Weather poems
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The Backsheesh Sergeant
© Skeyhill Tom
'E's a sneakin' smoogin' blighter, an' 'e'll never make a fighter, Unless it's 'gainst a wounded chap like me;'E's a cringin', crawlin' 'ound, an' a coward, I'll be bound,An' I don't know why 'e crossed the bloomin' sea
A Year and a Day
© Siddall Elizabeth
Slow days have passed that make a year, Slow hours that make a day,Since I could take my first dear love And kiss him the old way;Yet the green leaves touch me on the cheek, Dear Christ, this month of May
Entry
© Shields Carol
Grandpa who died young kepta diary of sorts which was reallyjust a record of the weatheror how often he was obligedto have his roof repairedor when his taxes went upor the latest news of City Hallbut once, a Sunday, in the year 1925he entered a single word: woe
It shimmers uniquely on the ruled pageso small it makes us wonder and squintbut large enough in its inky powerto unsettle his young-manly scriptand throw black doubt on otherprevious entries: weather tip-topor gingko on Crescent Ave
Song: Love still has something of the sea
© Sir Charles Sedley
Love still has something of the sea, From whence his Mother rose;No time his slaves from doubt can free, Nor give their thoughts repose.
Song, Written at Sea
© Charles Sackville
To all you ladies now at land We men at sea indite;But first would have you understand How hard it is to write:The Muses now, and Neptune too,We must implore to write to you-- With a fa, la, la, la, la!
For though the Muses should prove kind, And fill our empty brain,Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind To wave the azure main,Our paper, pen, and ink, and we,Roll up and down our ships at sea-- With a fa, la, la, la, la!
Then if we write not by each post, Think not we are unkind;Nor yet conclude our ships are lost By Dutchmen, or by wind:Our tears we'll send a speedier way,The tide shall bring 'em twice a day-- With a fa, la, la, la, la!
The King with wonder and surprise Will swear the seas grow bold
Flight into Reality
© Rowley Rosemarie
Dedicated to the memory of my best friend Georgina, (1942-74)and to her husband Alex Burns and their childrenNulles laides amours ne belles prison -Lord Herbert of Cherbury
What Indians?
© Ortiz Simon Joseph
The Truth Is: "No kidding?" "No." "Come on! That can't be true!" "No kidding."
A Satire, in Imitation of the Third of Juvenal
© John Oldham
Though much concern'd to leave my dear old friend,I must however his design commendOf fixing in the country: for were IAs free to choose my residence, as he;The Peak, the Fens, the Hundreds, or Land's End,I would prefer to Fleet Street, or the Strand
To Winter
© O'Neill Eugene
"Blow, blow, thou winter wind." Away from here,And I shall greet thy passing breath Without a tear.
We Were Boys Together
© Morris George Pope
We were boys together, And never can forgetThe school-house on the heather, In childhood where we met --The humble home, to memory dear; Its sorrows and its joys
Orpheus
© Moritz Albert Frank
He glanced around to check if the treacherous godshad really given him the reward promised for his accomplished songand there she was, Eurydice restored, perfectly naked and fleshedin her rhyming body again, the upper and lower smiles and eyes,the line of mouth-sternum-navel-cleft, the chime of breasts and hipsand of the two knees, the feet, the toes, and that expressionof an unimaginable intelligence that yoked all these with a skillshe herself had forgotten the learning of: there she was, with him once morejust for an instant as she vanished
The Little Walls Before China
© Moritz Albert Frank
A courtier speaks to Ch'in Shih-huang-ti, ca. 210 B.C.
Jottings of New York: A Descriptive Poem
© William Topaz McGonagall
Oh mighty City of New York! you are wonderful to behold,Your buildings are magnificent, the truth be it told,They were the only thing that seemed to arrest my eye,Because many of them are thirteen storeys high
Cape Horn Gospel -- I
© John Masefield
"I was in a hooker once," said Karlssen,"And Bill, as was a seaman, died,So we lashed him in an old tarpaulinAnd tumbled him across the side;And the fun of it was that all his gear wasDivided up among the crewBefore that blushing human error,Our crawling little captain, knew
Prairie Graveyard
© Marriott Anne
Wind mutters thinly on the sagging wirebinding the graveyard from the gouged dirt road,bends thick-bristled Russian thistle,sifts listless dustinto cracks in hard grey ground
