Poems begining by D

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Deptford

© Robert Laurence Binyon

Well is it, shrouded Sun, thou spar'st no ray
To illumine this sad street! A light more bare
Would but discover more this bald array
Of roofs dejected, window patched that stare

Death XXVII

© Khalil Gibran

Then Almitra spoke, saying, "We would ask now of Death."

Dyke Side

© John Clare

The frog croaks loud, and maidens dare not pass

But fear the noisome toad and shun the grass;

Dear Parents

© Sukasah Syahdan

dear parents
hoary and weatherbeaten
silently take turns ailing

Discharged

© William Ernest Henley

Carry me out
Into the wind and the sunshine,
Into the beautiful world.

With flowers fair adorn thy lustrous hair,
Dica, amidst thy locks sweet blossoms twine,
With thy soft hands, for so a maiden stands
Accepted of the gods, whose eyes divine
Are turned away from her--though fair as May
She waits, but round whose locks no flowers shine.

Dream

© Sukasah Syahdan

last night I dreamed
that I dreamed that I awoke
a sleepless man writing about what
I dreamed last night

Doggy

© Sukasah Syahdan

our doggy
needs to be warned
to not approach mr. w's house

De Libris

© William Cosmo Monkhouse

True there are books and books. Theres Gray,
For instance, and theres Bacon;
Theres Longfellow, and Monstrelet,
And also Coltons Lacon,
With Laws of Whist and those of Libel,
And Euclid, and the Mormon Bible.

Docker

© Seamus Justin Heaney

There, in the corner, staring at his drink.
The cap juts like a gantry's crossbeam,
Cowling plated forehead and sledgehead jaw.
Speech is clamped in the lips' vice.

Dream Song 224: Lonely in his great age

© John Berryman

Lonely in his great age, Henry's old friend
leaned on his burning cane while hís old friend
was hymnéd out of living.
The Abbey rang with sound. Pound white as snow
bowed to them with his thoughtsit's hard to know them though
for the old man sang no word.

Death Of A Naturalist

All year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.

Digging

Under my window, a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down

Dermott Donn MacMorna

ONE day you'll come to my husband's door,
Dermoit Donn MacMorna,
One day you'll come to Hugh's dark door,
And the pain at my heart will be no more,
Dermott Donn MacMorna!