Power poems

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MY OWN WILD BURNS! these rude-wrought rhymes of thine
In golden worth are like the unshapely coin
Of some new realm, yet pure as from the mine
And Art may well be spared with such alloy
As dims the bullion to improve the die!

Dreams of better days

© Ivan Donn Carswell

At break of day we rested, the contest of our wills
declined to wrest the peace away and where
the foreign powers held sway a quiet was in abundance;
a ghostly calm entranced the crowd shrouded

The Reply Of The Fountain

© Letitia Elizabeth Landon

HOW deep within each human heart,
A thousand treasured feelings lie;
Things precious, delicate, apart,
Too sensitive for human eye.

Whimper Of Sympathy

© George Meredith

Hawk or shrike has done this deed
Of downy feathers: rueful sight!
Sweet sentimentalist, invite
Your bosom's Power to intercede.

To Napoleon

© John Clare

The heroes of the present and the past

Were puny, vague, and nothingness to thee:

Athritic Fingers Have To Last

© Ivan Donn Carswell

These painful, cold athritic fingers have to last
much longer yet, theyre all I have to keep the pages
on the screen prescribed with glowing words, my favoured antidote
to weak and skulking weariness; the cups of strong black coffee

The Tipler To His Bottle

© George Moses Horton

What hast thou ever done for me?
Defeated every good endeavor;
I never can through life agree
To place my confidence in thee,
Not ever, no, never!

In Memory Of The Late John Thornton, Esq.

© William Cowper

Poets attempt the noblest task they can,
Praising the Author of all good in man,
And, next, commemorating Worthies lost,
The dead in whom that good abounded most.

Absorbed in familiar rhythms

© Ivan Donn Carswell

Absorbed in familiar rhythms,
carillon of senses steeped
in good vibrations, surrounded
by musical beat

A final journeying

© Ivan Donn Carswell

And through a pall of sadness
feel he still walks tall and talks
to us with commonsense and
passion deep to stir our souls.

The Black Cottage

© Robert Frost

We chanced in passing by that afternoon

To catch it in a sort of special picture

A Fuedal Picture

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

WITH what a grace she passed us by just now!

Her delicate chin half raised, her cordial brow

The Liberator

Keys turning
rattling in the loose locks
opening high the doors
that close again
like death-hours coming faster

The Well

At sixteen I believed the moonlight
could change me if it would.
I moved my head
on the pillow, even moved my bed
as the moon slowly
crossed the open lattice.

Hymn To Eros

O Eros, silently smiling one, hear me.
Let the shadow of thy wings
brush me.
Let thy presence

The Nightingale

To-night retired, the queen of heaven
With young Endymion stays;
And now to Hesper it is given
Awhile to rule the vacant sky,
Till she shall to her lamp supply
A stream of brighter rays.