Car poems
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A Boy in Church
© Robert Graves
Gabble-gabble,
brethren,
gabble-gabble!
My window frames forest and heather.
I hardly hear the tuneful babble,
Not knowing nor much caring whether
The text is praise or exhortation,
Prayer or thanksgiving, or damnation.
Not Dead
© Robert Graves
Walking through trees to cool my heat and pain,
I know that Davids with me here again.
All that is simple, happy, strong, he is.
Caressingly I stroke
I Love This White And Slender Body
© Heinrich Heine
I Love this white and slender body,
These limbs that answer Love's caresses,
Hello, How Are You?
© Charles Bukowski
at least they are not out on the street, they
are careful to stay indoors, those
pasty mad who sit alone before their tv sets,
their lives full of canned, mutilated laughter.
Double Red Daisies
© Robert Graves
Double red daisies, theyre my flowers,
Which nobody else may grow.
In a big quarrelsome house like ours
They try it sometimesbut no,
I root them up because theyre my flowers,
Which nobody else may grow.
Post Mortem
© Robinson Jeffers
Happy people die whole, they are all dissolved in a moment,
they have had what they wanted,
Antara
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Though thou thy fair face concealest still in thy veil from me,
yet am I he that hath captured horse--riders how many!
Give me the praise of my fair deeds. Lady, thou knowest it,
kindly am I and forbearing, save when wrong presseth me.
Only when evil assaileth, deal I with bitterness;
then am I cruel in vengeance, bitter as colocynth.
Dew-drop and Diamond
© Robert Graves
The difference between you and her
(whom I to you did once prefer)
Is clear enough to settle:
She like a diamond shone, but you
Shine like an early drop of dew
Poised on a red rose petal.
A Pinch of Salt
© Robert Graves
When a dream is born in you
With a sudden clamorous pain,
When you know the dream is true
And lovely, with no flaw nor stain,
O then, be careful, or with sudden clutch
You'll hurt the delicate thing you prize so much.
Escape
© Robert Graves
August 6, 1916.Officer previously reported died of wounds, now reported wounded: Graves, Captain R., Royal Welch Fusiliers.)
but I was dead, an hour or more.
I woke when Id already passed the door
That Cerberus guards, and half-way down the road
A Fallen Yew
© Francis Thompson
It seemed corrival of the world's great prime,
Made to un-edge the scythe of Time,
And last with stateliest rhyme.
The Leap Of Roushan Beg. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet,
His chestnut steed with four white feet,
Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou,
Son of the road and bandit chief,
Seeking refuge and relief,
Up the mountain pathway flew.
To Lucasta on Going to the War - For the Fourth Time
© Robert Graves
It doesnt matter whats the cause,
What wrong they say were righting,
A curse for treaties, bonds and laws,
When were to do the fighting!
Antonio Melidori
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
SCENE I.
[A place not far from the summit of Mount Psiloriti, in the Isle of Candia. Philota discovered with a basket of grapes upon her head; she looks eagerly upward. Time, a little before sunset.]
PHILOTA.
At Twenty-Eight by Amy Fleury: American Life in Poetry #59 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
Contrary to the glamorized accounts we often read about the lives of single women, Amy Fleury, a native of Kansas, presents us with a realistic, affirmative picture. Her poem playfully presents her life as serendipitous, yet she doesn't shy away from acknowledging loneliness.
At Twenty-Eight
Mans Discontent
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
And the languid breeze was perfumed by a rose's stolen breath;
'Twas the last white bud of Summer that escaped the hand of death,
And my sweet, I feared to meet her for my yesterday of scorn;
Then I flung myself beside her as she knelt amid the corn.
She only said To red and gold grew the green young leaf of Spring.
The rose filled the dead cowslip's throne; now poppy reigns a king.
Counting The Beats
© Robert Graves
You, love, and I,
(He whispers) you and I,
And if no more than only you and I
What care you or I?
Christmas At The Round Table
© John Hookham Frere
The great King Arthur made a royal feast,
And held his Royal Christmas at Carlisle,
Lost
© Alfred Austin
Sweet lark! that, bedded in the tangled grass,
Protractest dewy slumbers, wake, arise!
Far Within Us #4
© Vasko Popa
Green gloves rustle
On the avenue's branchesThe evening carries us under its arm
By a path which leaves no traceThe rain falls on its knees
Before the fugitive windowsThe yards come out of their gates
