Cool poems

 / page 76 of 144 /
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kept busy

© Joanne Burns

from our deep cool verandah we spy on the world passing by. we both wear glasses in order to pick out the details. even as children we noticed all. people would say dont like those twins they look at you funny. we were reassured. our powers had been confirmed. but that was a long while ago. now we are 60. we have lived in this ground floor flat on the main road for 20 years. it is a very suitable dwelling, and we have a satisfactory relationship with the landlord. we think he is pleased we notice his transparency. we have been here since we left our husbands who got in the way of our observations.
 
after our evening meal we talk quietly of what we have seen. we believe in sharing our observations in case one of us has missed something. for our eyesight isnt as sharp as it was ten years ago. though we do clean our glasses each hour and keep our hair tied firmly back in small grey buns so nothing can distract our focus. we are small women. many people do not notice us, while we are noticing them. we keep to ourselves. mother used to say to us never get too friendly with strangers they can harm you. even if they smile and offer you an hour of their lives dont tell them nothing. mother knew a lot. she always kept the bible and a cloth to clean her hands on the kitchen table within reach.
 

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Epistles to Several Persons: Epistle II: To a Lady on the Characters of Women

© Alexander Pope

Nothing so true as what you once let fall,
"Most Women have no Characters at all."
Matter too soft a lasting mark to bear,
And best distinguish'd by black, brown, or fair.

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The Columbiad: Book VIII

© Joel Barlow

On fame's high pinnacle their names shall shine,
Unending ages greet the group divine,
Whose holy hands our banners first unfurl'd,
And conquer'd freedom for the grateful world.

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Speculation

© Ruth Stone

In the coolness here I care


Not for the down-pressed noises overhead,

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Eve

© Ella Higginson

Close to the gates of Paradise I flee;
  The night is hot and serpents leave their beds,
  And slide along the dark, crooking their heads,—
My God, my God, open the gates to me!

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The New Year. Rosh-Hashanah, 5643

© Emma Lazarus

Not while the snow-shroud round dead earth is rolled,
And naked branches point to frozen skies,-
When orchards burn their lamps of fiery gold,
The grape glows like a jewel, and the corn
A sea of beauty and abundance lies,
Then the new year is born.

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Letter To Sainte-Beuve

© Charles Baudelaire

On the old oak benches, more shiny and polished
than links of a chain that were, each day, burnished
rubbed by our human flesh, we, still un-bearded,
trailed our ennui, hunched, round-shouldered,

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from The Shepheardes Calender: October

© Edmund Spenser

The dapper ditties, that I wont devise,
To feede youthes fancie, and the flocking fry,
Delighten much: what I the bett for thy?
They han the pleasure, I a sclender prise.
I beate the bush, the byrds to them doe flye:
What good thereof to Cuddie can arise?

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Brighter Shone The Golden Shadows

© Louisa May Alcott

Brighter shone the golden shadows;

  On the cool wind softly came

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Bird Parliament (translation of)

© Edward Fitzgerald

And first, with Heart so full as from his Eyes
Ran weeping, up rose Tajidar the Wise;
The mystic Mark upon whose Bosom show'd
That He alone of all the Birds THE ROAD
Had travell'd: and the Crown upon his Head
Had reach'd the Goal; and He stood forth and said:

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The Summer Bower

© Henry Timrod

It is a place whither I’ve often gone


For peace, and found it, secret, hushed, and cool,

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"When I used to focus on the worries, everybody"

© Joanne Kyger

When I used to focus on the worries, everybody
                      was ahead of me, I was the bottom
                of the totem pole,
              a largely spread squat animal.

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Erskine

© John Le Gay Brereton

  A singing voice is in my dream
  The voice of Erskine, on his boulders,
  Babbling and shouting till he shoulders
  Stoutly against the heavier stream.

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Ah! Why, Because the Dazzling Sun

© Emily Jane Brontë

Ah! why, because the dazzling sun
Restored my earth to joy
Have you departed, every one,
And left a desert sky?

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Ode on the Spring

© Thomas Gray

Lo! where the rosy-bosom'd Hours,


 Fair Venus' train appear,

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The Strange Lady

© William Cullen Bryant

The summer morn is bright and fresh, the birds are darting by,
As if they loved to breast the breeze that sweeps the cool dear sky;
Young Albert, in the forest's edge, has heard a rustling sound
An arrow slightly strikes his hand and falls upon the ground.

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Thirteen Blackbirds Look at a Man

© Ronald Stuart Thomas

We have eaten
the blackberries and spat out
the seeds, but they lie
glittering like the eyes of a man.

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To The Road

© Paul Laurence Dunbar

Cool is the wind, for the summer is waning,

  Who 's for the road?

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Note to Reality

© Tony Hoagland

but your honeycombs and beetles; the dry blond fascicles of grass
  thrust up above the January snow.
Your postcards of Picasso and Matisse,
  from the museum series on European masters.

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Annie Protheroe. A Legend of Stratford-le-Bow

© William Schwenck Gilbert

OH! listen to the tale of little ANNIE PROTHEROE.
She kept a small post-office in the neighbourhood of BOW;
She loved a skilled mechanic, who was famous in his day -
A gentle executioner whose name was GILBERT CLAY.