Pet poems

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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,

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It’s 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.

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Fuck the Astronauts

© James Tate

 I

Eventually we must combine nightmares

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Wasteful Gesture Only Not

© Tony Hoagland

Ruth visits her mother’s grave in the California hills.
She knows her mother isn’t there but the rectangle of grass 
marks off the place where the memories are kept,

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The Fair Youth Sonnets (18 - 77, 87 - 126)

© William Shakespeare

Comprising the largest grouping of poems, the Fair Youth sonnets are addressed to the same young man in the Procreation Sonnets. But their themes and subjects are more drastically varied.

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The First Easter

© Edgar Albert Guest

Dead they left Him in the tomb
And the impenetrable gloom,
Rolled the great stone to the door,
Dead, they thought, forevermore.

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The Redbreast Chasing The Butterfly

© William Wordsworth

ART thou the bird whom Man loves best,
The pious bird with the scarlet breast,
  Our little English Robin;
The bird that comes about our doors

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A Woman on the Dump

© Debora Greger

Is it peace,
Is it a philosopher’s honeymoon, one finds
On the dump?
—Wallace Stevens
Out of the cracks of cups and their handles, missing, 
the leaves unceremoniously tossed, unread,
from a stubble of coffee ground ever more finely 
into these hollowed grounds,

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In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 124

© Alfred Tennyson

That which we dare invoke to bless;
 Our dearest faith; our ghastliest doubt;
 He, They, One, All; within, without;
The Power in darkness whom we guess;

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These Lacustrine Cities

© John Ashbery

These lacustrine cities grew out of loathing
Into something forgetful, although angry with history.
They are the product of an idea: that man is horrible, for instance, 
Though this is only one example.

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Two Little Dickie Birds

© Pierre Reverdy

Two little dickie birds sitting on a wall,
One named Peter, one named Paul.
Fly away, Peter! Fly away, Paul!
Come back, Peter! Come back, Paul!

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Hymn to Life

© James Schuyler

The wind rests its cheek upon the ground and feels the cool damp 

And lifts its head with twigs and small dead blades of grass 

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Salve Saturnia Tellus

© Oscar Wilde

I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned

Italia, my Italia, at thy name:

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The Months

© Linda Pastan

Contorted by wind,
mere armatures for ice or snow,
the trees resolve
to endure for now,

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Glory

© Robert Pinsky

Pindar, poet of the victories, fitted names 
And legends into verses for the chorus to sing: 
Names recalled now only in the poems of Pindar: 

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Invitation to the Voyage

© Charles Baudelaire

Imagine, ma petite,

Dear sister mine, how sweet

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The Habitants Summer

© William Henry Drummond

O, who can blame de winter, never min'

  de hard he 's blowin'

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The Indian Upon God

© William Butler Yeats

I PASSED along the water's edge below the humid trees,

My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes round my

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Vernal Ode

© William Wordsworth

I
BENEATH the concave of an April sky,
When all the fields with freshest green were dight,
Appeared, in presence of the spiritual eye

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The Travelled Oyster

© John Kenyon

  Good Reader! were it ours to choose,
  Such ne'er should quit their native ooze;
  Or ne'er, at least, should hit the track
  Which brings them, for our torture, back.