Car poems
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Kelly's Conversion
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Kelly the Rager half opened an eyeTo wink at the Army passing by,While his hot breath, thick with the taint of beer,Came forth from his lips in a drunken jeer
How Polly Paid for her Keep
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Do I know Polly Brown? Do I know her? Why, damme!You might as well ask if I know my own name!It's a wonder you never heard tell of old Sammy,Her father, my mate in the Crackenback claim.
The Demon Snow-shoes
© Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
The snow lies deep on hill and dale,In rocky gulch and grassy vale:The tiny, trickling, tumbling fallsAre frozen 'twixt their rocky wallsThat grey and brown look silent downUpon Kiandra's shrouded town
History
© Blodgett E. D.
When we are old, our eyes will open wide and everything we knewwill exit through them, standing here and there, domestic order oftables, chairs and bed making room for what we are -- a rosethat passed between our hands will flower there, a place where wewere walking in a change of light, a star that we had shared when wewere far apart -- and we will gaze upon them, moving through our eyes
Herons step with care
© Blodgett E. D.
Herons step with care across the shore: they weaveinto the sand their bare calligraphy and leave.
All
© Blodgett E. D.
This is all that we will leave behind -- a line of words and atthe end a little silence, then another word that someone elsemight speak, and speaking speak the only thing that I have given you,and folded it in words that you have given back, this long duetthat is the you and I that we become, a tree that flowers wherewe used to stand, and after flowers apples that begin to fillthe air in autumn light, a tree that is a dream of apples where
the light that fills our eyes when we are in each other's gaze is thatrefulgence that becomes an apple through the turning year, a sunthat hangs so lightly on the branch that just the merest breath might carryit away, the breath the words that cast us up in one embrace,words that made of us the sun and apples and autumnal airs --these are all I had for you, the little world where we arebut are another self that is not ours, asleep inside the light
Carry Me Back to Old Virginny
© Bland James A.
Carry me back to old Virginny,There's where the cotton and the corn and tatoes grow,There's where the birds warble sweet in the spring-time,There's where the old darkey's heart am long'd to go,There's where I labored so hard for old massa,Day after day in the field of yellow corn,No place on earth do I love more sincerelyThan old Virginny, the state where I was born
Angered Reason
© Binyon Heward Laurence
Angered Reason walked with meA street so squat, unshapen, bald,So blear-windowed and grimy-walled,So dismal-doored, it seemed to be
Indoor Games near Newbury
© John Betjeman
In among the silver birches winding ways of tarmac wander And the signs to Bussock Bottom, Tussock Wood and Windy Brake,Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches, catch the lights of our Lagonda As we drive to Wendy's party, lemon curd and Christmas cake
November
© Bell Julian Heward
The seeds we sowed a year agoBring in their harvest now:A pleasing straw to those who knowThey must forsake the plough.
London I
© Bell Julian Heward
The melancholy verse Sings to the waterfall; Wring writing harsh and worse, The jarring beauties fall.
The Minstrel; or, The Progress of Genius
© James Beattie
THE FIRST BOOK (excerpts) The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar! Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime Hath felt the influence of malignant star, And wag'd with Fortune an eternal war! Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, And Poverty's unconquerable bar, In life's low vale remote hath pin'd aloneThen dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown!
And yet, the languor of inglorious days Not equally oppressive is to all
La Cloche Félée
© Charles Baudelaire
Il est amer et doux, pendant les nuits d'hiver,D'écouter, près du feu qui palpite et qui fume,Les souvenirs lointains lentement s'éleverAu bruit des carillons qui chantent dans la brume.
Buffalo Twang
© Barwin Gary
lost everything but my zitherlost everything but my zithertwang it goessproing when a string breaks
An Ode
© Richard Barnfield
As it fell upon a dayIn the merry month of May,Sitting in a pleasant shadeWhich a grove of myrtles made,Beasts did leap and birds did sing,Trees did grow and plants did spring;Every thing did banish moan,Save the nightingale alone
The Jackaw of Rheims
© Richard Harris Barham
The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair! Bishop, and abbot, and prior were there; Many a monk, and many a friar, Many a knight, and many a squire,With a great many more of lesser degree,--In sooth a goodly company;And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee
Written for my Son, and Spoken by Him at his First Putting on Breeches
© Mary Barber
WHAT is it our mamma's bewitches,To plague us little boys with breeches ?To tyrant Custom we must yield,Whilst vanquish'd Reason flies the field
To Mr. Barbauld, November 14, 1778
© Anna Lætitia Barbauld
Come, clear thy studious looks awhile, 'T is arrant treason now To wear that moping brow, When I, thy empress, bid thee smile.
The Caterpillar
© Anna Lætitia Barbauld
No, helpless thing, I cannot harm thee now;Depart in peace, thy little life is safe,For I have scanned thy form with curious eye,Noted the silver line that streaks thy back,The azure and the orange that divideThy velvet sides; thee, houseless wanderer,My garment has enfolded, and my armFelt the light pressure of thy hairy feet;Thou hast curled round my finger; from its tip,Precipitous descent! with stretched out neck,Bending thy head in airy vacancy,This way and that, inquiring, thou hast seemedTo ask protection; now, I cannot kill thee
