Life poems
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Another barbeque tonight
© Ivan Donn Carswell
It rained throughout the night, a truly welcome sound
that eases sleep although we barely slept we were
distressed by other things. Today the kitchens centre ring,
the kitchen of Anitas dreams. Its had a long gestation,
Death
© George Herbert
Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing,
Nothing but bones,
The sad effect of sadder grones:
Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing.
A monument in words
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Perhaps they cant compete these dry and dusty counters
of the grains of sand, theres more evoked within a ball of
dimpled clay on any day a sculptor lends his hands to shape
a face; I am pleased to read the poet rather than the man
and will not place my future faith in such abstruse scatology.
© I.D. Carswell
The Wandering Pilgrim
© Matthew Prior
Will Piggot must to Coxwould go,
To live, alas! in want,
Unless Sir Thomas say, No, no,
Th' allowance is too scant.
The Morning Watch
© Jones Very
'Tis near the morning watch, the dim lamp burns
But scarcely shows how dark the slumbering street;
A final journeying
© Ivan Donn Carswell
And through a pall of sadness
feel he still walks tall and talks
to us with commonsense and
passion deep to stir our souls.
The Farewell to Clarimonde
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Adieu, Romauld! But thou canst not forget me.
Although no more I haunt thy dreams at night,
Thy hungering heart forever must regret me,
And starve for those lost moments of delight.
Warble Of Lilac-Time
© Walt Whitman
My mind henceforth, and all its meditations-my recitatives,
My land, my age, my race, for once to serve in songs,
(Sprouts, tokens ever of death indeed the same as life,)
To grace the bush I love-to sing with the birds,
A warble for joy of Lilac-time.
The Black Cottage
© Robert Frost
We chanced in passing by that afternoon
To catch it in a sort of special picture
A True Hero
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
JAMES BRAIDWOOD: Died June 22, 1861.
NOT at the battle front,--writ of in story;
Not on the blazing wreck steering to glory;
Not while in martyr-pangs soul and flesh sever,
An excerpt from "Mass for the Day of St. Thomas Didymus"
© Denise Levertov
iiGloriaPraise the wet snow
falling early.
Praise the shadow
my neighor's chimney casts on the tile roof
Sojourns in the Parallel World
© Denise Levertov
We live our lives of human passions,
cruelties, dreams, concepts,
crimes and the exercise of virtue
in and beside a world devoid
A Fuedal Picture
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WITH what a grace she passed us by just now!
Her delicate chin half raised, her cordial brow
The White Evening
© Madison Julius Cawein
From gray, bleak hills 'neath steely skies
Thro' beards of ice the forests roar;
Along the river's humming shore
The skimming skater bird-like flies.
Zeroing In
© Denise Levertov
"I am a landscape," he said,
"a landscape and a person walking in that landscape.
There are daunting cliffs there,
and plains glad in their way
If I Forget Thee
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
If I forget thee! How shall I forget thee?
Sword of the mighty! Prince and Lord of War!
Captive I bind me
To the spears that blind me,
Rage in my heart and love for evermore.
In Memory Of Charles Wentworth Upham, Jr.
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
HE was all sunshine; in his face
The very soul of sweetness shone;
Fairest and gentlest of his race;
None like him we can call our own.
The Book
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Gallery of sacred pictures manifold,
A minster rich in holy effigies,
To Caroline: Oh When Shall The Grave Hide
© George Gordon Byron
Oh when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow?
Oh when shall my soul wing her flight from this clay?
The present is hell, and the coming to-morrow
But brings, with new torture, the curse of to-day.
