Car poems
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He Had So Much Work To Do
© Henry Lawson
Jim was trucking for a sawmill to make money for the home,
He was making, out of Mudgee, for the family to come,
And a load-chain snapped the switch-bar, and Black Anderson found Jim,
In the morning, in a creek-bed, with a log on top of him.
The Horse And The Olive: Or, War And Peace
© Thomas Parnell
With Moral Tale let Ancient Wisdom move,
Which thus I sing to make the Moderns wise:
A Celebration
© William Carlos Williams
A middle-northern March, now as always
gusts from the South broken against cold winds
but from under, as if a slow hand lifted a tide,
it movesnot into Aprilinto a second March,
Dedication For A Plot Of Ground
© William Carlos Williams
This plot of ground
facing the waters of this inlet
is dedicated to the living presence of
Emily Dickinson Wellcome
from "Asphodel, That Greeny Flower"
© William Carlos Williams
Of asphodel, that greeny flower,
like a buttercup
upon its branching stem-
save that it's green and wooden-
Johnnie Courteau
© William Henry Drummond
Johnnie Courteau of de mountain
Johnnie Courteau of de hill
Dat was de boy can shoot de gun
Dat was de boy can jomp an' run
An'it's not very often you ketch heem still
Johnnie Courteau !
Berket And The Stars
© William Carlos Williams
A day on the boulevards chosen out of ten years of
student poverty! One best day out of ten good ones.
Berket in high spirits"Ha, oranges! Let's have one!"
And he made to snatch an orange from the vender's cart.
Hurrah for Cooper and Cary
© Julia A Moore
It is now one hundred years,
Or just one century,
Stood grand this good old nation,
And our forefathers fought
That we may not be a slave -
A slave to the monarchy of England.
Which Shall It Be
© Ethel Lynn Eliot Beers
Pale, patient Robbie's angel face
Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace;
``No, for a thousand crowns, not him,''
He whispered, while our eyes were dim.
The Princess (part 2)
© Alfred Tennyson
At break of day the College Portress came:
She brought us Academic silks, in hue
To Rinaldo
© Mary Darby Robinson
SOFT is the balmy breath of May,
When from the op'ning lids of day
Meek twilight steals; and from its wings
Translucent pearls of ether flings.
The Prisoner: Pt 1
© Emily Jane Brontë
In the dungeon crypts idly did I stray,
Reckless of the lives wasting there away;
"Draw the ponderous bars; open, Warder stern!"
He dare not say me naythe hinges harshly turn.
The World as It is by Carolyn Miller : American Life in Poetry #269 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2
© Ted Kooser
It is enough for me as a reader that a poem take from life a single moment and hold it up for me to look at. There need not be anything sensational or unusual or peculiar about that moment, but somehow, by directing my attention to it, our attention to it, the poet bathes it in the light of the remarkable. Here is a poem like this by Carolyn Miller, who lives in San Francisco.
The Widow's Home
© Mary Darby Robinson
Close on the margin of a brawling brook
That bathes the low dell's bosom, stands a Cot;
O'ershadow'd by broad Alders. At its door
A rude seat, with an ozier canopy
The Trumpeter, an Old English Tale
© Mary Darby Robinson
It was in the days of a gay British King
(In the old fashion'd custom of merry-making)
The Palace of Woodstock with revels did ring,
While they sang and carous'd--one and all:
