Time poems
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The Picture, Or The Lover's Resolution
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Through weeds and thorns, and matted underwood
I force my way; now climb, and now descend
O'er rocks, or bare or mossy, with wild foot
Crushing the purple whorts; while oft unseen,
Urban Renewal
© Yusef Komunyakaa
The sun slides down behind brick dust,
today’s angle of life. Everything
O my pa-pa
© Richard Jones
Our fathers have formed a poetry workshop.
They sit in a circle of disappointment over our fastballs
Imaginary Suicides
© Kostas Karyotakis
They turn the key in the door, take out
their old, well-hidden letters,
read them quietly, then drag
their feet a final time.
The Motorcyclists
© James Tate
but I still can’t eat eggplant. He says I’ll be the first
woman President, it’d be a waste since I talk so much.
Which do you think the fixtures are in the bathroom
at the White House, gold or brass? It’d be okay with me
if they were just brass. Honey, can we stop soon?
I really hate to say it but I need a lady’s room.
Meeting the Mountains
© Gary Snyder
He crawls to the edge of the foaming creek
He backs up the slab ledge
Christmas,1870
© Alfred Austin
Heaven strews the earth with snow,
That neither friend nor foe
May break the sleep of the fast-dying year;
A world arrayed in white,
Late dawns, and shrouded light,
Attest to us once more that Christmas-tide is here.
An Epistle Containing the Strange Medical Experience of Karshish, the Arab Physician
© Robert Browning
Karshish, the picker-up of learning's crumbs,
The not-incurious in God's handiwork
Strikers in Hyde Park
© Louise Imogen Guiney
What ails thee, England? Altar, mart, and grange
Dream of the knife by night; not so, not so
The clear Republic waits the general throe,
Along her noonday mountains’ open range.
God be with both! for one is young to know
The other’s rote of evil and of change.
The Happy Slow Thinker
© Edgar Albert Guest
Full many a time a thought has come
That had a bitter meaning in it.
And in the conversation's hum
I lost it ere I could begin it.
H. S. Mauberley (Life and Contacts) [Part I]
© Ezra Pound
E. P. Ode pour l'élection de son sépulchre
For three years, out of key with his time,
He strove to resuscitate the dead art
Of poetry; to maintain "the sublime"
In the old sense. Wrong from the start i
The Consent
© Howard Nemerov
Late in November, on a single night
Not even near to freezing, the ginkgo trees
Original Sin
© Robinson Jeffers
Meanwhile the intense color and nobility of sunrise,
Rose and gold and amber, flowed up the sky. Wet rocks were shining, a little wind
Stirred the leaves of the forest and the marsh flag-flowers; the soft valley between the low hills
Became as beautiful as the sky; while in its midst, hour after hour, the happy hunters
Roasted their living meat slowly to death.
The Rover's Apology
© William Schwenck Gilbert
Oh, gentlemen, listen, I pray;
Though I own that my heart has been ranging,
America Politica Historia, in Spontaneity
© Gregory Corso
O this political air so heavy with the bells
and motors of a slow night, and no place to rest
The Present Time Best Pleaseth me
© Robert Herrick
Praise, they that will, times past: I joy to see
Myself now live; this age best pleaseth me!
Paradise Lost: Book IV
© Patrick Kavanagh
"Which of those rebel Spirits adjudg'd to Hell
Com'st thou, escap'd thy prison? and, transform'd,
Why satt'st thou like an enemy in wait,
Here watching at the head of these that sleep?"
