Family poems
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Lost Mr. Blake
© William Schwenck Gilbert
He was quite indifferent as to the particular kinds of dresses
That the clergyman wore at church where he used to go to pray,
And whatever he did in the way of relieving a chap's distresses,
He always did in a nasty, sneaking, underhanded, hole-and-corner
sort of way.
Italy : 15. Luigi
© Samuel Rogers
Happy is he who loves companionship,
And lights on thee, Luigi. Thee I found,
Playing at Mora on the cabin-roof
With Punchinello. -- 'Tis a game to strike
The One I Think of Now by Wesley McNair: American Life in Poetry #100 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate
© Ted Kooser
Here the Maine poet, Wesley McNair, offers us a vivid description of a man who has lived beyond himself. I'd guess you won't easily forget this sad old man in his apron with his tray of cheese.
The One I Think of Now
Grandmother Speaks of the Old Country by Lola Haskins: American Life in Poetry #64 Ted Kooser, U.S.
© Ted Kooser
Storytelling binds the past and present together, and is as essential to community life as are food and shelter. Many of our poets are masters at reshaping family stories as poetry. Here Lola Haskins retells a haunting tale, cast in the voice of an elder. Like the best stories, there are no inessential details. Every word counts toward the effect.
Grandmother Speaks of the Old Country
To Aunt Rose
© Allen Ginsberg
Aunt Rose
Hitler is dead, Hitler is in Eternity; Hitler is with
Tamburlane and Emily Brontë
Jewish Wedding in Bombay
© Nissim Ezekiel
Her mother shed a tear or two but wasn't really
crying. It was the thing to do, so she did it
enjoying every moment. The bride laughed when I
sympathized, and said don't be silly.
A Manchester Poem
© George MacDonald
'Tis a poor drizzly morning, dark and sad.
The cloud has fallen, and filled with fold on fold
The chimneyed city; and the smoke is caught,
And spreads diluted in the cloud, and sinks,
A black precipitate, on miry streets.
And faces gray glide through the darkened fog.
The Fire-side
© Nathaniel Cotton
Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,
In folly's maze advance;
Tho' singularity and pride
Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside,
Nor join the giddy dance.
The Botanic Garden (Part VIII)
© Erasmus Darwin
"Sweet ECHO! sleeps thy vocal shell,
"Where this high arch o'erhangs the dell;
"While Tweed with sun-reflecting streams
"Chequers thy rocks with dancing beams?-
Cultural Exchange
© Langston Hughes
Pushcarts fold and unfold
In a supermarket sea.
And we better find out, mama,
Where is the colored laundromat
Since we move dup to Mount Vernon.
The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 7
© Publius Vergilius Maro
AND thou, O matron of immortal fame,
Here dying, to the shore hast left thy name;
Don Juan: Canto The Second
© George Gordon Byron
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
The Vote of Thanks Debate
© Henry Lawson
THE OTHER NIGHT I got the blues and tried to smile in vain.
I couldnt chuck a chuckle at the foolery of Twain;
The Heavy Dragoon
© William Schwenck Gilbert
If you want a receipt for that popular mystery,
Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon,
A Man Meets A Woman In The Street
© Randall Jarrell
Under the separated leaves of shade
Of the gingko, that old tree
Metamorphoses: Book The Eighth
© Ovid
The End of the Eighth Book.
Translated into English verse under the direction of
Sir Samuel Garth by John Dryden, Alexander Pope, Joseph Addison,
William Congreve and other eminent hands
On Chenoweths Run
© Madison Julius Cawein
I thought of the road through the glen,
With its hawk's nest high in the pine;
With its rock, where the fox had his den,
'Mid tangles of sumach and vine,
Where she swore to be mine.
