Time poems
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Notice
© Steve Kowit
This evening, the sturdy Levi's
I wore every day for over a year
& which seemed to the end
in perfect condition,
Some Clouds
© Steve Kowit
Now that I've unplugged the phone,
no one can reach me--
At least for this one afternoon
they will have to get by without my advice
The Poppy
© Francis Thompson
Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare,
And left the flushed print in a poppy there:
Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came,
And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame.
The Hound of Heaven
© Francis Thompson
I fled Him down the nights and down the days
I fled Him down the arches of the years
I fled Him down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind, and in the midst of tears
New Year's Chimes
© Francis Thompson
What is the song the stars sing?
(And a million songs are as song of one)
This is the song the stars sing:
(Sweeter song's none)
Dream tryst
© Francis Thompson
The breaths of kissing night and day
Were mingled in the eastern Heaven,
Throbbing with unheard melody,
Shook Lyra all its star-cloud seven.
The Singing
© C. K. Williams
I was walking home down a hill near our house
on a balmy afternoon
under the blossoms
Of the pear trees that go flamboyantly mad here
every spring with
their burgeoning forth
Tar
© C. K. Williams
The first morning of Three Mile Island: those first disquieting, uncertain,
mystifying hours.
All morning a crew of workmen have been tearing the old decrepit roof
off our building,
The Holidays
© Jane Taylor
"Ah! don't you remember, 'tis almost December,
And soon will the holidays come;
Oh, 'twill be so funny, I've plenty of money,
I'll buy me a sword and a drum. "
Mischief
© Jane Taylor
Let those who're fond of idle tricks,
Of throwing stones, and hurling bricks,
And all that sort of fun,
Now hear a tale of idle Jim,
That warning they may take by him,
Nor do as he has done.
Greedy Richard
© Jane Taylor
"I think I want some pies this morning,"
Said Dick, stretching himself and yawning;
So down he threw his slate and books,
And saunter'd to the pastry-cook's.
Tis Time, I Think, By Wenlock Town
© Alfred Edward Housman
'Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town
The golden broom should blow;
The hawthorn sprinkled up and down
Should charge the land with snow.
Say, Lad, Have You Things to Do?
© Alfred Edward Housman
Say, lad, have you things to do?
Quick then, while your day's at prime.
Quick, and if 'tis work for two,
Here am I man: now's your time.
Far In a Western Brookland
© Alfred Edward Housman
Far in a western brookland
That bred me long ago
The poplars stand and tremble
By pools I used to know.
Reveille
© Alfred Edward Housman
Wake: the silver dusk returning
Up the beach of darkness brims,
And the ship of sunrise burning
Strands upon the eastern rims.
Bring, In This Timeless Grave To Throw
© Alfred Edward Housman
XLVIBring, in this timeless grave to throw
No cypress, sombre on the snow;
Snap not from the bitter yew
His leaves that live December through;
Hughley Steeple
© Alfred Edward Housman
LXIThe vane on Hughley steeple
Veers bright, a far-known sign,
And there lie Hughley people,
And there lie friends of mine.
Shot? So Quick, So Clean an Ending?
© Alfred Edward Housman
Shot? so quick, so clean an ending?
Oh that was right, lad, that was brave:
Yours was not an ill for mending,
'Twas best to take it to the grave.
Along the field as we came by
© Alfred Edward Housman
ALONG the field as we came by
A year ago, my love and I,
The aspen over stile and stone
Was talking to itself alone.
On Wenlock Edge The Wood's In Trouble
© Alfred Edward Housman
On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble;
His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;
The gale, it plies the saplings double,
And thick on Severn snow the leaves.
