Car poems
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Those Dancing Days Are Gone
© William Butler Yeats
Come, let me sing into your ear;
Those dancing days are gone,
Atlantic Oil
© Cesare Pavese
The drunk mechanic is happy to be in the ditch.
From the tavern, five minutes through the dark field
Trollius and trellises
© Charles Bukowski
I won’t blame him for getting
out
and hope he sends me photos of his
Rose Lane, his
Gardenia Avenue.
Brock
© Paul Muldoon
Small wonder
he’s not been sighted all winter;
this old brock’s
been to Normandy and back
On The Eve
© Bert Leston Taylor
Now fare they forth to battle,
And none for peace shall sue;
And ye who sneer and cavil --
They fight your battle, too.
Scoff if you will, but stand aside,
For there is work to do.
Brother, I’ve seen some
© Kabir
This verse, says Kabir,
Is your key to the universe.
If you can figure it out.
On the Easter Illumination of St. Peter's at Rome
© Charles Harpur
Four thousand lamps of gold and silver light
Suspended round the mighty dome, and o er
Ode To Sara, In Answer To A Letter From Bristol
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Nor travels my meand'ring eye
The starry wilderness on high;
Nor now with curious sight
I mark the glow-worm as I pass,
Move with 'green radiance' thro' the grass,
An emerald of light.
In the Naked Bed, in Plato’s Cave
© Delmore Schwartz
In the naked bed, in Plato’s cave,
Reflected headlights slowly slid the wall,
Kissing Stieglitz Good-Bye
© Gerald Stern
Every city in America is approached
through a work of art, usually a bridge
but sometimes a road that curves underneath
or drops down from the sky. Pittsburgh has a tunnel—
Tears for Lesbias Sparrow
© Gaius Valerius Catullus
Sparrow, my sweet girls delight,
whom she plays with, holds to her breast,
Balloon
© John Kinsella
It didn’t happen in that order—
the endless growl of what will turn out to be
Gareth And Lynette
© Alfred Tennyson
To whom the mother said,
'True love, sweet son, had risked himself and climbed,
And handed down the golden treasure to him.'
The Munich Mannequins
© Sylvia Plath
Perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.
Cold as snow breath, it tamps the womb
Atlantis
© Hart Crane
Through the bound cable strands, the arching path
Upward, veering with light, the flight of strings,
Street Dog
© Amrita Pritam
It's really something from the past—
when you and I split up
without any regrets—
just one thing that I don't quite understand . . .
