Women poems
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Despair
© Edith Nesbit
SMILE on me, mouth of red--so much too red,
Shine on me, eyes which darkened lashes shade,
For No Clear Reason
© Robert Creeley
I dreamt last night
the fright was over, that
the dust came, and then water,
and women and men, together
again, and all was quiet
in the dim moon’s light.
Verses On Rome
© Frances Anne Kemble
O Rome, tremendous! who, beholding thee,
Shall not forget the bitterest private grief
Troop Train
© Ishmael Reed
It stops the town we come through. Workers raise
Their oily arms in good salute and grin.
Everyday Characters V - Portrait Of A Lady
© Winthrop Mackworth Praed
IN THE EXHIBITION OP THE ROYAL
ACADEMY
A Man Young And Old: IX. The Secrets Of The Old
© William Butler Yeats
I have old women's secrets now
That had those of the young;
Madge tells me what I dared not think
When my blood was strong,
And what had drowned a lover once
Sounds like an old song.
The Enemies
© Elizabeth Jennings
Last night they came across the river and
Entered the city. Women were awake
With lights and food. They entertained the band,
Not asking what the men had come to take
Or what strange tongue they spoke
Or why they came so suddenly through the land.
There Was A Child Went Forth
© Walt Whitman
THERE was a child went forth every day;
And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became;
And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of
the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years.
Mrs. Hill
© Boris Pasternak
I am so young that I am still in love
with Battle Creek, Michigan: decoder rings,
submarines powered by baking soda,
whistles that only dogs can hear. Actually,
not even them. Nobody can hear them.
The Shuffle
© Roddy Lumsden
Skipping out from the major international cocktail party
with my becleavaged blight, a jeroboam in her tight fist,
I broke open my copy of Sarcasm for Beginners, i.e., men.
Planetarium
© Adrienne Rich
Thinking of Caroline Herschel (1750—1848)
astronomer, sister of William; and others.
A woman in the shape of a monster
a monster in the shape of a woman
the skies are full of them
1941
© Ruth Stone
I wore a large brim hat
like the women in the ads.
How thin I was: such skin.
Yes. It was Indianapolis;
a taste of sin.
A private public space
© Richard Jones
to your party and they don’t come,
they’re too busy tending vaginal
flowers, hating football, walking their golden
and chocolate labs. X gave me a poem
Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
© Edwin Muir
I
Among twenty snowy mountains,
The only moving thing
Was the eye of the blackbird.
The Double-Bed Dream Gallows
© Jack Gilbert
Driving through
hot brushy country
the late autumn,
I saw a hawk
crucified on a
barbed-wire fence.
The Magyar's New-Year-Eve
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
By Temèsvar I hear the clarions call:
The year dies. Let it die. It lived in vain.
Gun booms to gun along the looming wall,
Another year advances o'er the plain.
The Despot hails it from his bannered keep:
Ah, Tyrant, is it well to break a bondsman's sleep?
Killing Him: A Radio Play
© John Wesley
LISTEN TO THE RADIO PLAY
JOE, a doctoral candidate in literature
RACHEL, his fiancée
POET/CRITIC
