Mom poems
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Ode To Beauty
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
Who gave thee, O Beauty!
The keys of this breast,
Too credulous lover
Of blest and unblest?
Morning Rain
© Tu Fu
A slight rain comes, bathed in dawn light.
I hear it among treetop leaves before mist
Arrives. Soon it sprinkles the soil and,
Windblown, follows clouds away. Deepened
Eternity
© James Lee Jobe
for C. G. Macdonald, 1956-2006
Charlie, sunrise is a three-legged mongrel dog,going deaf, already blind in one eye,answering to the unlikely name, 'Lucky.'
The sky, at gray-blue dawn, is a football field painted by smiling artists. Each artist has 3 arms, 3 hands, 3 legs.One leg drags behind, leaving a trail, leaving a mark.
The future resembles a cloudy dream where the ghosts of all your lifetry to tell you something, but what?
A Piece Of The Storm
© Mark Strand
For Sharon HorvathFrom the shadow of domes in the city of domes,
A snowflake, a blizzard of one, weightless, entered your room
And made its way to the arm of the chair where you, looking up
From your book, saw it the moment it landed.
The Story Of Our Lives
© Mark Strand
1
We are reading the story of our lives
which takes place in a room.
The room looks out on a street.
The Swagman's Rest
© Andrew Barton Paterson
We buried old Bob where the bloodwoods wave
At the foot of the Eaglehawk;
We fashioned a cross on the old man's grave
For fear that his ghost might walk;
The Matrimonial Stakes
© Andrew Barton Paterson
When I won the Flappers' Flatrace it was "all Sir Garneo",
For she praised the way I made my final run.
And she thought the riding won it -- for how could the poor girl know
That a monkey could have ridden it and won!
How The Favourite Beat Us
© Andrew Barton Paterson
"It seems old Tomato was stiff, though a starter;
They reckoned him fit for the Caulfield to keep.
The Bloke and the Donah were scratched by their owner,
He only was offered three-fourths of the sweep.
By the Grey Gulf-water
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Far to the Northward there lies a land,
A wonderful land that the winds blow over,
And none may fathom or understand
The charm it holds for the restless rover;
The Travelling Post Office
© Andrew Barton Paterson
The roving breezes come and go, the reed-beds sweep and sway,
The sleepy river murmers low,and loiters on its way,
It is the land of lots o'time along the Castlereagh.
. . .. . . . .
Black Harry's Team
© Andrew Barton Paterson
No soft-skinned Durham steers are they,
No Devons plump and red,
But brindled, black and iron-grey
That mark the mountain-bred;
The Man From Snowy River
© Andrew Barton Paterson
There was movement at the station, for the word has passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horseshe was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
The Rum Parade
© Andrew Barton Paterson
Now ye gallant Sydney boys, who have left your household joys
To march across the sea in search of glory,
I am very much afraid that you do not love parade,
But the rum parade is quite another story.
thought for Thursday
© Jonathan Bohrn
Tomorrow's Thursday again,
swept with the days' meandering flow:
this, that, and the week goes,
hearing time splash through cracks.
Conqueror
© Russell Hughes Ragsdale
The other mysteries fell, one by one,
cities under siege,
watched by the terrible army of our love,
filling all the horizon, insatiable, made indomitable
by human frailty and sheer force.
A poem on divine revelation
© Hugh Henry Brackenridge
This is a day of happiness, sweet peace,
And heavenly sunshine; upon which conven'd
In full assembly fair, once more we view,
And hail with voice expressive of the heart,
To Brooklyn Bridge
© Hart Crane
How many dawns, chill from his rippling rest
The seagull's wings shall dip and pivot him,
Shedding white rings of tumult, building high
Over the chained bay waters Liberty--
To Emily Dickinson
© Hart Crane
You who desired so much--in vain to ask--
Yet fed you hunger like an endless task,
Dared dignify the labor, bless the quest--
Achieved that stillness ultimately best,
Earliest Spring
© William Dean Howells
TOSSING his mane of snows in wildest eddies and tangles,
Lion-like March cometh in, hoarse, with tempestuous breath,
Through all the moaning chimneys, and 'thwart all the hollows and
angles
Round the shuddering house, threating of winter and death.
Stanzas
© Charlotte Bronte
IF thou be in a lonely place,
If one hour's calm be thine,
As Evening bends her placid face
O'er this sweet day's decline;
