Good poems
/ page 303 of 545 /
H. S. Mauberley (Life and Contacts) [Part I]
© Ezra Pound
E. P. Ode pour l'élection de son sépulchre
For three years, out of key with his time,
He strove to resuscitate the dead art
Of poetry; to maintain "the sublime"
In the old sense. Wrong from the start i
Song of the Witches
© William Shakespeare
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon's blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.
In the Basement of the Goodwill Store
© Ted Kooser
In musty light, in the thin brown air
of damp carpet, doll heads and rust,
The Two Bears
© Carolyn Wells
Prince Curlilocks remarked one day
To Princess Dimplecheek,
"I haven't had a real good play
For more than 'most a week."
“A bridge engineer, Mr. Crumpett ...”
© Pierre Reverdy
A bridge engineer, Mr. Crumpett,
Built a bridge for the good River Bumpett.
A mistake in the plan
Left a gap in the span,
But he said, “Well, they'll just have to jump it.”
How's My Boy?
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
'Ho, Sailor of the sea!
How's my boy-my boy?'
'What's your boy's name, good wife,
And in what good ship sailed he?'
Paradise Lost: Book IV
© Patrick Kavanagh
"Which of those rebel Spirits adjudg'd to Hell
Com'st thou, escap'd thy prison? and, transform'd,
Why satt'st thou like an enemy in wait,
Here watching at the head of these that sleep?"
And Ut Pictura Poesis Is Her Name
© John Ashbery
You can’t say it that way any more.
Bothered about beauty you have to
Elegy for a Soldier
© Marilyn Hacker
You, who stood alone in the tall bay window
of a Brooklyn brownstone, conjuring morning
with free-flying words, knew the power, terror
in words, in flying;
The Woman Who Laughed on Calvary
© Heather McHugh
I emulated there, in that
Godawful place. What kind
of face
Ode XVIII: To The Right Honourable Francis Earl Of Huntington
© Mark Akenside
I. 2.
Nor less prevailing is their charm
The vengeful bosom to disarm;
To melt the proud with human woe,
And prompt unwilling tears to flow.
Marenghi
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
II.
A massy tower yet overhangs the town,
A scattered group of ruined dwellings now...
The Moonlit Room
© Lesbia Harford
I know a room that's dark in daytime hours;
No sunbeams light it,
Whether in months of gloom or months of flowers,
So people slight it.
Hymn to Life
© James Schuyler
The wind rests its cheek upon the ground and feels the cool damp
And lifts its head with twigs and small dead blades of grass
Portico
© Rubén Dario
I am the singer who of late put by
The verse azulean and the chant profane,
Across whose nights a rossignol would cry
And prove himself a lark at morn again.
