Poems begining by S
/ page 279 of 287 /
So Now?
© Charles Bukowski
the words have come and gone,
I sit ill.
the phone rings, the cats sleep.
Linda vacuums.
Sorrow of Departure
© Li Ching Chao
Red lotus incense fades on
The jeweled curtain. Autumn
Comes again. Gently I open
My silk dress and float alone
Sorrow
© Li Ching Chao
To the melody of "Sheng Sheng Man"I pine and peak
And questless seek
Groping and moping to linger and languish
Anon to wander and wonder, glare, stare and start
Style
© Howard Nemerov
Flaubert wanted to write a novel
About nothing. It was to have no subject
And be sustained upon the style alone,
Like the Holy Ghost cruising above
Storm Windows
© Howard Nemerov
People are putting up storm windows now,
Or were, this morning, until the heavy rain
Drove them indoors. So, coming home at noon,
I saw storm windows lying on the ground,
September, The First Day Of School
© Howard Nemerov
My child and I hold hands on the way to school,
And when I leave him at the first-grade door
He cries a little but is brave; he does
Let go. My selfish tears remind me how
I cried before that door a life ago.
I may have had a hard time letting go.
Success Comes To Cow Creek
© Edward Taylor
I sit on the tracks,
a hundred feet from
earth, fifty from the
water. Gerald is
Shut Up And Eat Your Toad
© Edward Taylor
The disorganization to which I currently belong
has skipped several meetings in a row
which is a pattern I find almost fatally attractive.
Down at headquarters there's a secretary
St. John's, Cambridge
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I stand beneath the tree, whose branches shade
Thy western window, Chapel of St. John!
And hear its leaves repeat their benison
On him, whose hand thy stones memorial laid;
Shakespeare
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A vision as of crowded city streets,
With human life in endless overflow;
Thunder of thoroughfares; trumpets that blow
To battle; clamor, in obscure retreats,
Seaweed
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
When descends on the Atlantic
The gigantic
Storm-wind of the equinox,
Landword in his wrath he scourges
The toiling surges,
Laden with seaweed from the rocks:
Sundown
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The summer sun is sinking low;
Only the tree-tops redden and glow:
Only the weathercock on the spire
Of the neighboring church is a flame of fire;
All is in shadow below.
Something Left Undone
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Labor with what zeal we will,
Something still remains undone,
Something uncompleted still
Waits the rising of the sun.
Snow-Flakes
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Out of the bosom of the Air,
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent and soft and slow
Descends the snow.
Sunrise on the Hills
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
If thou art worn and hard beset
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget,
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that will keep
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep,
Go to the woods and hills! No tears
Dim the sweet look that Nature wears.
Should Lanterns Shine
© Dylan Thomas
Should lanterns shine, the holy face,
Caught in an octagon of unaccustomed light,
Would wither up, an any boy of love
Look twice before he fell from grace.
Sometimes The Sky's Too Bright
© Dylan Thomas
Sometimes the sky's too bright,
Or has too many clouds or birds,
And far away's too sharp a sun
To nourish thinking of him.
shapeshifter poems
© Lucille Clifton
1the legend is whispered
in the women's tent
how the moon when she rises
full
