Poems begining by T
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The Day Is A Poem (September 19, 1939)
© Robinson Jeffers
This morning Hitler spoke in Danzig, we hear his voice.
A man of genius: that is, of amazing
Ability, courage, devotion, cored on a sick child's soul,
Heard clearly through the dog wrath, a sick child
The Eye
© Robinson Jeffers
The Atlantic is a stormy moat; and the Mediterranean,
The blue pool in the old garden,
More than five thousand years has drunk sacrifice
Of ships and blood, and shines in the sun; but here the Pacific--
The Great Explosion
© Robinson Jeffers
The universe expands and contracts like a great heart.
It is expanding, the farthest nebulae
Rush with the speed of light into empty space.
It will contract, the immense navies of stars and galaxies,
The Deer Lay Down Their Bones
© Robinson Jeffers
I followed the narrow cliffside trail half way up the mountain
Above the deep river-canyon. There was a little cataract crossed the path,
flinging itself
Over tree roots and rocks, shaking the jeweled fern-fronds, bright bubbling
To The Stone-Cutters
© Robinson Jeffers
Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you foredefeated
Challengers of oblivion
Eat cynical earnings, knowing rock splits, records fall down,
The square-limbed Roman letters
The Answer
© Robinson Jeffers
Then what is the answer?- Not to be deluded by dreams.
To know that great civilizations have broken down into violence,
and their tyrants come, many times before.
When open violence appears, to avoid it with honor or choose
The Purse-Seine
© Robinson Jeffers
Our sardine fishermen work at night in the dark
of the moon; daylight or moonlight
They could not tell where to spread the net,
unable to see the phosphorescence of the
The Stars Go Over The Lonely Ocean
© Robinson Jeffers
Unhappy about some far off things
That are not my affair, wandering
Along the coast and up the lean ridges,
I saw in the evening
The Epic Stars
© Robinson Jeffers
The heroic stars spending themselves,
Coining their very flesh into bullets for the lost battle,
They must burn out at length like used candles;
And Mother Night will weep in her triumph, taking home her heroes.
Thoreau in Italy
© Robert Francis
Lingo of birds was easier than lingo of peasants-
they were elusive, though, the birds, for excellent reasons.
He thought of Virgil, Virgil who wasn't there to chat with.
The Bulldozer
© Robert Francis
Bull by day
And dozes by night.Would that the bulldozer
Dozed all the timeWould that the bulldozer
Would rust in peace.His watchword
The Sun Weilds Mercy
© Charles Bukowski
and the sun weilds mercy
but like a jet torch carried to high,
and the jets whip across its sight
and rockets leap like toads,
This Then
© Charles Bukowski
it's the same as before
or the other time
or the time before that.
here's a cock
and here's a cunt
and here's trouble.
The Icecream People
© Charles Bukowski
I must admit they are quite good. a curious new
world. (all my friends tell me I am looking
better. "you're looking good, man, we thought you
were going to die there for a while...")
--those 4,500 dark nights, the jails, the
hospitals...
These Things
© Charles Bukowski
these things that we support most well
have nothing to do with up,
and we do with them
out of boredom or fear or money
The Retreat
© Charles Bukowski
this time has finished me.
I feel like the German troops
whipped by snow and the communists
walking bent
True Story
© Charles Bukowski
I think sometimes of all of the good
ass
turned over to the
monsters of the
world.
The Most
© Charles Bukowski
here comes the fishhead singing
here comes the baked potato in drag
here comes nothing to do all day long
here comes another night of no sleep
Trashcan Lives
© Charles Bukowski
the wind blows hard tonight
and it's a cold wind
and I think about
the boys on the row.
The Poetry Reading
© Charles Bukowski
at high noon
at a small college near the beach
sober
the sweat running down my arms
