Poems begining by H
/ page 53 of 105 /
Hugging the Jukebox
© Naomi Shihab Nye
They’ve tried putting him to bed, but he sings in bed.
Even in Spanish—and he doesn’t speak Spanish!
Sings and screams, wants to go back to the jukebox.
O mama I was born with a trumpet in my throat
spent all these years tryin’ to cough it up …
Hysteria
© Thomas Stearns Eliot
As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill
How to Read Me
© Walter Savage Landor
TO turn my volumes oer nor find
(Sweet unsuspicious friend!)
Some vestige of an erring mind
To chide or discommend,
Honours -- Part II.
© Jean Ingelow
As one who, journeying, checks the rein in haste
Because a chasm doth yawn across his way
Too wide for leaping, and too steeply faced
For climber to essay-
Homage To Sextus Propertius - XII
© Ezra Pound
Upon the Actian marshes Virgil is Phoebus' chief of police,
He can tabulate Caesar's great ships.
He thrills to Ilian arms,
He shakes the Trojan weapons of Aeneas,
And casts stores on Lavinian beaches.
Holy Sonnets: Batter my heart, three-person'd God
© John Donne
Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
Heart by Rick Campbell: American Life in Poetry #169 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
I remember being scared to death when, at about thirty years of age, I saw an x-ray of my skull. Seeing one's self as a skeleton, or receiving any kind of medical report, even when the news is good, can be unsettling. Suddenly, you're just another body, a clock waiting to stop. Here's a telling poem by Rick Campbell, who lives and teaches in Florida.
Heart
How We Made a New Art on Old Ground
© Eavan Boland
A famous battle happened in this valley.
You never understood the nature poem.
Till now. Till this moment—if these statements
seem separate, unrelated, follow this
Hymn For Christmas Day
© John Byrom
Christians awake, salute the happy morn,
Whereon the saviour of the world was born;
"Here Is The Place Where Loveliness Keeps House"
© Madison Julius Cawein
Here is the place where Loveliness keeps house,
Between the river and the wooded hills,
He Sees Through Stone
© Etheridge Knight
the years fall
like overripe plums
bursting red flesh
on the dark earth
Hymn from a Watermelon Pavilion
© Edwin Muir
You dweller in the dark cabin,
To whom the watermelon is always purple,
Whose garden is wind and moon,
HYMNS: My God! I Know, I Feel Thee Mine
© Charles Wesley
1
My God! I know, I feel thee mine,
And will not quit my claim
Till all I have is lost in thine,
And all renewed I am.
Here Is the Beehive
© Pierre Reverdy
Here is the Beehive
But where are all the bees?
Hiding away where nobody sees.
How Grey The World Was
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
How grey the world was with its memories,
How dark even this gay room where the motes run!
How black these curtains, thick with murder cries,
These chairs, this floor with things slain in the sun!
Hopes And Memories
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
OUR hopes in youth are like those roseate shadows
Cast by the sunlight on the dewy grass
When first the fair morn opes her sapphire eyes;
They seem gigantic and yet graceful shades,
