Travel poems
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The longest day that God appoints
© Emily Dickinson
The longest day that God appoints
Will finish with the sun.
Anguish can travel to its stake,
And then it must return.
How soft a Caterpillar steps --
© Emily Dickinson
How soft a Caterpillar steps --
I fond one on my Hand
From such a velvet world it comes
Such plushes at command
Conferring with myself
© Emily Dickinson
Conferring with myself
My stranger disappeared
Though first upon a berry fat
Miraculously fared
Nature -- the Gentlest Mother is,
© Emily Dickinson
Nature -- the Gentlest Mother is,
Impatient of no Child --
The feeblest -- or the waywardest --
Her Admonition mild --
The house where I was born (06)
© Yves Bonnefoy
I woke up, but I was travelling,
The train had rolled throughout the night,
It was now going toward huge clouds
That were standing, packed together, down there,
The Seafarer
© Ezra Pound
(From the early Anglo-Saxon text) May I for my own self song's truth reckon,
Journey's jargon, how I in harsh days
Hardship endured oft.
Bitter breast-cares have I abided,
Tasker Norcross
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Ferguson,
Who talked himself at last out of the world
He censured, and is therefore silent now,
Agreed indifferently: My friends are dead
Or most of them.
The Old King's New Jester
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
You that in vain would front the coming order
With eyes that meet forlornly what they must,
And only with a furtive recognition
See dust where there is dust,
A Happy Man
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
When these graven lines you see,
Traveller, do not pity me;
Though I be among the dead,
Let no mournful word be said.
Octaves
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
I We thrill too strangely at the master's touch;
We shrink too sadly from the larger self
Which for its own completeness agitates
And undetermines us; we do not feel --
My Philosophy of Life
© John Ashbery
Just when I thought there wasn't room enough
for another thought in my head, I had this great idea--
call it a philosophy of life, if you will.Briefly,
it involved living the way philosophers live,
according to a set of principles. OK, but which ones?
Just Walking Around
© John Ashbery
What name do I have for you?
Certainly there is not name for you
In the sense that the stars have names
That somehow fit them. Just walking around,
Daffy Duck In Hollywood
© John Ashbery
Something strange is creeping across me.
La Celestina has only to warble the first few bars
Of "I Thought about You" or something mellow from
Amadigi di Gaula for everything--a mint-condition can
Good Friday 2001, Riding North
© Jennifer Reeser
Yellow makes a play for green among
the rows of some poor farmer's field outside
the Memphis city limits' northern edge.
A D. J. plays The Day He Wore My Crown,
By This Pitch And Motion
© Jennifer Reeser
In the upstairs hallway, complacent sunlight
stings the walls with gold and translucent almond
over Turkish runners betraying patterns
faded with travel.
Life
© Marvin Bell
I leave the office, take the stairs,
in time to mail a letter
before 3 in the afternoon--the last dispatch.
The red, white and blue air mail
The Return of Persephone
© Alec Derwent Hope
Gliding through the still air, he made no sound;
Wing-shod and deft, dropped almost at her feet,
And searched the ghostly regiments and found
The living eyes, the tremor of breath, the beat
Of blood in all that bodiless underground.
The Divine Vision
© George William Russell
THIS mood hath known all beauty, for it sees
Oerwhelmed majesties
In these pale forms, and kingly crowns of gold
On brows no longer bold,
