Morning poems
/ page 145 of 310 /
To A Young Lady
© John Trumbull
From me, not famed for much goodnature,
Expect not compliment, but satire;
To draw your picture quite unable,
Instead of fact accept a Fable.
M'Fingal - Canto IV
© John Trumbull
"For me, before that fatal time,
I mean to fly th' accursed clime,
And follow omens, which of late
Have warn'd me of impending fate.
It Takes a While to Disappear
© Ralph Angel
The city purrs, it hums along, the morning hardly risen.
A well-dressed drunk smears her finger across a doormans lips and whispers.
Someone stumbles. Someone curses. Someone hoses down the pavement.
We must have made a mess of things again, all fuzzy black and white
up into the silence the green... (41)
© Edward Estlin Cummings
up into the silence the green
silence with a white earth in ityou will(kiss me)goout into the morning the young
morning with a warm world in it(kiss me)you will goon into the sunlight the fine
sunlight with a firm day in ityou will go(kiss medown into your memory and
Of Nicolette
© Edward Estlin Cummings
dreaming in marble all the castle lay
like some gigantic ghost-flower born of night
blossoming in white towers to the moon,
soft sighed the passionate darkness to the tune
when hair falls off and eyes blur And... (L)
© Edward Estlin Cummings
when hair falls off and eyes blur And
thighs forget(when clocks whisper
and night shouts)When minds
shrivel and hearts grow brittler every
here's to opening and upward
© Edward Estlin Cummings
here's to opening and upward, to leaf and to sap
and to your(in my arms flowering so new)
self whose eyes smell of the sound of rain
my father moved through dooms of love
© Edward Estlin Cummings
my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height
but the other
© Edward Estlin Cummings
but the other
day i was passing a certain
gate rain
fell as it will
gee i like to think of dead
© Edward Estlin Cummings
gee i like to think of dead it means nearer because deeper firmer
since darker than little round water at one end of the well it's
too cool to be crooked and it's too firm to be hard but it's sharp
and thick and it loves, every old thing falls in rosebugs and
jackknives and kittens and pennies they all sit there looking at
each other having the fastest time because they've never met before
in spite of everything
© Edward Estlin Cummings
in spite of everything
which breathes and moves,since Doom
(with white longest hands
neatening each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds
The Daughter Goes To Camp
© Sharon Olds
In the taxi alone, home from the airport,
I could not believe you were gone. My palm kept
creeping over the smooth plastic
to find your strong meaty little hand and
1954
© Sharon Olds
Then dirt scared me, because of the dirt
he had put on her face. And her training bra
scared methe newspapers, morning and evening,
kept saying it, training bra,
A Week Later
© Sharon Olds
A week later, I said to a friend: I don't
think I could ever write about it.
Maybe in a year I could write something.
There is something in me maybe someday
The End
© Sharon Olds
We decided to have the abortion, became
killers together. The period that came
changed nothing. They were dead, that young couple
who had been for life.
The Broken Tryst
© Arthur Symons
That day a fire was in my blood;
I could have sung: joy wrapt me round;
The men I met seemed all so good,
I scarcely knew I trod the ground.
Dharma
© Billy Collins
Who provides a finer example
of a life without encumbrance
Thoreau in his curtainless hut
with a single plate, a single spoon?
Gandhi with his staff and his holy diapers?
I Go Back To The House For A Book
© Billy Collins
I turn around on the gravel
and go back to the house for a book,
something to read at the doctor's office,
and while I am inside, running the finger
The Only Day In Existence
© Billy Collins
The early sun is so pale and shadowy,
I could be looking up at a ghost
in the shape of a window,
a tall, rectangular spirit
The Iron Bridge
© Billy Collins
the way I am keeping an eye on that cormorant
who just broke the glassy surface
and is moving away from me and the iron bridge,
swiveling his curious head,
slipping out to where the sun rakes the water
and filters through the trees that crowd the shore.
