Poems begining by T
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The Garden
© Louise Gluck
The garden admires you.
For your sake it smears itself with green pigment,
The ecstatic reds of the roses,
So that you will come to it with your lovers.
The Triumph Of Achilles
© Louise Gluck
In the story of Patroclus
no one survives, not even Achilles
who was nearly a god.
Patroclus resembled him; they wore
the same armor.
The Marriage Of Edward Herbert Esquire, And Mrs. Elizabeth Herbert
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
CUPID one day ask'd his Mother,
When she meant that he shou'd Wed?
You're too Young, my Boy, she said:
Nor has Nature made another
Fit to match with Cupid's Bed.
The Wish
© Louise Gluck
The time I lied to you
about the butterfly. I always wondered
what you wished for.
The Wild Iris
© Louise Gluck
Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.
Then nothing. The weak sun
flickered over the dry surface.
The Familie
© George Herbert
What doth this noise of thoughts within my heart,
As if they had a part?
What do these loud complaints and pulling fears,
As if there were no rule or eares?
The Chameleon
© Matthew Prior
But if at first he minds his hits,
And drinks Champaigne among the wits,
Five deep he toasts the towering lasses,
Repeats yon verse wrote on glasses:
Is in the chair, prescribes the law,
And lies with those he never saw.
The Easter Decorations
© Ada Cambridge
O take away your dried and painted garlands!
The snow-cloth's fallen from each quicken'd brow,
The stone's rolled off the sepulchre of winter,
And risen leaves and flowers are wanted now.
The Wave. (From The German Of Tiedge)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"Whither, thou turbid wave?
Whither, with so much haste,
As if a thief wert thou?"
There is a Gentle Thought
© Dante Alighieri
There is a gentle thought that often springs
to life in me, because it speaks of you.
Its reasoning about loves so sweet and true,
the heart is conquered, and accepts these things.
Trout Fishing in America
© Richard Brautigan
KNOCK ON WOOD (PART TWO)
One spring afternoon as a child in the strange town of Portland,
Tournesol
© Richard Brautigan
La voyageuse qui traverse les Halles à la tombée de l'été
Marchait sur la pointe des pieds
Le désespoir roulait au ciel ses grands arums si beaux
Et dans le sac à main il y avait mon rêve ce flacon de sels
To England
© Richard Brautigan
There are no postage stamps that send letters
back to England three centuries ago,
no postage stamps that make letters
travel back until the grave hasn't been dug yet,
The Shenevertakesherwatchoff Poem
© Richard Brautigan
For Marcia
Because you always have a clock
strapped to your body, it's natural
that I should think of you as the
The Moon Versus Us Ever Sleeping Together Again
© Richard Brautigan
I sit here, an arch-villain of romance,
thinking about you. Gee, I'm sorry
I made you unhappy, but there was nothing
I could do about it because I have to be free.
The Beautiful Poem
© Richard Brautigan
Pissing a few moments ago
I looked down at my penis
affectionately.
