Poems begining by F
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from Stanzas in Meditation: Stanza XIV
© Gertrude Stein
She need not be selfish but he may add
They like my way it is partly mine
Fame is a bee. (1788)
© Emily Dickinson
Fame is a bee.
It has a song—
It has a sting—
Ah, too, it has a wing.
Full Fathom
© Jorie Graham
& sea swell, hiss of incomprehensible flat: distance: blue long-fingered ocean and its
nothing else: nothing in the above visible except
Flood-Tide of Flowers
© Henry Van Dyke
The laggard winter ebbed so slow
With freezing rain and melting snow,
It seemed as if the earth would stay
Forever where the tide was low,
In sodden green and watery gray.
Father, Child, Water by Gary Dop: American Life in Poetry #178 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2
© Ted Kooser
We mammals are ferociously protective of our young, and we all know not to wander in between a sow bear and her cubs. Here Minnesota poet Gary Dop, without a moment's hesitation, throws himself into the water to save a frightened child.
Father, Child, Water
from On the Pulse of Morning
© Jon Anderson
But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow,
I will give you no hiding place down here.
from Stanzas in Meditation: Stanza V
© Gertrude Stein
Why can pansies be their aid or paths.
He said paths she had said paths
Full Fadom Fiue Thy Father Lies
© William Shakespeare
Full fadom five thy Father lies,
Of his bones are Corrall made:
from Colin Clout
© Alice Walker
Quis consurget mecum adversus malignantes? aut quis stabit mecum adversus operantes iniquitatem? Nemo, Domine!
What can it avail
from Anactoria
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
after Sappho
Yea, thou shalt be forgotten like spilt wine,
Foundations
© William Wilfred Campbell
So life and all its idols hath its hour,
Its fleet, ephemeral dream, its passing show,
Its pomp of fevered hopes that come and go:
Then stripped of vanity and folly's power,
Like some wide water bared to moon and star,
We know ourselves in truth for what we are.
Folk Tune
© Joseph Brodsky
It's not that the Muse feels like clamming up,
it's more like high time for the lad's last nap.
And the scarf-waving lass who wished him the best
drives a steamroller across his chest.
from The Congo: Section 1
© Roald Dahl
I. THEIR BASIC SAVAGERY
Fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room,
from “Poems for Blok”
© Marina Tsvetaeva
Your name is a—bird in my hand,
a piece of ice on my tongue.
The lips’ quick opening.
Your name—four letters.
A ball caught in flight,
a silver bell in my mouth.
Forever is composed of Nows (690)
© Emily Dickinson
Forever is composed of Nows
Tis not a different time
Except for Infiniteness
And Latitude of Home
from “The Desk”
© Marina Tsvetaeva
Fair enough: you people have eaten me,
I—wrote you down.
They’ll lay you out on a dinner table,
me—on this desk.
Fancy
© Jean Ingelow
O fancy, if thou flyest, come back anon,
Thy fluttering wings are soft as love's first word,
Fragment 3: Come, come thou bleak December wind
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Come, come thou bleak December wind,
And blow the dry leaves from the tree!
Flash, like a Love-thought, thro' me, Death
And take a Life that wearies me.
