Time poems
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The Old Fools
© Philip Larkin
What do they think has happened, the old fools,
To make them like this? Do they somehow suppose
It's more grown-up when your mouth hangs open and drools,
And you keep on pissing yourself, and can't remember
Days
© Philip Larkin
What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?
Talking In Bed
© Philip Larkin
Talking in bed ought to be easiest
Lying together there goes back so far
An emblem of two people being honest.
Mr Bleaney
© Philip Larkin
'This was Mr Bleaney's room. He stayed
The whole time he was at the Bodies, till
They moved him.' Flowered curtains, thin and frayed,
Fall to within five inches of the sill,
A Study Of Reading Habits
© Philip Larkin
When getting my nose in a book
Cured most things short of school,
It was worth ruining my eyes
To know I could still keep cool,
And deal out the old right hook
To dirty dogs twice my size.
An Arundel Tomb
© Philip Larkin
Side by side, their faces blurred,
The earl and countess lie in stone,
Their proper habits vaguely shown
As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,
And that faint hint of the absurd -
The little dogs under their feet.
The Grog-an'Grumble Steeplechase
© Henry Lawson
'Twixt the coastline and the border lay the town of Grog-an'-Grumble
In the days before the bushman was a dull 'n' heartless drudge,
The Whitsun Weddings
© Philip Larkin
That Whitsun, I was late getting away:
Not till about
One-twenty on the sunlit Saturday
Did my three-quarters-empty train pull out,
A Moral Vindicator
© Francis Bret Harte
If Mr. Jones, Lycurgus B.,
Had one peculiar quality,
'Twas his severe advocacy
Of conjugal fidelity.
This Be The Verse
© Philip Larkin
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
Verses IV
© Charlotte Turner Smith
On the Death of the same Lady, written in Sept. 1794.
LIKE a poor ghost the night I seek;
Its hollow winds repeat my sighs;
The cold dews mingle on my cheek
Crying For Bread
© Henry Clay Work
"On! driver, on! they have all gone before us,
And I will not be late at the ball," Beauty said;
And wintry winds echoed her answer in chorus
With poor little Theodore crying for bread!
Poor little Theodore crying for bread!
The Art of Storm-riding
© Yahia Lababidi
I could not decipher the living riddle of my body
put it to sleep when it hungered, and overfed it
when time came to dream
If
© Yahia Lababidi
If there were more than one of me
I'd shave my head and grow my beard
I'd be a Doctor of Theology
His Legacy
© Faye Diane Kilday
This is a true poem about a very special boy whose short life brought so much love and beauty to the world. It is dedicated to all the special children who bless our lives for only a short time but whose priceless gifts last forever. At an early age he started to
create beauty.
The kind of beauty that could
reach in and touch your heart.
Battery Moving Up to a New Position from Rest Camp:Dawn
© Robert Nichols
Not a sign of life we rouse
In any square close-shuttered house
That flanks the road we amble down
Toward far trenches through the town.
A Creation Of Our Love
© Faye Diane Kilday
We didn't give birth to you - that is true,
But you are still a creation of our love.
For many years we prayed to the
heavens above
Questions and a Prayer For a New Born Baby
© Faye Diane Kilday
So, here you are once more - in a brand new perfect body;An old soul with a brand new life to explore.And my mind is filled with so many things I want to ask you,So many questions that I've forgotten the answers to.
I don't want to ask you about your future, because who canhonestly say what lessons the school called life will bringto you each day.
No, I want to ask you about the world you lived in beforecoming back here. Not your body of course, but your spirit my dear.
You see, it's been a long time since I was in Heaven last,Although I know that by Heaven's calender not much timeat all has passed.
