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On the Term of Exile
© Bertolt Brecht
No need to drive a nail into the wall
To hang your hat on;
When you come in, just drop it on the chair
No guest has sat on.
the difference between a bad poet and a good one is luck
© Charles Bukowski
I suppose so.
I was living in an attic in Philadelphia
Vermeer
© Debora Greger
Every seaworthy vessel a woman
whose mate, eloquent of how she handled
under the worst of weathers, hailed his goddess
of wet fire, handmaid and dockside whore.
Ode For September
© Robert Laurence Binyon
On that long day when England held her breath,
Suddenly gripped at heart
And called to choose her part
Between her loyal soul and luring sophistries,
The Rover
© Virna Sheard
Though I follow a trail to north or south,
Though I travel east or west,
There's a little house on a quiet road
That my hidden heart loves best;
And when my journeys are over and done,
'Tis there I will go to rest.
Of Coarse Fools
© Sebastian Brant
Vile, scolding words do irritate,
Good manners thereby will abate
If sow-bell's rung from morn to late.
The Calling Motherland
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
On the lone height of some untrodden hill
The shadowy mother goes,
Dawn
© Louise Gluck
Years and years — that’s how much time passes.
All in a dream. But the duck —
no one knows what happened to that.
In Misty Blue
© Robert Laurence Binyon
In misty blue the lark is heard
Above the silent homes of men;
Atlantic Oil
© Cesare Pavese
The drunk mechanic is happy to be in the ditch.
From the tavern, five minutes through the dark field
Sonnet 109: "O! never say that I was false of heart,..."
© William Shakespeare
O! never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify,
The Death Of The Pauper Child
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Hush, mourning mother, wan and pale!
No sobsno grieving now:
Spring Snow
© William Matthews
Here comes the powdered milk I drank
as a child, and the money it saved.
Here come the papers I delivered,
the spotted dog in heat that followed me home
Gareth And Lynette
© Alfred Tennyson
To whom the mother said,
'True love, sweet son, had risked himself and climbed,
And handed down the golden treasure to him.'
Dead Man’s Dump
© Isaac Rosenberg
The plunging limbers over the shattered track
Racketed with their rusty freight,
Stuck out like many crowns of thorns,
And the rusty stakes like sceptres old
To stay the flood of brutish men
Upon our brothers dear.
The Fat Old Couple Whirling Around
© Robert Bly
The drum says that the night we die will be a long night.
It says the children have time to play. Tell the grownups
They can pull the curtains around the bed tonight.
