Poems begining by T
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These Old Songs
© Edwin Brock
grow in the mind,
their rhymes chiming endlessly
with the sound of feet walking
or rain falling or being taken up
by garden birds, one line at a time.
Through A Porthole
© Leon Gellert
If you could lie upon this berth, this berth
whereon I lie,
If you could see a tiny peak uplift its
tingled tusk,
The Old Man Drew the Line
© Carl Rakosi
Ah, companero,
you were born
on the wrong day
when God was paradoxical.
You’ll have to
find yourself an old dog.
The Broken Crutch: A Tale
© Robert Bloomfield
A burst of laughter rang throughout the hall,
And Peggy's tongue, though overborne by all,
Pour'd its warm blessings, for, without control
The sweet unbridled transport of her soul
Was obviously seen, till Herbert's kiss
Stole, as it were, the eloquence of bliss.
The Intruder
© John Betjeman
My mother—preferring the strange to the tame:
Dove-note, bone marrow, deer dung,
The Captain and the Mermaids
© William Schwenck Gilbert
I SING a legend of the sea,
So hard-a-port upon your lee!
A ship on starboard tack!
She's bound upon a private cruise -
(This is the kind of spice I use
To give a salt-sea smack).
The Sun Came
© Tony Harrison
The Sun came, Miss Brooks.
And we goofed the whole thing.
I think.
(Though ain't no vision visited my cell.)
The Night Before The Mowing
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
ALL shimmering in the morning shine
And diamonded with dew,
And quivering in the scented wind
That thrills its green heart through,--
The Hill
© Nissim Ezekiel
Do not muse on it
from a distance:
it's not remote
for the view only,
it's for the sport
of climbing.
The Ambitious Fox And The Unapproachable Grapes
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
A farmer built around his crop
A wall, and crowned his labors
By placing glass upon the top
To lacerate his neighbors,
Provided they at any time
Should feel disposed the wall to climb.
The Sea of Death
© Thomas Hood
So lay they garmented in torpid light,
Under the pall of a transparent night,
Like solemn apparitions lulld sublime
To everlasting rest,and with them Time
Slept, as he sleeps upon the silent face
Of a dark dial in a sunless place.
The Dead Fox Hunter
© Robert Graves
We found the little captain at the head;
His men lay well-aligned.
We touched his hand &mdash stone cold &mdash and he was dead,
And they, all dead behind,
Had never reached their goal, but they died well;
They charged in line, and in the same line fell.
The Icehouse in Summer
© Howard Nemerov
see Amos, 3:15
A door sunk in a hillside, with a bolt
thick as the boy’s arm, and behind that door
the walls of ice, melting a blue, faint light,
an air of cedar branches, sawdust, fern:
decaying seasons keeping from decay.
The Golden Mile-Stone. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Leafless are the trees; their purple branches
Spread themselves abroad, like reefs of coral,
Rising silent
In the Red Sea of the winter sunset.
The God Called Poetry
© Robert Graves
Now I begin to know at last,
These nights when I sit down to rhyme,
