Power poems

 / page 181 of 324 /
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There Are Black

© James Russell Lowell

  And the convicts themselves, at the mummy’s
feet, blood-splattered leather, at this one’s feet,
they become cobras sucking life out of their brothers,
they fight for rings and money and drugs,
in this pit of pain their teeth bare fangs,
to fight for what morsels they can. . . .

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Theodicy

© Czeslaw Milosz

No, it won’t do, my sweet theologians.

Desire will not save the morality of God.

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Sonnet: I Scarcely Grieve

© Henry Timrod

I scarcely grieve, O Nature! at the lot

That pent my life within a city’s bounds,

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Constantinople

© Lady Mary Wortley Montagu

Greiv'd at a view which strikes vpon my Mind
The short liv'd Vanity of Human kind
In Gaudy Objects I indulge my Sight,
And turn where Eastern Pomp gives gay delight.

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Father and Son

© Delmore Schwartz

FRANZ KAFKA
Father:
On these occasions, the feelings surprise, 
Spontaneous as rain, and they compel 
Explicitness, embarrassed eyes——

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Sonnets of the Blood

© Allen Tate

I

What is the flesh and blood compounded of 

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Workshop

© Billy Collins

I might as well begin by saying how much I like the title. 
It gets me right away because I’m in a workshop now 
so immediately the poem has my attention,
like the Ancient Mariner grabbing me by the sleeve.

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You Ask Me, Why, Tho' Ill at Ease

© Alfred Tennyson

 You ask me, why, tho' ill at ease,
 Within this region I subsist,
 Whose spirits falter in the mist,
And languish for the purple seas.

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Surprised by Joy

© André Breton

Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind

I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom

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Character of the Happy Warrior

© André Breton



 Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he

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July in Washington

© Robert Lowell

The stiff spokes of this wheel?

touch the sore spots of the earth.??

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Song of the Open Road

© Walt Whitman

1
Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

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1914 II. Safety

© Rupert Brooke

Dear! of all happy in the hour, most blest

 He who has found our hid security,

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Katie

© Henry Timrod

It may be through some foreign grace,


And unfamiliar charm of face;

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The Afterlife: Letter to Sam Hamill

© Hayden Carruth

You may think it strange, Sam, that I'm writing

a letter in these circumstances. I thought

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North

© Seamus Justin Heaney

I returned to a long strand,
the hammered curve of a bay, 
and found only the secular
powers of the Atlantic thundering.

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from The Prelude: Book 1: Childhood and School-time

© André Breton

 Not uselessly employ'd,
I might pursue this theme through every change
Of exercise and play, to which the year
Did summon us in its delightful round.

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Song: Sweetest love, I do not go

© John Donne

Sweetest love, I do not go,

 For weariness of thee,

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kept busy

© Joanne Burns

from our deep cool verandah we spy on the world passing by. we both wear glasses in order to pick out the details. even as children we noticed all. people would say dont like those twins they look at you funny. we were reassured. our powers had been confirmed. but that was a long while ago. now we are 60. we have lived in this ground floor flat on the main road for 20 years. it is a very suitable dwelling, and we have a satisfactory relationship with the landlord. we think he is pleased we notice his transparency. we have been here since we left our husbands who got in the way of our observations.
 
after our evening meal we talk quietly of what we have seen. we believe in sharing our observations in case one of us has missed something. for our eyesight isnt as sharp as it was ten years ago. though we do clean our glasses each hour and keep our hair tied firmly back in small grey buns so nothing can distract our focus. we are small women. many people do not notice us, while we are noticing them. we keep to ourselves. mother used to say to us never get too friendly with strangers they can harm you. even if they smile and offer you an hour of their lives dont tell them nothing. mother knew a lot. she always kept the bible and a cloth to clean her hands on the kitchen table within reach.
 

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An Hymn Of Heavenly Beauty

© Edmund Spenser

Rapt with the rage of mine own ravish'd thought,


Through contemplation of those goodly sights,