Poems begining by R

/ page 47 of 62 /

Order by :

1
. . .
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
. . .
62

Rome is but nature's twin, which has reflected Rome.
We see its civic might, the signs of its decorum
In the transparent air, the firmament's blue dome,
The colonnades of groves and in the meadow's forum.

Religious Obsession -- translation from Dharmamoha

© Rabindranath Tagore

Planting him as a stake who comes to liberate
Putting him up like a dividing wall who comes to unite
Flooding the world with poison in his name
Who brings love from a divine source
They drown sailing in a boat they themselves have scuttled
Yet they blame someone else!

Raccoon

© Anne Sexton

Coon, why did you come to this dance
with a mask on? Why not the tin man
and his rainbow girl? Why not Racine,
his hair marcelled down to his chest?

Red Is The Color Of Blood

© Conrad Aiken

Red is the color of blood, and I will seek it:

I have sought it in the grass.

Rowing

© Anne Sexton

As the African says:
This is my tale which I have told,
if it be sweet, if it be not sweet,
take somewhere else and let some return to me.
This story ends with me still rowing.

Rumpelstiltskin

© Anne Sexton

Inside many of us
is a small old man
who wants to get out.
No bigger than a two-year-old

Reflex Musings: Reflections From Various Surfaces

© James Clerk Maxwell

In the dense entangled street,

Where the web of Trade is weaving,

Rapunzel

© Anne Sexton

As for Mother Gothel,
her heart shrank to the size of a pin,
never again to say: Hold me, my young dear,
hold me,
and only as she dreamed of the yellow hair
did moonlight sift into her mouth.

Red Roses

© Anne Sexton

He pretends he is her ball.
He tries to fold up and bounce
but he squashes like fruit.
For he loves Blue Lady and the spots
of red roses he gives her

Romance Moderne

© William Carlos Williams

Mountains. Elephants humping along
against the skyindifferent to
light withdrawing its tattered shreds,
worn out with embraces. It's
the fillip of novelty. It's a fire in the blood.

Remembering South of the River

© Bai Juyi

South of the river is good,
Long ago, I knew the landscape well.
At sunrise, the river's flowers are red like fire,
In spring, the river's water's green as lilies.
How could I not remember south of the river?

Rim

© Jens Peter Jacobsen

1.

Skjære, skjære Havre,

Rinaldo to Laura Maria

© Mary Darby Robinson

There tell me I am most despis'd,
E'en by thyself, whom most I priz'd,
So shall I gladly welcome fate,
And perish in thy perfect hate:
So shall I better bear th' eternal pain,
Never to see thy Form, or hear thy Voice again.

Reverie, with Fries

© Marilyn L. Taylor

Straight-spined girlyes, you of the glinting earrings,
amber skin and sinuous hair: what happened?
youve no business lunching with sticky children
here at McDonalds.

Reading the Obituaries

Now the Barbaras have begun to die,
trailing their older sisters to the grave,
the Helens, Margies, Nanswho said goodbye
just days ago, it seems, taking their leave

Run to Death

© Amy Levy

A True Incident of Pre-Revolutionary French History.
Now the lovely autumn morning breathes its freshness in earth's face,
In the crowned castle courtyard the blithe horn proclaims the chase;
And the ladies on the terrace smile adieux with rosy lips