Mom poems
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Vita Nova
© Louise Gluck
I remember sounds like that from my childhood,
laughter for no cause, simply because the world is beautiful,
something like that.
Sir Peter Harpdon's End
© William Morris
John Curzon
Of those three prisoners, that before you came
We took down at St. John's hard by the mill,
Two are good masons; we have tools enough,
And you have skill to set them working.
Sonnets from the Portuguese 20: Beloved, my Beloved
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Beloved, my Beloved, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
Me
© Amrita Pritam
My birth without “me”
was a blemished offering on the collection plate.
A moment of flesh, imprisoned in flesh.
from The Task, Book II: The Time-Piece
© William Cowper
(excerpt)
England, with all thy faults, I love thee still
Jabberwocky
© Lewis Carroll
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
The Banks Of Wye - Book III
© Robert Bloomfield
PEACE to your white-wall'd cots, ye vales,
Untainted fly your summer gales;
Paradise Regain'd: Book IV (1671)
© Patrick Kavanagh
PErplex'd and troubl'd at his bad success
The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply,
The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 10
© Publius Vergilius Maro
THE GATES of heavn unfold: Jove summons all
The gods to council in the common hall.
Within and Without: Part IV: A Dramatic Poem
© George MacDonald
SCENE I.-Summer. Julian's room. JULIAN is reading out of a book of
poems.
Love Calls Us to the Things of This World
© Lola Ridge
The eyes open to a cry of pulleys,
And spirited from sleep, the astounded soul
Hangs for a moment bodiless and simple
As false dawn.
Outside the open window
The morning air is all awash with angels.
A Death in the Desert
© Robert Browning
Then Xanthus said a prayer, but still he slept:
It is the Xanthus that escaped to Rome,
Was burned, and could not write the chronicle.
Cloud-Break
© Archibald Lampman
With a turn of his magical rod,
That extended and suddenly shone,
From the round of his glory some god
Looks forth and is gone.
The Waste Land
© Thomas Stearns Eliot
“My nerves are bad tonight. Yes, bad. Stay with me.
“Speak to me. Why do you never speak. Speak.
“What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
“I never know what you are thinking. Think.”
Another Night in the Ruins
© Washington Allston
5
I listen.
I hear nothing. Only
the cow, the cow of such
hollowness, mooing
down the bones.
Reflections - I.
© Samuel Rogers
Man to the last is but a froward child;
So eager for the future, come what may,
And to the present so insensible!
Oh, if he could in all things as he would,
Father, Child, Water by Gary Dop: American Life in Poetry #178 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2
© Ted Kooser
We mammals are ferociously protective of our young, and we all know not to wander in between a sow bear and her cubs. Here Minnesota poet Gary Dop, without a moment's hesitation, throws himself into the water to save a frightened child.
Father, Child, Water
