Future poems
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Winter - The Fourth Pastoral, or Daphne
© Alexander Pope
Lycidas.
Thyrsis, the music of that murm'ring spring,
To My Wife
© Philip Larkin
So for your face I have exchanged all faces,
For your few properties bargained the brisk
Baggage, the mask-and-magic-man's regalia.
Now you become my boredom and my failure,
Another way of suffering, a risk,
A heavier-than-air hypostasis.
His Legacy
© Faye Diane Kilday
This is a true poem about a very special boy whose short life brought so much love and beauty to the world. It is dedicated to all the special children who bless our lives for only a short time but whose priceless gifts last forever. At an early age he started to
create beauty.
The kind of beauty that could
reach in and touch your heart.
Questions and a Prayer For a New Born Baby
© Faye Diane Kilday
So, here you are once more - in a brand new perfect body;An old soul with a brand new life to explore.And my mind is filled with so many things I want to ask you,So many questions that I've forgotten the answers to.
I don't want to ask you about your future, because who canhonestly say what lessons the school called life will bringto you each day.
No, I want to ask you about the world you lived in beforecoming back here. Not your body of course, but your spirit my dear.
You see, it's been a long time since I was in Heaven last,Although I know that by Heaven's calender not much timeat all has passed.
To Germany
© Charles Hamilton Sorley
When it is peace, then we may view again
With new won eyes each other's truer form and wonder.
Grown more loving kind and warm
We'll grasp firm hands and laugh at the old pain,
When it is peace. But until peace, the storm,
The darkness and the thunder and the rain.
Duty
© Edgar Albert Guest
We know not where the path may lead nor what the end may be,
The clouds are dark above us now, the future none can see,
And yet when all the storms have passed, and cannons cease to roar,
We shall be prouder of our flag than we have been before.
Offering
© Kenneth Allott
I offer you my forests and my street-cries
With hands of double-patience under the clock,
The antiseptic arguments and lies
Uttered before the flood, the submerged rock.
The sack of meal pierced by the handsome fencer,
The flowers dying for a great adventure.
Was He Married?
© Stevie Smith
Was he married, did he try
To support as he grew less fond of them
Wife and family?
The Hangman's Great Hands
© Kenneth Patchen
And all that is this day. . .
The boy with cap slung over what had been a face. .. Somehow the cop will sleep tonight, will make love to his
wife...
Anger won't help. I was born angry. Angry that my father was
As it was in the Beginning
© Henry Lawson
As it used to be in past times, in the future so it must,
We shall find him stretching forward with his face down in the dust,
All his wounds in front, and hiddenblood to earth, and back to sky,
When pale women pray in private, and strong men go out to die.
Fleckno, an English Priest at Rome
© Andrew Marvell
Oblig'd by frequent visits of this man,
Whom as Priest, Poet, and Musician,
I for some branch of Melchizedeck took,
(Though he derives himself from my Lord Brooke)
The Death of Cromwell
© Andrew Marvell
That Providence which had so long the care
Of Cromwell's head, and numbered every hair,
Now in itself (the glass where all appears)
Had seen the period of his golden years:
And thenceforh only did attend to trace
What death might least so fair a life deface.
A Dialogue Between Thyrsis And Dorinda
© Andrew Marvell
Dorinda
When Death, shall snatch us from these Kids,
And shut up our divided Lids,
Tell me Thyrsis, prethee do,
Whither thou and I must go.
A Dialogue Between the Resolved Soul, And Created Pleasure
© Andrew Marvell
Soul
I sup above, and cannot stay
To bait so long upon the way.
Sordello: Book the Fourth
© Robert Browning
Meantime Ferrara lay in rueful case;
The lady-city, for whose sole embrace
A Poem Upon The Death Of O.C.
© Andrew Marvell
That Providence which had so long the care
Of Cromwell's head, and numbred ev'ry hair,
Now in its self (the Glass where all appears)
Had seen the period of his golden Years:
Koening Of The River
© Derek Walcott
Koening knew now there was no one on the river.
Entering its brown mouth choking with lilies
and curtained with midges, Koenig poled the shallop
past the abandoned ferry and the ferry piles
Another Version
© Lisel Mueller
Our trees are aspens, but people
mistake them for birches;
they think of us as characters
in a Russian novel, Kitty and Levin
Curriculum Vitae
© Lisel Mueller
2) In the year of my birth, money was shredded into
confetti. A loaf of bread cost a million marks. Of
course I do not remember this.
