Morning poems

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Magnificent, mourned no more, marred of heart, mind behind, married dreamed, mortal changed—Ass and face done with murder.
In the world, given, flower maddened, made no Utopia, shut under pine, almed in Earth, balmed in Lone, Jehovah, accept.
Nameless, One Faced, Forever beyond me, beginningless, endless, Father in death. Tho I am not there for this Prophecy, I am unmarried, I’m hymnless, I’m Heavenless, headless in blisshood I would still adore
Thee, Heaven, after Death, only One blessed in Nothingness, not light or darkness, Dayless Eternity—
Take this, this Psalm, from me, burst from my hand in a day, some of my Time, now given to Nothing—to praise Thee—But Death
This is the end, the redemption from Wilderness, way for the Wonderer, House sought for All, black handkerchief washed clean by weeping—page beyond Psalm—Last change of mine and Naomi—to God’s perfect Darkness—Death, stay thy phantoms!

Giant Night

© Anne Waldman

Awake in a giant night
is where I am
There is a river where my soul,
hungry as a horse drinks beside me

The Stone Axe

© Robinson Jeffers

Iron rusts, and bronze has its green sickness; while flint, the hard stones, flint and chalcedony,

Cut the soft stream of time as if they were made for immortal uses. So the two-thousand-year-old

Morning

© Billy Collins

Why do we bother with the rest of the day,
the swale of the afternoon,
the sudden dip into evening,

Grandfather Bridgeman

© George Meredith

'Heigh, boys!' cried Grandfather Bridgeman, 'it's time before dinner to-day.'
He lifted the crumpled letter, and thumped a surprising 'Hurrah!'
Up jumped all the echoing young ones, but John, with the starch in his throat,
Said, 'Father, before we make noises, let's see the contents of the note.'
The old man glared at him harshly, and twinkling made answer: 'Too bad!
John Bridgeman, I'm always the whisky, and you are the water, my lad!'

Rosamond

© Christopher Pearse Cranch

IN the fragrant bright June morning, Rosamond, the queen of girls,
Down the marble doorsteps loiters, radiant with her sunny curls;
O'er the green sward through the garden passes to the river's brink
Throws away an old bouquet, and wonders if 't will float or sink.

Three Women

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.

Marys Wedding

© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

The future I read in toil's guerdon,
You will read in your children's eyes:
The past--the same past with either--
Is to you a delightsome scene,
But I cannot trace it clearly
For the graves that rise between.

Of The Nature Of Things: Book V - Part 04 - Formation Of The World

© Lucretius

But in what modes that conflux of first-stuff

Did found the multitudinous universe

To a Wren on Calvary

© Larry Levis

And all later luxuries—the half-dressed neighbor couple
Shouting insults at each other just beyond
Her bra on a cluttered windowsill, then ceasing it when
A door was slammed to emphasize, like trouble,

A Touching Ceremony

© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

On a golden autumn morning,

Just fifty years ago,

Its Like This

© Stephen Dobyns

for Peter Parrish
Each morning the man rises from bed because the invisible
cord leading from his neck to someplace in the dark,
the cord that makes him always dissatisfied,
has been wound tighter and tighter until he wakes.

vegas

a marvelous description of a gazelle
is hell;
the cross sits like a fly on my window,
my mother’s breath stirs small leaves
in my mind;

from Beachy Head

On thy stupendous summit, rock sublime!

That o’er the channel reared, half way at sea

The Toad And Spyder. A Duell

The all-confounded toad doth see
His life fled with his remedie,
And in a glorious despair
First burst himself, and next the air;
Then with a dismal horred yell
Beats down his loathsome breath to hell.