Mom poems
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The Princess (part 5)
© Alfred Tennyson
Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry:
All her maidens, watching, said,
'She must weep or she will die.'
Einstein
© Archibald MacLeish
Standing between the sun and moon preserves
A certain secrecy. Or seems to keep
'Soeur Monique'
© Alice Meynell
But two words, and this sweet air.
Soeur Monique,
Had he more, who set you there?
Was his music-dream of you
Of some perfect nun he knew,
Or of some ideal, as true?
The Lost Galleon
© Francis Bret Harte
In sixteen hundred and forty-one,
The regular yearly galleon,
Laden with odorous gums and spice,
India cottons and India rice,
And the richest silks of far Cathay,
Was due at Acapulco Bay.
The Mother's Return
© William Wordsworth
A MONTH, sweet Little-ones, is past
Since your dear Mother went away,--
And she tomorrow will return;
Tomorrow is the happy day.
Spring In Canada
© William Wilfred Campbell
SEASON of life's renewal, love's rebirth,
And all hope's young espousals; in your dream,
I feel once more the ancient stirrings of Earth.
Orpheus
© Emma Lazarus
ORPHEUS.
LAUGHTER and dance, and sounds of harp and lyre,
Piping of flutes, singing of festal songs,
Ribbons of flame from flaunting torches, dulled
Echo by Robert West: American Life in Poetry #114 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
Poetry can be thought of as an act of persuasion: a poem attempts to bring about some kind of change in its reader, perhaps no more than a moment of clarity amidst the disorder of everyday life. And successful poems not only make use of the meanings and sounds of words, as well as the images those words conjure up, but may also take advantage of the arrangement of type on a page. Notice how this little poem by Mississippi poet Robert West makes the very best use of the empty space around it to help convey the nature of its subject.
Echo
The Dog
© Archibald Lampman
Then flung we balls, and out and clear away,
Up the white slope, across the crusted snow,
To where a broken fence stands in the way,
Against the sky-line, a mere row of pegs,
Quicker than thought we saw him flash and go,
A straight mad scuttling of four crooked legs.
The Lady of the Lake: Canto VI. - The Guardroom
© Sir Walter Scott
Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule
Laid a swinging long curse on the bonny brown bowl,
That there 's wrath and despair in the jolly black-jack,
And the seven deadly sins in a flagon of sack;
Yet whoop, Barnaby! off with thy liquor,
Drink upsees out, and a fig for the vicar!
Man, A Torch
© George Moses Horton
Blown up with painful care and hard to light,
A glimmering torch blown in a moment out,
The Moonmen
© Madison Julius Cawein
I stood in the forest on HURON HILL
When the night was old and the world was still.
Master Johnny's Next-Door Neighbor
© Francis Bret Harte
And Ma says it's decent and proper, as I was her neighbor and friend,
That I should go there to the funeral, and she thinks that YOU ought
to attend;
But I am so clumsy and awkward, I know I shall be in the way,
And suppose they should speak to me, Papa, I wouldn't know just what
to say.
Jewish Wedding in Bombay
© Nissim Ezekiel
Her mother shed a tear or two but wasn't really
crying. It was the thing to do, so she did it
enjoying every moment. The bride laughed when I
sympathized, and said don't be silly.
Laus Mortis
© Arthur Symons
I bring to thee, for love, white roses, delicate Death!
White lilies of the valley, dropping gentle tears,
The Night And The Rose
© Guido Gezelle
I have many an hour with you worn out and enjoyed
and never has an hour with you bored me for a moment.
The Wisdom Of Merlyn
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
These are the time--words of Merlyn, the voice of his age recorded,
All his wisdom of life, the fruit of tears in his youth, of joy in his manhood hoarded,
All the wit of his years unsealed, to the witless alms awarded.
Friar Pedro's Ride
© Francis Bret Harte
It was the morning season of the year;
It was the morning era of the land;
