Car poems

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What none knows is when, not if.
Now that your life nears its end
when you turn back what you see
is ruin. You think, It is a prison. No,
it is a vast resonating chamber in
which each thing you say or do is

Over The Carnage

© Walt Whitman

OVER the carnage rose prophetic a voice,
Be not dishearten'd-Affection shall solve the problems of Freedom
yet;
Those who love each other shall become invincible-they shall yet
make Columbia victorious.

Report from the Subtropics

© Billy Collins

For one thing, there’s no more snow
to watch from an evening window,
and no armfuls of logs to carry into the house
so cumbersome you have to touch the latch with an elbow,

Between Two Loves

© Thomas Augustine Daly

I GOTTA lov' for Angela,

I lov' Carlotta, too.

I Am an Atheist Who Says His Prayers

© Ishmael Reed

I am an atheist who says his prayers.

I am an anarchist, and a full professor at that. I take the loyalty oath.

A Word from the Bards

© Henry Lawson

IT IS New Years Day and I rise to state that here on the Sydney side
The Bards have commenced to fill out of late and theyre showing their binjies with pride
Theyre patting their binjies with pride, old man, and I want you to understand,
That a binjied bard is a bard indeed when he sings in the Southern Land,
Old chaps,
When he sings in the Southern Land.

Dirge

© Kenneth Fearing

And twelve o'clock arrived just once too often,
just the same he wore one gray tweed suit, bought one straw hat, drank one straight Scotch, walked one short step, took one long look, drew one deep breath,
just one too many,

The Rivers

© Felicia Dorothea Hemans

GO! trace th' unnumbered streams, o'er earth
That wind their devious course,
That draw from Alpine heights their birth,
Deep vale, or cavern source.

The Ghost of Heaven

© Carolyn Forche

Sleep to sleep through thirty years of night,
a child herself with child,
for whom we searched

Where I've Been All My Life

© John Betjeman

Sonnet X. To Mrs. G

© Charlotte Turner Smith

AH! why will Mem'ry with officious care
The long lost visions of my days renew?
Why paint the vernal landscape green and fair,
When life's gay dawn was opening to my view?

Song of Myself: 36

© Walt Whitman

Stretchd and still lies the midnight,

Two great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness,

Voyages

© Hart Crane

Above the fresh ruffles of the surf
Bright striped urchins flay each other with sand.
They have contrived a conquest for shell shucks,
And their fingers crumble fragments of baked weed
Gaily digging and scattering.

St. Peter Claver

On holy cards St. Peter’s face is olive-toned, his hair near kinky;
I thought he was one of us who pass between the rich and poor, the light and dark.
Now I read he was “a Spanish Jesuit priest who labored for the salvation of the African Negroes and the abolition of the slave trade.”
I was tricked again, robbed of my patron,
and left with a debt to another white man.

To The Honble. Miss Carteret, Now Countess Of Dysert.

© Mary Barber

Fair Innocence, the Muses lovelicst
On Acts of Mercy sound thy rising Fame.
Let others from frail Beauty hope Applause:
Plead thou the Fatherless, and Widow's Cause.

... by an Earthquake

© John Ashbery

A, undergoing a strange experience among a people weirdly deluded, discovers the secret of the delusion from Herschel, one of the victims who has died. By means of information obtained from the notebook, A succeeds in rescuing the other victims of the delusion.
A dies of psychic shock.
Albert has a dream, or an unusual experience, psychic or otherwise, which enables him to conquer a serious character weakness and become successful in his new narrative, “Boris Karloff.”