Poems begining by W
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Who Ever Loved That Loved Not at First Sight?
© Christopher Morley
It lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is overruled by fate.
When two are stripped, long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should love, the other win;
With a Book
© Ambrose Bierce
Words shouting, singing, smiling, frowning--
Sense lacking.
Ah, nothing, more obscure than Browning,
Save blacking.
Weather
© Ambrose Bierce
Once I dipt into the future far as human eye could see,
And I saw the Chief Forecaster, dead as any one can be--
Dead and damned and shut in Hades as a liar from his birth,
With a record of unreason seldome paralleled on earth.
Written On Sunday Morning
© Robert Southey
Go thou and seek the House of Prayer!
I to the Woodlands wend, and there
In lovely Nature see the GOD OF LOVE.
The swelling organ's peal
Winter
© Robert Southey
A wrinkled crabbed man they picture thee,
Old Winter, with a rugged beard as grey
As the long moss upon the apple-tree;
Blue-lipt, an icedrop at thy sharp blue nose,
Why Do We Labor
© Gary R. Ferris
Is it for riches that leave us scared?
*****
What makes us rise and begin each day?
Wise Men In Their Bad Hours
© Robinson Jeffers
Wise men in their bad hours have envied
The little people making merry like grasshoppers
In spots of sunlight, hardly thinking
Backward but never forward, and if they somehow
We Are Those People
© Robinson Jeffers
I have abhorred the wars and despised the liars, laughed at the frightened
And forecast victory; never one moment's doubt.
But now not far, over the backs of some crawling years, the next
Great war's column of dust and fire writhes
Waxwings
© Robert Francis
Four Tao philosophers as cedar waxwings
chat on a February berry bush
in sun, and I am one.
Who In The Hell Is Tom Jones?
© Charles Bukowski
I was shacked with a
24 year old girl from
New York City for
two weeks- about
Whats The Use Of A Title?
© Charles Bukowski
they do'nt make it
the beautiful can't endure,
they are butterflies
they are doves
they are sparrows,
they dont make it.
We Ain't Got No Money, Honey, But We Got Rain
© Charles Bukowski
call it the greenhouse effect or whatever
but it just doesn't rain like it used to.
I particularly remember the rains of the
depression era.
What Can We Do?
© Charles Bukowski
at their best, there is gentleness in Humanity.
some understanding and, at times, acts of
courage
but all in all it is a mass, a glob that doesn't
