For friends that come and go.
Ben Jonson Entertains a Man from Stratford
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
You are a friend then, as I make it out,
Of our man Shakespeare, who alone of us
Will put an ass's head in Fairyland
As he would add a shilling to more shillings,
Blind
© Charles Webb
It's okay if the world goes with Venetian;
Who cares what Italians don't see?--
Or with Man's Bluff (a temporary problem
Healed by shrieks and cheating)--or with date:
Three hours of squirming repaid by laughs for years.
Bearhug
© Michael Ondaatje
Griffin calls to come and kiss him goodnight
I yell ok. Finish something I'm doing,
then something else, walk slowly round
the corner to my son's room.
He is standing arms outstretched
waiting for a bearhug. Grinning.
Britannia's Pastorals
© William Browne
Now as an angler melancholy standing
Upon a green bank yielding room for landing,
A wriggling yellow worm thrust on his hook,
Now in the midst he throws, then in a nook:
Before the white chrysanthemum
© Yosa Buson
Before the white chrysanthemum
the scissors hesitate
a moment.
Behind, perhaps, let the sea blow
© Carlos Barbarito
Behind, perhaps, let the sea blow.
Let some word blow
outside every destination of slime, rust.
Perhaps ointments from Avicenna,
Bojangles And Jo
© James A. Emanuel
Stairstep music: ups,
downs, Bill Robinson smiling,
jazzdancing the rounds.
By This Pitch And Motion
© Jennifer Reeser
In the upstairs hallway, complacent sunlight
stings the walls with gold and translucent almond
over Turkish runners betraying patterns
faded with travel.
Blue-Crested Cry
© Jennifer Reeser
Were through, were through, were through, were through, were through
and flanking, now, the edges of our schism
it seems your coldness and my idealism
alone for all this time have kept us true.
