Time poems
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Woolworth's
© Mark Hillringhouse
for Greg FallonA kid yells "Mother Fucker" out the school bus window.
I don't think anyone notices the afternoon clouds turning pink along the horizon,
sunlight dripping down the stone facades,
the ancient names of old stores fading like the last century
The Perch
© Galway Kinnell
There is a fork in a branch
of an ancient, enormous maple,
one of a grove of such trees,
where I climb sometimes and sit and look out
Fergus Falling
© Galway Kinnell
He climbed to the top
of one of those million white pines
set out across the emptying pastures
of the fifties - some program to enrich the rich
Madness
© Henry James Pye
Here some grave Man whose head with prudence fraught
Was ne'er disturb'd by one eccentric thought,
Who without meaning rolls his leaden eyes,
And being stupid, fancies he is wise,
May with sagacious sneers my case deplore,
And urge the use of rest, and Hellebore.
The Correspondence School Instructor Says Goodbye To His Poetry Students
© Galway Kinnell
Goodbye,
you who are, for me, the postmarks again
of shattered towns-Xenia, Burnt Cabins, Hornell-
their loneliness
given away in poems, only their solitude kept.
Two Seasons
© Galway Kinnell
The stars were wild that summer evening
As on the low lake shore stood you and I
And every time I caught your flashing eye
Or heard your voice discourse on anything
It seemed a star went burning down the sky.
Oatmeal
© Galway Kinnell
I eat oatmeal for breakfast.
I make it on the hot plate and put skimmed milk on it.
I eat it alone.
I am aware it is not good to eat oatmeal alone.
Wait
© Galway Kinnell
Wait, for now.
Distrust everything, if you have to.
But trust the hours. Haven't they
carried you everywhere, up to now?
Telephoning In Mexican Sunlight
© Galway Kinnell
Talking with my beloved in New York
I stood at the outdoor public telephone
in Mexican sunlight, in my purple shirt.
Someone had called it a man/woman
Daybreak
© Galway Kinnell
On the tidal mud, just before sunset,
dozens of starfishes
were creeping. It was
as though the mud were a sky
Composed While The Author Was Engaged In Writing A Tract Occasioned By The Convention Of Cintra
© William Wordsworth
NOT 'mid the world's vain objects that enslave
The free-born Soul--that World whose vaunted skill
In selfish interest perverts the will,
Whose factions lead astray the wise and brave--
Ode To Walt Whitman
© Stephen Vincent Benet
"Let me taste all, my flesh and my fat are sweet,
My body hardy as lilac, the strong flower.
I have tasted the calamus; I can taste the nightbane."
War Song
© John Davidson
In anguish we uplift
A new unhallowed song:
The race is to the swift;
The battle to the strong.
Thirty Bob a Week
© John Davidson
I couldn't touch a stop and turn a screw,
And set the blooming world a-work for me,
Like such as cut their teeth -- I hope, like you --
On the handle of a skeleton gold key;
I cut mine on a leek, which I eat it every week:
I'm a clerk at thirty bob as you can see.
Song of a Train
© John Davidson
A monster taught
To come to hand
Amain,
As swift as thought
Across the land
The train.
Sonnet. "Say thou not sadly, "never," and "no more,""
© Frances Anne Kemble
Say thou not sadly, "never," and "no more,"
But from thy lips banish those falsest words;
Snow
© John Davidson
'Who affirms that crystals are alive?'
I affirm it, let who will deny:
Crystals are engendered, wax and thrive,
Wane and wither; I have seen them die.
The Twins
© Aleister Crowley
Yea ! let the south wind blow,
And the Turkish banner advance,
And the word go out : No quarter !
But I shall hod thee -so !
While the boys and maidens dance
About the shambles of slaughter !
Answering The Usual Questions
© Edgar Albert Guest
My name is Johnny Vincent Brown,
I live on Leicester Court,
