Time poems
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March
© Susan Frances Harrison
Here on the wide waste lands,Take--child--these trembling hands,Though my life be as blank and waste,My days as sorely ungracedBy glimmer of green on the rimOf a sunless wilderness dim,As the wet fields barren and brown,As the fork of each sterile limbShorn of its lustrous crown
"My Friends"
© Charles Harpur
'Tis a very sad thing to be true,That so soon as our years are not very few,We cannot say simply -- "My Friends," even whileThe cheek may be decked in a fair-weather smile,And be, at the same time, exemptFrom a twinge of contempt
Lines and Figures
© Charles Harpur
There is no curve of sea or sky,No turn of hill-top far defined,Without some fitness for the eye,Some meaning for the mind.
The Hours in Final Chorus
© Charles Harpur
Night Hours.Where's the young BardWho sang of his loneliness yesternightIn such strains as, when heard,Drew a cloud o'er the rising moon's light?
The Distance of the Dead
© Charles Harpur
How distant in a moment are the dead! Round Mamre's Cave, four thousand years ago,A long procession up from Egypt led, Closed mourning, like a sable cloud of woe
St. Louis Blues
© Handy William Christopher
I hate to see de evening sun go downHate to see de evenin' sun go downCause ma baby he done lef dis town
Strictly Germ-Proof
© Guiterman Arthur
The Antiseptic Baby and the Prophylactic PupWere playing in the garden when the Bunny gamboled up;They looked upon the Creature with a loathing undisguised; -It wasn't Disinfected and it wasn't Sterilized
Our Suburb
© Guiterman Arthur
Our Garden Spot is always bright and pretty (Of course it's rather soggy when it rains),And only thirty minutes from the city (Of course you have to catch the proper trains)
Nocturne
© Guiterman Arthur
The three-toed tree-toadSings his sweet ode To the moon;The funny bunnyAnd his honey Trip in tune
Caelica: Sonnet 22
© Fulke Greville
I, with whose colours Myra dress'd her head, I, that ware posies of her own hand-making,I, that mine own name in the chimneys read By Myra finely wrought ere I was waking: Must I look on, in hope time coming may With change bring back my turn again to play?
I, that on Sunday at the church-stile found A garland sweet, with true-love knots in flowers,Which I to wear about mine arm was bound, That each of us might know that all was ours: Must I now lead an idle life in wishes, And follow Cupid for his loaves and fishes?
I, that did wear the ring her mother left, I, for whose love she gloried to be blamed,I, with whose eyes her eyes committed theft, I, who did make her blush when I was named: Must I lose ring, flowers, blush, theft, and go naked, Watching with sighs till dead love be awaked?
I, that, when drowsy Argus fell asleep, Like jealousy o'erwatched with desire,Was even warned modesty to keep, While her breath, speaking, kindled Nature's fire: Must I look on a-cold, while others warm them? Do Vulcan's brothers in such fine nets arm them?
Was it for this that I might Myra see Washing the water with her beauties white?Yet would she never write her love to me
Palliative Care
© Greene Richard
The journey goes past healing to placeslike this, where Demerol and morphineseparate the last of our consciousnessfrom a body shrinking away to pain
Pachelbel’s Canon
© Greene Richard
Is there a word or the fading of a noteas it leaves the string and nothing follows
How Can I Go on
© Green Lil
I'm so sorry you heardI don't know what to doI'm sorry for the timeI made you blue
The Flying Fish
© Gray John Henry
Magnae Deus potentiaequi fertili natos aquapartim relinquis gurgitipartim levas in aera.
My Love’s an Arbutus
© Graves Alfred Perceval
My love's an arbutusBy the borders of Lene,So slender and shapelyIn her girdle of green;And I measure the pleasureOf her eye's sapphire sheenBy the blue skies that sparkleThrough that soft branching screen
Confessio Amantis, Book III: The Tale of Apollonius of Tyre
© John Gower
Appolinus his leve tok,To God and al the lond betokWith al the poeple long and brod,That he no lenger there abod
Thirty-Six Ways of Looking at Toronto Ontario
© Gotlieb Phyllis
##.see my house, its angled street,east, north, west, south,southeast, northwest, there areno parking placeshere
So Long It's Been
© Gotlieb Phyllis
Fibonacci found the significance of1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13 ...,they explainthe way seeds spiral in the sunflower and pine scalestwist in the cone
Ordinary, Moving
© Gotlieb Phyllis
is the name of the gamelaughing, talking where the ball bouncesin the forgotten schoolyardone hand, the other hand; one foot, the other footyou know the one(Saturday Afternoon Kidblackball-cracker, scotchmint-muncherhandkerchief-chewer extraordinary)clap front, clap backballthwack on the boardfencefront and back, back and frontarms of old beeches reaching over drop theirsawtooth leaves in your hair (as I was sitting beneath a tree a birdie sent his love to me and as I wiped it from my eye I thought: thank goodness cows can't fly)tweedle, twydlecurtsey, saluteand roundaboutuntil you're out
the shadows turn, the light is longand while you're out you sing this song
this year, next year, sometime, never en roule-en ma boule roule-en we'll be friends for ever and ever
Pimperroquet, le roi des papillons se faisant la barbe, il se coupa le menton une, une, c'est la lune deux, deux, c'est le jeuseven, eight trois, trois -- c'est à toi!nine, a-lauraten a-laura echod, shtaimSecord hamelech bashomayim echod, shtaim, sholosh, ar-ba
