Smile poems

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All That I Owe The Fellows Of The Grave

© Dylan Thomas

All that I owe the fellows of the grave
And all the dead bequeathed from pale estates
Lies in the fortuned bone, the flask of blood,
Like senna stirs along the ravaged roots.

Foster the light nor veil the manshaped moon,
Nor weather winds that blow not down the bone,
But strip the twelve-winded marrow from his circle;
Master the night nor serve the snowman's brain
That shapes each bushy item of the air
Into a polestar pointed on an icicle.

In The Beginning

© Dylan Thomas

In the beginning was the three-pointed star,
One smile of light across the empty face,
One bough of bone across the rooting air,
The substance forked that marrowed the first sun,
And, burning ciphers on the round of space,
Heaven and hell mixed as they spun.

Not From This Anger

© Dylan Thomas

Not from this anger, anticlimax after
Refusal struck her loin and the lame flower
Bent like a beast to lap the singular floods
In a land strapped by hunger

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.

Light Breaks Where No Sun Shines

© Dylan Thomas

Light breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glowworms in their heads,
The things of light
File through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones.

V

© Tony Harrison

Next millennium you'll have to search quite hard
to find my slab behind the family dead,
butcher, publican, and baker, now me, bard
adding poetry to their beef, beer and bread.

Your Riches -- taught me -- Poverty.

© Emily Dickinson

Your Riches -- taught me -- Poverty.
Myself -- a Millionaire
In little Wealths, as Girls could boast
Till broad as Buenos Ayre --

Wolfe demanded during dying

© Emily Dickinson

Wolfe demanded during dying
"Which obtain the Day"?
"General, the British" -- "Easy"
Answered Wolfe "to die"

Without a smile -- Without a Throe

© Emily Dickinson

Without a smile -- Without a Throe
A Summer's soft Assemblies go
To their entrancing end
Unknown -- for all the times we met --
Estranged, however intimate --
What a dissembling Friend --

Why make it doubt -- it hurts it so

© Emily Dickinson

Why make it doubt -- it hurts it so --
So sick -- to guess --
So strong -- to know --
So brave -- upon its little Bed

Whose are the little beds, I asked

© Emily Dickinson

Whose are the little beds, I asked
Which in the valleys lie?
Some shook their heads, and others smiled --
And no one made reply.

We miss a Kinsman more

© Emily Dickinson

We miss a Kinsman more
When warranted to see
Than when withheld of Oceans
From possibility

They ask but our Delight --

© Emily Dickinson

They ask but our Delight --
The Darlings of the Soil
And grant us all their Countenance
For a penurious smile.

The smouldering embers blush --

The smouldering embers blush --
Oh Hearts within the Coal
Hast thou survived so many years?
The smouldering embers smile --

Taking up the fair Ideal,

Taking up the fair Ideal,
Just to cast her down
When a fracture -- we discover --
Or a splintered Crown --

So much Summer

So much Summer
Me for showing
Illegitimate --
Would a Smile's minute bestowing
Too exorbitant

Not seeing, still we know --

Not seeing, still we know --
Not knowing, guess --
Not guessing, smile and hide
And half caress --

Not probable -- The barest Chance

Not probable -- The barest Chance --
A smile too few -- a word too much
And far from Heaven as the Rest --
The Soul so close on Paradise --

Luck is not chance --

Luck is not chance --
It's Toil --
Fortune's expensive smile
Is earned --