Poems begining by W

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113

Written in Cold

© Hyde Robin

When I am weighted down with fameAnd wealthy past desire,I shall spend every copper onPine-sticks for a fire.

Why do I feel guilty in the lingerie department at The Bay

After all, I'm a woman, I'm old enough to look casual in here, I'm in my prime, in fact: why not try on a few things, discuss sizes and wires with the clerk like it's nothing, a bit of a chore even, like shopping for sneakers

When a Little Farm I Keep

© Hinkson Katharine Tynan

When a little farm I keep,I shall tend my kine and sheep,And my pretty lambs shall foldIn deep pastures starred with gold.

Whaler

© Greene Richard

Great-grandfather, whaler out of Nantucket,the harder sort who threw the harpoon, drew warm blood,made huge death on the open sea.

What's the Matter with Love

© Green Lil

You got me feeling sadThe worst feelingI ever had

What I Know (Making Free with Villon's Smalltalk)

© Gotlieb Phyllis

I know how to ring down a chime of dimesin a dime slot if you can find me a dime slot,I know how to push the button at a stoplightso the red flicks green before you blink, andI know how to do a cat's cradle behind my back;I know how to love a stem and a leafso the flower reaches up to kiss mebut other than that, I don't know anything

and I am the greatest of puzzle solvers:give me two letters of a 14-letter word you got it,and words, I know every word spoken in jestand every lying word because everylie is as weak as a cobweb, becauseeveryone who believes a lie is a liarto the own self, oh sure, I know all thatbut other than that I'm an ignoramus

Whatever Is

© Gilman Charlotte Anna Perkins

Whatever is we only knowAs in our minds we find it so; No staring fact is half so clear As one dim, preconceived idea .--No matter how the fact may glow.

Watching the Oregon Whale

© Annie Finch

A hard gray wave, her fin, walks out on the waterthat thickens to open and then parts open, around her.

Written with a Pencil in Darfield Churchyard

© Ebenezer Elliott

Man draws his fleeting breathIn doubt and fear,Though life for ever blooms,And smiling ev'n on tombs,Bids beauty say to death,"What dost thou here?"

Written with a Diamond on her Window at Woodstock

© Elizabeth I

Much suspected by me,Nothing proved can be,Quoth Elizabeth prisoner.

Written on a Wall at Woodstock

© Elizabeth I

Oh Fortune, thy wresting wavering stateHath fraught with cares my troubled wit,Whose witness this present prison lateCould bear, where once was joy's loan quit

Written in her French Psalter

© Elizabeth I

No crooked leg, no bleared eye,No part deformed out of kind,Nor yet so ugly half can beAs is the inward suspicious mind.

When I was Young and Fair

© Elizabeth I

When I was fair and young, and favor graced me,Of many was I sought their mistress for to be

Weep You No More, Sad Fountains

© Dowland John

Weep you no more, sad fountains; What need you flow so fast?Look how the snowy mountains Heaven's sun doth gently waste

Wild nights!--wild nights! (249)

Wild nights--wild nights!Were I with theeWild nights should beOur luxury!

Watercolour for Negro Expatriates in France

What are calendars to you?And, indeed, what are atlases? Time is cool jazz in Bretagne,you, hidden in berets or eccentric scarves,somewhere over the rainbow