Car poems
/ page 575 of 738 /
Fate.
© Robert Crawford
O Thou, who knowest whence we came, and can
Endow a moment with the mood of Man,
When my wan moment like a dream is gone,
Destroy or take me then where I began.
Daydreams for Ginsberg
© Jack Kerouac
I lie on my back at midnight
hearing the marvelous strange chime
Elizabeth Gone
© Anne Sexton
1.You lay in the nest of your real death,
Beyond the print of my nervous fingers
Where they touched your moving head;
Your old skin puckering, your lungs' breath
Cripples And Other Stories
© Anne Sexton
My doctor, the comedian
I called you every time
and made you laugh yourself
when I wrote this silly rhyme...
The Red Dance
© Anne Sexton
There was a girl
who danced in the city that night,
that April 22nd,
all along the Charles River.
The Double Image
© Anne Sexton
They sent me letters with news
of you and I made moccasins that I would never use.
When I grew well enough to tolerate
myself, I lived with my mother, the witches said.
But I didn't leave. I had my portrait
done instead.
Amarantha. A Pastorall
© Richard Lovelace
Up with the jolly bird of light
Who sounds his third retreat to night;
Faire Amarantha from her bed
Ashamed starts, and rises red
The Children
© Anne Sexton
The children are all crying in their pens
and the surf carries their cries away.
They are old men who have seen too much,
their mouths are full of dirty clothes,
That Day
© Anne Sexton
This is the desk I sit at
and this is the desk where I love you too much
and this is the typewriter that sits before me
where yesterday only your body sat before me
Sonnet III: If So It Hap
© Samuel Daniel
If so it hap this offspring of my care,
These fatal Anthems, sad and mournful Songs,
The Ambition Bird
© Anne Sexton
So it has come to this
insomnia at 3:15 A.M.,
the clock tolling its engine
Our Sunday morning when dawn-priests were applying
© John Berryman
'Death is the mother of beauty.' Awry no leaf
Shivering with delight, we die to be well..
Careless with sleepy love, so long unloving.
What if our convalescence must be bried
As we are, the matin meet the passing bell?..
About our pines our sister, wind, is moving.
The Evil Seekers
© Anne Sexton
We are born with luck
which is to say with gold in our mouth.
As new and smooth as a grape,
as pure as a pond in Alaska,
And One For My Dame
© Anne Sexton
A born salesman,
my father made all his dough
by selling wool to Fieldcrest, Woolrich and Faribo.
Flee On Your Donkey
© Anne Sexton
Today an intern knocks my knees,
testing for reflexes.
Once I would have winked and begged for dope.
Today I am terribly patient.
Today crows play black-jack
on the stethoscope.
Upon His Majesty's Happy Return
© Edmund Waller
The rising sun complies with our weak sight,
First gilds the clouds, then shows his globe of light
At such a distance from our eyes, as though
He knew what harm his hasty beams would do.
Doors, Doors, Doors
© Anne Sexton
Old man, it's four flights up and for what?
Your room is hardly bigger than your bed.
Puffing as you climb, you are a brown woodcut
stooped over the thin tail and the wornout tread.
