Car poems
/ page 610 of 738 /
Gray Weather
© Robinson Jeffers
It is true that, older than man and ages to outlast him, the Pacific surf
Still cheerfully pounds the worn granite drum;
The Hunt
© Ivan Donn Carswell
The hunt begins at a languid pace
belying hysteria building in place, biding its time
to menace the peace in an orchard where mayhems
scant held on a leash. Abigail Belles the first into line,
The Ease and Charm of You
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Theres an infinity of wisdom in your smile that would deny
the winsome wit that lies at back of it; and then the droll and
cheeky svénska troll of you which peeps out from the
flimsy drape in which you sheet your public soul, an urchin
The best days of my life
© Ivan Donn Carswell
What is it about Bryan Adams and his song
Summer of 69? Why do the lyrics linger? Was it
90° in the shade and the harbinger of the end
of the golden weather, or the impending closure
The Beer Was Cold Enough
© Ivan Donn Carswell
It is amazing, while I lay in bed, I had the lines
roaring through my head like locusts on the wing,
the unabashed extravagance of such a flock
of stunning words shocked me out of brittle sleep;
The beans were exciting
© Ivan Donn Carswell
I tried cooking in my new Quicksilver jacket, just
an affectation I assure you no, not the coat
or the cooking but me in the wearing of it,
a form of warped appreciation, and when I think
A Une Madone (To A Madonna)
© Charles Baudelaire
Ex-voto dans le goût espagnol
Je veux bâtir pour toi, Madone, ma maîtresse,
Un autel souterrain au fond de ma détresse,
Et creuser dans le coin le plus noir de mon coeur,
Thank you Ambrose
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Thank you Ambrose for the kitchen door ajar,
a sign your friendship never closed on me, an amity extended
from afar although it was a distant glow I didnt really know.
Terra nullis ignorata
© Ivan Donn Carswell
We came to find the place contained
in legendary tracts, the hidden land
of fulsome wealth that we had sorely lacked,
an empty land of winsome dreams.
Talk to me of love
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Talk to me of love with wonder in your eyes,
of limber magic flying through the veiling air
and soft-edged silks trailing in a vintage plume,
the bloom of fragrant lavender intimate in your hair
Tales in the beginning
© Ivan Donn Carswell
In the beginning that was all there was,
a new forged social unity of the self aware
in a community of need, a bare structure
to belie the complexities to come,
but it was where the tales all must have begun.
Sweetness Of The Decent Night
© Ivan Donn Carswell
They talked to me again today, they spoke in gentle tones
and said the things I ought to hear then lead me where
the frangipani flowered; they said the heady scent was meant
to soothe the wicked wounds I wore, to ease the twisted scars
Strawberries again today
© Ivan Donn Carswell
The red berries wreak an awesome spell that some would dread;
others, weak and soulless, must succumb, they treasure with the eyes
the plump and soulful fruit, the shape inspires a heady heart that beats
aright as if in love, and love it is that drives the buds describing taste.
Still hear the waves
© Ivan Donn Carswell
It was a brave day under an endlessly clear sky
that extended forever from our valley
to the unfathomably distant sea.
It was a day to remember amongst days of
Steves tears
© Ivan Donn Carswell
My beloved called to me to come and see Steves
tears, he was crying on TV; Steve Irwin, The Crocodile Man,
and they werent crocodile tears. Harriet had died,
Steve could not contain his tears and freely cried,
Something to shout about
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Captain AJ Shout, VC, MC, MID (& bar), who died at Gallipoli
of wounds and was posthumously awarded the VC,
a rare and prestigious award for most conspicuous bravery,
could say, even in dying, it was something to shout about.
So Let Us Dare
© Ivan Donn Carswell
How do we discover an antidote to each other,
a faculty to commune in spiteful space?
Our bleeding hearts and noxious farts
tie us in a hopeless chase to free this place
To The Gad-Fly
© George Moses Horton
Majestic insect! from thy royal hum,
The flies retreat, or starve before they'll come;
The obedient plough-horse may, devoid of fear,
Perform his task with joy, when thou art near.
Simple pleasures that you bring
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Do you mind if I write a few lines for you tonight?
Im fuelled for sure, perhaps a bit ebullient,
(now theres a rhyme that will be hard to find
a word to suit!) Ill try, but time will surely take
Silvered In The Dying Light
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Silvered in the dying light she lies
a silent sleeping twinkle coloured Eve
who heaves and breathes a sinuous sigh
beneath her oiled and shimmering skin.
