Car poems
/ page 669 of 738 /
Santa Fe In Winter
© Deborah Ager
The city is closing for the night.
Stores draw their blinds one by one,
and it's dark again, save for the dim
The Tortoise In Keystone Heights
© Deborah Ager
When I knew, it was raining.
Winter in decline. I was tired.
You in your soaked shirt diffused
into the western sky bulging with clouds,
speeding cars a few feet away
why would they not slow down?
Chaplin
© Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
The sun, a heavy spider, spins in the thirsty sky.
The wind hides under cactus leaves, in doorway corners. Only the wrySmall shadow accompanies Hamlet-Petrouchka's march - the slight
Wry sniggering shadow in front of the morning, turning at noon, behind towards night.The plumed cavalcade has passed to tomorrow, is lost again;
But the wisecrack-mask, the quick-flick-fanfare of the cane remain.Diminuendo of footsteps even is done:
Epitaph On A Disturber Of His Times
© Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
We expected the violin's finger on the upturned nerve;
Its importunate cry, too laxly curved:
And you drew us an oboe-outline, clean and acute;
Unadorned statement, accurately carved.
Music
© Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
This shape without space,
This pattern without stuff,
This stream without dimension
Surrounds us, flows through us,
But leaves no mark.
Symphony In Red
© Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Within the church
The solemn priests advance,
And the sunlight, stained by the heavy windows,
Dyes a yet richer red the scarlet banners
Unlyric Love Song
© Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Now I (no communist, heaven knows!
Who have kept as my dearest right to close
My tenth door after I've opened nine to the world,
To unfold nine sepals holding one hard-furled)
Shall - or shall try to - offer to you
A communism of two ...
Meeting
© Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Dogs take new friends abruptly and by smell,
Cats' meetings are neat, tactual, caressive.
Monkeys exchange their fleas before they speak.
Snakes, no doubt, coil by coil reach mutual knowledge.
The Children Look At The Parents
© Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
We being so hidden from those who
Have quietly borne and fed us,
How can we answer civilly
Their innocent invitations?
Day Dream
© Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
One day people will touch and talk perhaps
easily,
And loving be natural as breathing and warm as
sunlight,
The Man In The Bowler Hat
© Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
I am the man they call the nation's backbone,
Who am boneless - playable castgut, pliable clay:
The Man they label Little lest one day
I dare to grow.
On Being Born The Same Exact Day Of The Same Exact Year As Boy George
© Denise Duhamel
We must have clamored for the same mother, hurried for
the same womb.
I know it now as I read that my birthday is his.
Since the first time I saw his picture, I sensed something
and with a fierce bonding and animosity
began following his career.
Crater Face
© Denise Duhamel
is what we called her. The story was
that her father had thrown Drano at her
which was probably true, given the way she slouched
through fifth grade, afraid of the world, recess
Kinky
© Denise Duhamel
They decide to exchange heads.
Barbie squeezes the small opening under her chin
over Ken's bulging neck socket. His wide jaw line jostles
atop his girlfriend's body, loosely,
Stans Puer ad Mensam
© Sir Walter Raleigh
Attend my words, my gentle knave,
And you shall learn from me
How boys at dinner may behave
With due propriety.
Sestina Otiosa
© Sir Walter Raleigh
Our great work, the Otia Merseiana,
Edited by learned Mister Sampson,
And supported by Professor Woodward,
Is financed by numerous Bogus Meetings
Hastily convened by Kuno Meyer
To impose upon the Man of Business.
Farewell to the Court
© Sir Walter Raleigh
Like truthless dreams, so are my joys expir'd,
And past return are all my dandled days;
My love misled, and fancy quite retir'd--
Of all which pass'd the sorrow only stays.
Her Reply
© Sir Walter Raleigh
IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy Love.
My Last Will
© Sir Walter Raleigh
They will grieve; but you, my dear,
Who have never tasted fear,
Brave companion of my youth,
Free as air and true as truth,
Do not let these weary things
Rob you of your junketings.
To a Lady with an Unruly and Ill-mannered Dog Who Bit several Persons of Importance
© Sir Walter Raleigh
Your dog is not a dog of grace;
He does not wag the tail or beg;
He bit Miss Dickson in the face;
He bit a Bailie in the leg.
