Poems begining by W

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Welcome To The Chicago Commercial Club

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

CHICAGO sounds rough to the maker of verse;
One comfort we have--Cincinnati sounds worse;
If we only were licensed to say Chicago!
But Worcester and Webster won't let us, you know.

I took th' horses to th' brook - to water 'em you know,
Th' air was cold with just a touch o' frost;
And as we went a-joggin' down I couldn't help but
think,
O' city folk an' all the things they lost.

With Every Thought

© Paul Celan

With every Thought I went
out of the World: there you were,
you my Gentle One, you my Open One, and
you received us.

When Mother Made An Angel Cake

© Edgar Albert Guest

When mother baked an angel cake we kids would gather round
An' watch her gentle hands at work, an' never make a sound;
We'd watch her stir the eggs an' flour an' powdered sugar, too,
An' pour it in the crinkled tin, an' then when it was through
She'd spread the icing over it, an' we knew very soon
That one would get the plate to lick, an' one would get the spoon.

We Are Children

© William Cosmo Monkhouse

CHILDREN indeed are wechildren that wait

Within a wondrous dwelling, while on high

Warning

© Sheldon Allan Silverstein

Inside everybody's nose
There lives a shar-toothed snail.
So if youi stick your finger in,
He may bite off your nail.

Without warning

© Sappho

Without warning
as a whirlwind
swoops on an oak
Love shakes my heart

When Old Wounds Bleed Again

© Robert Laurence Binyon

Is this still woe forlorn
Less than that fierce despair?
Perhaps 'tis worse to bear
Because 'tis easier borne.

Written Soon After The Preceding Poem

© Charles Lamb

Thou should'st have longer liv'd, and to the grave

Have peacefully gone down in full old age!

Written At Paris, 1700. In The Beginning Of Robe's Geography

© Matthew Prior

Then as thou wilt dispose the rest
(And let not Fortune spoil the jest)
To those who at the market-rate
Can barter honour for estate.

When An Old Man Gets To Thinking

© Edgar Albert Guest

When an old man gets to thinking of the years he's traveled through,
He hears again the laughter of the little ones he knew.
He isn't counting money, and he isn't planning schemes;
He's at home with friendly people in the shadow of his dreams.

Who Says Words With My Mouth?

© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi

All day I think about it, then at night I say it.
Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that,
and I intend to end up there.

What Love Is Like

© Piet Hein

Love is like
a pineapple,
sweet and
undefinable.

What Had He Done?

I saw the farmer, when the day was done,
And the proud sun had sought his crimson bed,
And the mild stars came forward one by one-
I saw the sturdy farmer, and I said:
"What have you done to-day,
O farmer! say?"

Western by Michelle Bennett : American Life in Poetry #234 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

© Ted Kooser

This week’s poem is by a high school student, Michelle Bennett, who lives in Tukwila, Washington, and here she is taking a look at what comes next, Western Washington University in Bellingham, with everything new about it, including opportunity.

Western

Wallpapering by Sue Ellen Thompson: American Life in Poetry #109 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004

© Ted Kooser

One big test of the endurance of any relationship is taking on a joint improvement project. Here Sue Ellen Thompson offers an account of one such trial by fire. Wallpapering

My parents argued over wallpaper. Would stripes
make the room look larger? He
would measure, cut, and paste; she'd swipe
the flaws out with her brush. Once it was properly