Mom poems
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All The Things You Are Not Yet
© Helen Dunmore
for tessTonight there's a crowd in my head:
all the things you are not yet.
You are words without paper, pages
sighing in summer forests, gardens
Hanging Fire
© Audre Lorde
I am fourteen
and my skin has betrayed me
the boy I cannot live without
still sucks his tumb
The Horses
© Edwin Muir
Barely a twelvemonth after
The seven days war that put the world to sleep,
Late in the evening the strange horses came.
By then we had made our covenant with silence,
In Love For Long
© Edwin Muir
I've been in love for long
With what I cannot tell
And will contrive a song
For the intangible
That has no mould or shape,
From which there's no escape.
Ionian
© Constantine Cavafy
Just because we've torn their statues down,
and cast them from their temples,
doesn't for a moment mean the gods are dead.
Land of Ionia, they love you yet,
Interruption
© Constantine Cavafy
We interrupt the work of the gods,
hasty and inexperienced beings of the moment.
In the palaces of Eleusis and Phthia
Demeter and Thetis start good works
Monotony
© Constantine Cavafy
One monotonous day is followed
by another monotonous, identical day. The same
things will happen, they will happen again --
the same moments find us and leave us.
Dangerous Things
© Constantine Cavafy
Said Myrtias (a Syrian student
in Alexandria; in the reign of
Augustus Constans and Augustus Constantius;
in part a pagan, and in part a christian);
Voices
© Constantine Cavafy
Ideal and beloved voices
of those who are dead, or of those
who are lost to us like the dead.
All or Nothing
© Siddharth Anand
All or Nothing
The final race. the final decision
All disgrace or fortune all
Either I fall or I stand tall;
Hope
© Siddharth Anand
Do you believe, in what you see
do you believe in reality
do you believe in the sun thats bright
do you believe in the stars in the night
Invern
© Ezra Pound
Earth's winter cometh
And I being part of all
And sith the spirit of all moveth in me
I must needs bear earth's winter
In the Old Age of the Soul
© Ezra Pound
I do not choose to dream; there cometh on me
Some strange old lust for deeds.
As to the nerveless hand of some old warrior
The sword-hilt or the war-worn wonted helmet
Canto XIII
© Ezra Pound
And they said: If a man commit murder
Should his father protect him, and hide him?
And Kung said:
He should hide him.
The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volume 1: 1931-1934
© Anais Nin
"Am I, at bottom, that fervent little Spanish Catholic child who chastised herself for loving toys, who forbade herself the enjoyment of sweet foods, who practiced silence, who humiliated her pride, who adored symbols, statues, burning candles, incense, the caress of nuns, organ music, for whom Communion was a great event? I was so exalted by the idea of eating Jesus's flesh and drinking His blood that I couldn't swallow the host well, and I dreaded harming the it
The Three Taverns
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
When the brethren heard of us, they came to meet us as far as Appii Forum, and The Three Taverns.(Acts xxviii, 15)
Herodion, Apelles, Amplias,
And Andronicus? Is it you I see
At last? And is it you now that are gazing
The Book of Annandale
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
IPartly to think, more to be left alone,
George Annandale said something to his friends
A word or two, brusque, but yet smoothed enough
To suit their funeral gazeand went upstairs;
Sainte-Nitouche
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Though not for common praise of him,
Nor yet for pride or charity,
Still would I make to Vanderberg
One tribute for his memory:
Avon's Harvest
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Mightnt it be as well, my friend, I said,
For you to contemplate the uncompleted
With not such an infernal certainty?
The Wandering Jew
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
I saw by looking in his eyes
That they remembered everything;
And this was how I came to know
That he was here, still wandering.
