Failure poems

 / page 17 of 20 /
star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Petit, The Poet

© Edgar Lee Masters

Seeds in a dry pod, tick, tick, tick,
Tick, tick, tick, like mites in a quarrel--
Faint iambics that the full breeze wakens--
But the pine tree makes a symphony thereof.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Farewell XXVIII

© Khalil Gibran

And now it was evening.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Religion XXVI

© Khalil Gibran

And an old priest said, "Speak to us of Religion."

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Free from intrusion

© Ivan Donn Carswell

You awaken this time with a welcoming smile, an experience
sublime, not a dream – the boner from Hell
has presented itself like a prospect of fate, and reasoned
debate be damned, you’ll argue its merits later.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Admire their style

© Ivan Donn Carswell

I’m reading fellow poets’ blogs today,
a sustaining source of entertainment;
I admire their style without exciting comment
or resorting to an unkind eye, simple though
it is to sigh about uneasy affirmation.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

On the Mystery of the Incarnation

© Denise Levertov

It's when we face for a moment
the worst our kind can do, and shudder to know
the taint in our own selves, that awe
cracks the mind's shell and enters the heart:

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The House Of Dust: Part 04: 06: Cinema

© Conrad Aiken

The music ends. The screen grows dark. We hurry
To go our devious secret ways, forgetting
Those many lives . . . We loved, we laughed, we killed,
We danced in fire, we drowned in a whirl of sea-waves.
The flutes are stilled, and a thousand dreams are stilled.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The House Of Dust: Part 03: 07: Porcelain

© Conrad Aiken

Study them . . . you will see there, in the porcelain,
If you stare hard enough, a sort of swimming
Of lights and shadows, ghosts within a crystal—
My brain unfolding! There you'll see me sitting
Day after day, close to a certain window,
Looking down, sometimes, to see the people . . .

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The House Of Dust: Complete (Long)

© Conrad Aiken

. . . Parts of this poem have been printed in "The North American
Review, Others, Poetry, Youth, Coterie, The Yale Review". . . . I am
indebted to Lafcadio Hearn for the episode called "The Screen Maiden"
in Part II.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

April 26

© David Lehman

When my father
Said mein Fehler
I thought it meant
"I'm a failure"

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

The Mother Poem (two)

© Jackie Kay

Now when people say ah but
It's not like having your own child though is it
I say of course it is what else is it
She's my child I have brought her up
Told her stories wept at losses
Laughed at her pleasures she is mine.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Vespers

© Louise Gluck

In your extended absence, you permit me
use of earth, anticipating
some return on investment. I must report
failure in my assignment, principally

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Inferno (English)

© Dante Alighieri

CANTO I
ONE night, when half my life behind me lay,
I wandered from the straight lost path afar.
Through the great dark was no releasing way;

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Death Of A Poet

© Ronald Stuart Thomas

Laid now on his smooth bed
For the last time, watching dully
Through heavy eyelids the day's colour
Widow the sky, what can he say

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Last Night As I Was Sleeping

© Antonio Machado

Last night as I slept,
I dreamt—marvelous error!—
that it was God I had
here inside my heart.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Villanelle At Sundown

© Donald Justice

Turn your head. Look. The light is turning yellow.
The river seems enriched thereby, not to say deepened.
Why this is, I'll never be able to tell you.

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

Faint Yet Pursuing

© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore

Heroic Good, target for which the young
Dream in their dreams that every bow is strung,
And, missing, sigh
Unfruitful, or as disbelievers die,

star nullstar nullstar nullstar nullstar null

New Year's Morning

© Helen Hunt Jackson

Only a night from old to new!
Never a night such changes brought.
The Old Year had its work to do;
No New Year miracles are wrought.