Time poems
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Waste
© John Masefield
No rose but fades: no glory but must pass:No hue but dims: no precious silk but frets.Her beauty must go underneath the grass,Under the long roots of the violets.
Vagabond
© John Masefield
Dunno a heap about the what an' why, Can't say's I ever knowed.Heaven to me's a fair blue stretch of sky, Earth's jest a dusty road.
The River
© John Masefield
All other waters have their time of peace.Calm, or the turn of tide or summer drought;But on these bars the tumults never cease,In violent death this river passes out.
Posted as Missing
© John Masefield
Under all her topsails she trembled like a stag,The wind made a ripple in her bonny red flag;They cheered her from the shore and they cheered her from the pier,And under all her topsails she trembled like a deer
[Let that which is to come be as it may...]
© John Masefield
Let that which is to come be as it may,Darkness, extinction, justice, life intenseThe flies are happy in the summer day,Flies will be happy many summers hence
The Blacksmith
© John Masefield
The blacksmith in his sparky forge,Beat on the white-hot softness there;Even as he beat he sang an airTo keep the sparks out of his gorge.
The Wind Our Enemy
© Marriott Anne
Windflattening its gaunt furious self againstthe naked siding, knifing in the woundsof time, pausing to tear aside the lastold scab of paint.
On Reading that I am ‘Elderly’
© Marriott Anne
As if the wordhas some dragging magicshe appearsthat woman who bentso carefully her black laced feetto fit the curveof the beachside walk(Victoria: a long moist springor was it autumn?)
XIII. The First Feminist
© Marquis Donald Robert Perry
When first I chased and beat you to your kneesAnd wried your arm and marked your temple boneAnd wooed you, Sweet, and won you for my own,Those were not hairless-chested times like these!Wing'd saurians slithered down the charnel seasAnd giant insects glistened, basked, and shone,And snag-toothed ape-men fought with knives of stone --And wise she-spouses mostly aimed to please!But were not you the Primal FeministTen hundred thousand years ago, my Love,When we were first incarnate? I will sayWomen Expressed themselves e'en then, Sweet Dove!I do recall as if 'twere yesterdayThat time your teeth met through my dexter wrist
Frustration
© Marquis Donald Robert Perry
The things that I can't have I want And what I have seems second-rate,The things I want to do I can't And what I have to do I hate, The things I want at once come late,I am not feeling gay nor gleg, I'm really in an awful state,My life is like a scrambled egg
A Leaf from the Devil’s Jest-Book
© Edwin Markham
Beside the sewing-table chained and bent, They stitch for the lady, tyrannous and proud -- For her a wedding-gown, for them a shroud;They stitch and stitch, but never mend the rentTorn in life's golden curtains
Poets & Muses
© Macpherson Jay
Poets are such bad employers,Muses ought to Organize:Time off, sick pay, danger wages --Come, ye wretched of the skies!
The Day-Labourer
© Macpherson Jay
Time is a labourer on God’s farm,And keeps His living things from harm
The Song of the New Jesus
© MacDonald Wilson Pugsley
All the fat and shiny preachers From their pulpits say:
The Song of the Hemp
© MacDonald Wilson Pugsley
The stubbled Hemp-field called the wind That passed with moistened eyes:
