Weather poems
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City Elegies
© Robert Pinsky
All day all over the city every person
Wanders a different city, sealed intact
And haunted as the abandoned subway stations
Under the city. Where is my alley doorway?
BabLockHythe
© Robert Laurence Binyon
In the time of wild roses
As up Thames we travelled
Where 'mid water--weeds ravelled
The lily uncloses,
The Briny Grave
© Henry Lawson
You wonder why so many would be buried in the sea,
In this world of froth and bubble,
The Tragic Condition of the Statue of Liberty
© Bernadette Mayer
A collaboration with Emma Lazarus
Give me your tired, your poor,
The Summer Bower
© Henry Timrod
It is a place whither Ive often gone
For peace, and found it, secret, hushed, and cool,
The Shepherds Calendar - May
© John Clare
Come queen of months in company
Wi all thy merry minstrelsy
The restless cuckoo absent long
And twittering swallows chimney song
from Venus and Adonis
© William Shakespeare
Even as the sunne with purple-colourd face,
Had tane his last leaue of the weeping morne,
Rose-cheekt Adonis hied him to the chace,
Hunting he lou'd, but loue he laught to scorne,
Sick-thoughted Venus makes amaine vnto him,
And like a bold fac'd suter ginnes to woo him.
Bahaman
© Bliss William Carman
To T. B. M.
IN the crowd that thronged the pierhead, come to see their friends take ship
The Captain and the Mermaids
© William Schwenck Gilbert
I SING a legend of the sea,
So hard-a-port upon your lee!
A ship on starboard tack!
She's bound upon a private cruise -
(This is the kind of spice I use
To give a salt-sea smack).
Right's Security
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
WHAT if the wind do howl without,
And turn the creaking weather-vane;
Galatea
© Henry Kendall
A SILVER slope, a fall of firs, a league of gleaming grasses,
And fiery cones, and sultry spurs, and swarthy pits and passes!
Complaining
© George Herbert
Do not beguile my heart,
Because thou art
My power and welcome. Put me not to shame,
Because I am
Thy clay that weeps, thy dust that calls.
In Chandler Country
© Dana Gioia
Relentlessly the wind blows on. Next door
catching a scent, the dogs begin to howl.
Lean, furious, raw-eyed from the storm,
packs of coyotes come down from the hills
where there is nothing left to hunt.
Banana Trees by Joseph Stanton: American Life in Poetry #119 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-200
© Ted Kooser
I'm especially attracted to poems that describe places I might not otherwise visit, in the manner of good travel writing. I'm a dedicated stay-at-home and much prefer to read something fascinating about a place than visit it myself. Here the Hawaii poet, Joseph Stanton, describes a tree that few of us have seen but all of us have eaten from.
Banana Trees
They are tall herbs, really, not trees,
though they can shoot up thirty feet
if all goes well for them. Cut in cross
