Life poems
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On Moonlit Heath and Lonesome Bank
© Alfred Edward Housman
On moonlit heath and lonesome bank
The sheep beside me graze;
And yon the gallows used to clank
Fast by the four cross ways.
Fragment of a Greek Tragedy
© Alfred Edward Housman
CHORUS: O suitably-attired-in-leather-boots
Head of a traveller, wherefore seeking whom
Whence by what way how purposed art thou come
To this well-nightingaled vicinity?
Here Dead We Lie
© Alfred Edward Housman
Here dead we lie
Because we did not choose
To live and shame the land
From which we sprung.
At Pleasure Bay
© Robert Pinsky
In the willows along the river at Pleasure Bay
A catbird singing, never the same phrase twice.
Here under the pines a little off the road
In 1927 the Chief of Police
Impossible To Tell
© Robert Pinsky
Slow dulcimer, gavotte and bow, in autumn,
Bashõ and his friends go out to view the moon;
In summer, gasoline rainbow in the gutter,
Poem in Prose
© Archibald MacLeish
This poem is for my wife.
I have made it plainly and honestly:
The mark is on it
Like the burl on the knife.
The Stupid Jerk I'm Obsessed With
© Maggie Estep
The stupid jerk I'm obsessed with
stands so close to me
I can feel his breath
on my neck
Emotional Idiot
© Maggie Estep
Emotional Idiocy is obviously
a theme close to my heart since I seem to use the phrase in novels and
CDs alike. My friend and mentor of sorts, Andrew Vachss, upon hearing me
read a rendition of this poem, stated that it ought to be the theme song
for borderline personality disorder. He's right.
Lesson 1
© Julie Hill Alger
At least I've learned this much:
Life doesn't have to be
all poetry and roses. Life
can be bus rides, gritty sidewalks,
Underground System
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Set the foot down with distrust upon the crust of the
worldit is thin.
Moles are at work beneath us; they have tunneled the
sub-soil
She is Overheard Singing
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
OH, Prue she has a patient man,
And Joan a gentle lover,
And Agatha's Arth' is a hug-the-hearth,
But my true love's a rover!
Invocation To The Muses
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Archaic, or obsolescent at the least,
Be thy grave speaking and the careful words of thy clear song,
For the time wrongs us, and the words most common to our speech today
Salute and welcome to the feast
Conspicuous Evil or against him all day long
Cry out, telling of ugly deeds and most uncommon wrong.
Mist In The Valley
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
These hills, to hurt me more,
That am hurt already enough,
Having left the sea behind,
Having turned suddenly and left the shore
That I had loved beyond all words, even a song's words, to
convey,
Midnight Oil
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Cut if you will, with Sleep's dull knife,
Each day to half its length, my friend,
The years that Time take off my life,
He'll take from off the other end!
Sonnets From An Ungrafted Tree
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
XLII, being born a woman and distressed
By all the needs and notions of my kind,
Am urged by your propinquity to find
Your person fair, and feel a certain zest
Sonnets 09: Let You Not Say Of Me When I Am Old
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
In me no lenten wicks watch out the night;
I am the booth where Folly holds her fair;
Impious no less in ruin than in strength,
When I lie crumbled to the earth at length,
Let you not say, "Upon this reverend site
The righteous groaned and beat their breasts in prayer."
Fontaine, Je Ne Boirai Pas De Ton Eau!
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
I know I might have lived in such a way
As to have suffered only pain:
Loving not man nor dog;
Not money, even; feeling
Ashes Of Life
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
Love has gone and left me and the days are all alike;
Eat I must, and sleep I will,and would that night were
here!
But ah!to lie awake and hear the slow hours strike!
Would that it were day again!with twilight near!
Weeds
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
White with daisies and red with sorrel
And empty, empty under the sky!
Life is a quest and love a quarrel
Here is a place for me to lie.
