Poems begining by C
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Classic Scene
© William Carlos Williams
A power-house
in the shape of
a red brick chair
90 feet high
Cultural Exchange
© Langston Hughes
Pushcarts fold and unfold
In a supermarket sea.
And we better find out, mama,
Where is the colored laundromat
Since we move dup to Mount Vernon.
Camptown Races
© Stephen C. Foster
De Camptown ladies sing dis song -- Doo-dah! doo-dah!
De Camptown racetrack five miles long -- Oh! doo-dah day!
I come down dah wid my hat caved in -- Doo-dah! doo-dah!
I go back home wid a pocket full of tin -- Oh! doo-dah day!
Child
© Sylvia Plath
Your clear eye is the one absolutely beautiful thing.
I want to fill it with color and ducks,
The zoo of the new
Whose name you meditate -
April snowdrop, Indian pipe,
Little
Comme Un Dernier Rayon
© André Marie de Chénier
Comme un dernier rayon, comme un dernier zéphyre
Animent la fin d'un beau jour,
"Could I but leave men wiser by my song "
© Alfred Austin
Could I but leave men wiser by my song,
And somewhat happier in their little day,
Christmas, 1873
© George MacDonald
Christmas-Days are still in store:-
Will they change-steal faded hither?
Or come fresh as heretofore,
Summering all our winter weather?
Commemoration Ode
© James Russell Lowell
WE sit here in the promised land
That flows with Freedom's honey and milk:
Clairvoyance
© Madison Julius Cawein
The sunlight that makes of the heaven
A pathway for sylphids to throng;
The wind that makes harps of the forests
For spirits to smite into song,
Are the image and voice of a vision
That comforts my heart and makes strong.
Cooranbean
© Henry Kendall
Years fifty, and seven to boot, have smitten the children of men
Since sound of a voice or a foot came out of the head of that glen.
Character Of The Happy Warrior
© William Wordsworth
Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he
That every man in arms should wish to be?
-It is the generous Spirit, who, when brought
Among the tasks of real life, hath wrought
Condemned
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
And last the gaol.--What stillness in these doors!
The silent turnkeys their last bolts have shot,
And their steps die in the long corridors.
I am alone. My tears run fast and hot.
Dear Lord, for Thy grief's sake I kiss these floors
Kneeling; then turn to sleep, dreams trouble not.
Child's Talk In April
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
I wish you were a pleasant wren,
And I your small accepted mate;
How we'd look down on toilsome men!
We'd rise and go to bed at eight
Or it may be not quite so late.
Crotalus
© Francis Bret Harte
No life in earth, or air, or sky;
The sunbeams, broken silently,
On the bared rocks around me lie,
Clipper Days (a song from Snug Harbor)
© Harry Kemp
I am eighty years old and somewhat,
But I give to God the praise
That they made a sailor of me
In the good old Clipper Days
Change should breed Change
© William Henry Drummond
NEW doth the sun appear,
The mountains' snows decay,
Chapter 9 - The Seven Selves
© Khalil Gibran
In the stillest hour of the night, as I lay half asleep, my seven selves sat together and thus conversed in whisper:
First Self: Here, in this madman, I have dwelt all these years, with naught to do but renew his pain by day and recreate his sorrow by night. I can bear my fate no longer, and now I rebel.
