Children poems
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Resignation
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
THERE is no flock however watched and tended
But one dead lamb is there!
There is no fireside howsoe'er defended
But has one vacant chair!
Paul Revere's Ride
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five:
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
A Mother's Dream
© Allama Muhammad Iqbal
One night while sleeping
I dreamt
Seeing which I began
To get impatient
Bridal Song
© John Gould Fletcher
ROSES, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,
But in their hue;
Maiden pinks, of odour faint,
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
And sweet thyme true;
The Tale Of The Forest
© Mihai Eminescu
Mighty emperor is the forest,
High dominion does he wield,
And a thousand races prosper
'Neath the shelter of his shield.
Of Politics and Art
© Norman Dubie
Today I listened to a woman say
That Melville might
Be taught in the next decade. Another woman asked, "And why not?"
The first responded, "Because there are
No women in his one novel."
Dickinson Poems by Number
© Emily Dickinson
One Sister have I in our house,
And one, a hedge away.
There's only one recorded,
But both belong to me.
The Breast of the Sea
© Syl Cheney-Coker
After our bloody century, the sea will groan
under its weight, somewhere between breasts and anus.
Blood Money
© Syl Cheney-Coker
Along the route of this river,
with a little luck, we shall chance upon
4. Song-In the Character of a Ruined Farmer
© Robert Burns
THE SUN he is sunk in the west,
All creatures retir?d to rest,
While here I sit, all sore beset,
With sorrow, grief, and woe:
And it’s O, fickle Fortune, O!
386. The Rights of Women-Spoken by Miss Fontenelle
© Robert Burns
WHILE Europe’s eye is fix’d on mighty things,
The fate of Empires and the fall of Kings;
While quacks of State must each produce his plan,
And even children lisp the Rights of Man;
Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention,
The Rights of Woman merit some attention.
The Man Who Invented the Turn Signal
© Zieroth David Dale
The man who invented the turn signalwalks out the factory gatessomewhere in the westknowing he's done a serviceto the world hitting the roadby telling the car behind
Aphasia
© Zieroth David Dale
It is the suddenness of crossingoverthat cannot be comprehended.One moment she is among usreaching for her purse.Àæ.
Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood
© William Wordsworth
The child is father of the man;And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. (Wordsworth, "My Heart Leaps Up")
Hero
© Williams Ian
the hero winsbecause that's what heros do when you spendthe money to buy the DVD of a movie you alreadyknow the ending to, not because you’ve seen it beforebut because you heard from a colleague in HRthat it would make you feel real good after,it was the best thing she’s seen lately, and that’swith her being married and every morning pushing spoonsinto the faces of her two children
so you watch itknowing the only thing that will make you feel goodthis evening is seeing a bare-chested man wail on anotherin a ring and another in a street and another in a ringin slow-mo and the dff dff sounds of the gloves strikingbodies in movies, which don’t sound like bodies for real,not that you’d admit to knowing that,
and the herodoesn’t even look like heroes in the real worldwhich are not the heroes in grade four essays eitherbut like (stay with me) this one time you dropped by a woman’s placeand you were sitting at her kitchen table and she asked youif you wanted anything to drink and she opened the fridgeand you saw through the crack between her bodyand the door only a pitcher of water on the wire shelfin the yellow light—
you want to call her a herobecause she’s surviving with her mouth shutor yourself because you’re so affected must meanyou’re noble
America
© Whitfield James Monroe
America , it is to thee,Thou boasted land of liberty, --It is to thee I raise my song,Thou land of blood, and crime, and wrong
The Planting of the Apple-Tree
© William Cullen Bryant
COME let us plant the apple-tree.
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade;
Oh Mother of a Mighty Race
© William Cullen Bryant
OH mother of a mighty race
Yet lovely in thy youthful grace!
The elder dames thy haughty peers
Admire and hate thy blooming years.
With words of shame 5
And taunts of scorn they join thy name.
