Poems begining by F
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Follow wise Orion
© Emily Dickinson
Follow wise Orion
Till you waste your Eye --
Dazzlingly decamping
He is just as high --
Flowers -- Well -- if anybody
© Emily Dickinson
Too much pathos in their faces
For a simple breast like mine --
Butterflies from St. Domingo
Cruising round the purple line --
Have a system of aesthetics --
Far superior to mine.
Floss won't save you from an Abyss
© Emily Dickinson
Floss won't save you from an Abyss
But a Rope will --
Notwithstanding a Rope for a Souvenir
Is not beautiful --
Few, yet enough,
© Emily Dickinson
Few, yet enough,
Enough is One --
To that ethereal throng
Have not each one of us the right
To stealthily belong?
Fame is the one that does not stay --
© Emily Dickinson
Fame is the one that does not stay --
Its occupant must die
Or out of sight of estimate
Ascend incessantly --
"Faithful to the end" Amended
© Emily Dickinson
"Faithful to the end" Amended
From the Heavenly Clause --
Constancy with a Proviso
Constancy abhors --
Forever at His side to walk
© Emily Dickinson
Forever at His side to walk --
The smaller of the two!
Brain of His Brain --
Blood of His Blood --
Two lives -- One Being -- now --
Fame is a fickle food
© Emily Dickinson
Fame is a fickle food
Upon a shifting plate
Whose table once a
Guest but not
The second time is set.
Faith -- is the Pierless Bridge
© Emily Dickinson
Faith -- is the Pierless Bridge
Supporting what We see
Unto the Scene that We do not --
Too slender for the eye
Frequently the wood are pink
© Emily Dickinson
Frequently the wood are pink --
Frequently are brown.
Frequently the hills undress
Behind my native town.
Fame is a bee.
© Emily Dickinson
Fame is a bee.
It has a song --
It has a sting --
Ah, too, it has a wing.
"Faith" is a fine invention
© Emily Dickinson
"Faith" is a fine invention
When Gentlemen can see --
But Microscopes are prudent
In an Emergency.
For A Row Of Laurel Shrubs
© David Wagoner
They don't want to be your hedge,
Your barrier, your living wall, the no-go
Go-between between your property
And the prying of dogs and strangers. They don't
from Tsigan: The Gypsy Poem
© Cecilia Woloch
In Warsaw, blackbird girls
swoop down in flocks
the old town square
a swirl of dark-eyed dark-haired girls
Five Ways To Kill A Man
© Edwin Brock
Dispensing with nobility, you may, if the wind
allows, blow gas at him. But then you need
a mile of mud sliced through with ditches,
not to mention black boots, bomb craters,
more mud, a plague of rats, a dozen songs
and some round hats made of steel.
Finalities
© Constantine Cavafy
Amid fear and suspicions,
with agitated mind and frightened eyes,
we melt and plan how to act
to avoid the certain
Footsteps
© Constantine Cavafy
On an ebony bed decorated
with coral eagles, sound asleep lies
Nero -- unconscious, quiet, and blissful;
thriving in the vigor of flesh,
and in the splendid power of youth.
Fan-Piece, For Her Imperial Lord
© Ezra Pound
O fan of white silk,
clear as frost on the grass-blade,
Further Instructions
© Ezra Pound
Come, my songs, let us express our baser passions.
Let us express our envy for the man with a steady job and no worry about the future.
You are very idle, my songs,
I fear you will come to a bad end.
You stand about the streets, You loiter at the corners and bus-stops,
You do next to nothing at all.
