Poems begining by T
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The Last Laugh
© John Betjeman
I made hay while the sun shone.
My work sold.
Now, if the harvest is over
And the world cold,
Give me the bonus of laughter
As I lose hold.
The Pros and Cons
© Sophie Hannah
He might not want to phone me from work in case someone hears
And begins (or continues) to suspect that theres something
Between us.
The Norbert Dentressangle Van
© Sophie Hannah
I heave my morning like a sack
of signs that don't appear,
say August, August, takes me back...
That it was not this year...
The During Months
© Sophie Hannah
Like summer in some countries and like rain
in mine, for nuns like God, for drunks like beer,
like food for chefs, for invalids like pain,
You've occupied a large part of the year.
The Guardian Angel Of The Private Life
© Jorie Graham
All this was written on the next day's list.
On which the busyness unfurled its cursive roots,
pale but effective,
and the long stem of the necessary, the sum of events,
The Guardian Angel Of The Little Utopia
© Jorie Graham
restless irritations
for? A bit dizzy from the altitude of everlastingness,
the tireless altitudes of the created place,
in which to make a life -- a liberty -- the hollow, fetishized, and starry
To A Friend Going Blind
© Jorie Graham
Today, because I couldn't find the shortcut through,
I had to walk this town's entire inner
perimeter to find
where the medieval walls break open
The Way Things Work
© Jorie Graham
is by admitting
or opening away.
This is the simplest form
of current: Blue
The Dissolution
© John Donne
She's dead; and all which die
To their first elements resolve;
And we were mutual elements to us,
And made of one another.
The Expiration
© John Donne
So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss,
Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away,
Turn thou ghost that way, and let me turn this,
And let our selves benight our happiest day,
The Damp
© John Donne
When I am dead, and doctors know not why,
And my friends' curiosity
Will have me cut up to survey each part,
When they shall find your picture in my heart,
The Message
© John Donne
Send home my long stray'd eyes to me,
Which O too long have dwelt on thee,
Yet since there they have learn'd such ill,
Such forc'd fashions,
The Token
© John Donne
Send me some token, that my hope may live,
Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and rest;
Send me some honey to make sweet my hive,
That in my passions I may hope the best.
The Primrose
© John Donne
Upon this Primrose hill,
Where, if Heav'n would distil
A shower of rain, each several drop might go
To his own primrose, and grow manna so;
The Legacy
© John Donne
When I died last, and, Dear, I die
As often as from thee I go,
Though it be but an hour ago,
And Lovers' hours be full eternity,
The Dream
© John Donne
Dear love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream;
It was a theme
For reason, much too strong for phantasy:
The Prohibition
© John Donne
Take heed of loving me;
At least remember I forbade it thee;
Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste
Of breath and blood, upon thy sighs and tears,
The Apparition
© John Donne
When by thy scorn, O murd'ress, I am dead,
And that thou think'st thee free
From all solicitation from me,
Then shall my ghost come to thy bed,
The Ecstasy
© John Donne
Where, like a pillow on a bed
A pregnant bank swell'd up to rest
The violet's reclining head,
Sat we two, one another's best.
