Women poems
/ page 94 of 142 /
The Diver
© George MacDonald
"Which of you, knight or squire, will dare
Plunge into yonder gulf?
A golden beaker I fling in it-there!
The black mouth swallows it like a wolf!
Who brings me the cup again, whoever,
It is his own-he may keep it for ever!"
Magical Mystery Tour
© Charles Bukowski
as we drive up a steep road
the blonde squeezes my leg
and nestles closer
while raven hair
leans across and nibbles my
ear.
Fences by Pat Mora: American Life in Poetry #192 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
Class, status, privilege; despite all our talk about equality, they're with us wherever we go. In this poem, Pat Mora, who grew up in a Spanish speaking home in El Paso, Texas, contrasts the lives of rich tourists with the less fortunate people who serve them. The titles of poems are often among the most important elements, and this one is loaded with implication.
Fences
Mouths full of laughter,
the turistas come to the tall hotel
with suitcases full of dollars.
Statistics
© William Butler Yeats
"THOSE Platonists are a curse,' he said,
"God's fire upon the wane,
A diagram hung there instead,
More women born than men.'
The Masque of Queen Bersabe: A Miracle-Play
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
PRIMUS MILES.
Sir, note this that I will say;
That Lord who maketh corn with hay
And morrows each of yesterday,
He hath you in his hand.
The Third Monarchy, being the Grecian, beginning under Alexander the Great in the 112. Olympiad.
© Anne Bradstreet
Great Alexander was wise Philips son,
He to Amyntas, Kings of Macedon;
The Sun Wields Mercy
© Charles Bukowski
and the sun wields mercy
but like a jet torch carried to high,
Ragnarok
© Kenneth Allott
Our Trojan world is polarised to mourn;
To dream and find a black spot on the sun,
And wake to love and find our lover gone.
How Are You Doing? by Rick Snyder: American Life in Poetry #103 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-
© Ted Kooser
One of the ways a poet makes art from his or her experience is through the use of unique, specific and particular detail. This poem by Rick Snyder thrives on such details. It's not just baseball caps, it's Tasmanian Devil caps; it's not just music on the intercom, it's James Taylor. And Snyder's poem also caught my interest with the humor of its flat, sardonic tone.
How Are You Doing?
My Divine Lysis
© Sor Juana Ines de la Cruz
Divina Lysi mía:
perdona si me atrevo
a llamarte así, cuando
aun de ser tuya el nombre no merezco.
Foreward
© Madison Julius Cawein
_And one, perchance, will read and sigh:
"What aimless songs! Why will he sing
Of nature that drags out her woe
Through wind and rain, and sun, and snow,
From miserable spring to spring?"
Then put me by._
Hamlet As Told On The Street
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Well, that was the end of our sweet prince,
He died in confusion and nobodys seen him since.
And the moral of the story is bells do get out of tune
And you can find shit in a silver spoon
And an old mans revenge can be a young mans ruin
Oh and never look too close
at what your mamma is doin.
Remembering An Account Executive
© Alan Dugan
He had a back office in his older brothers
advertising agency and understood the human asshole.
On the Paroo
© Henry Kendall
AS WHEN the strong stream of a wintering sea
Rolls round our coast, with bodeful breaks of storm,
Battle Of Hastings - I
© Thomas Chatterton
From Chatelet hys launce Erle Egward drew,
And hit Wallerie on the dexter cheek;
Peerc'd to his braine, and cut his tongue in two.
There, knyght, quod he, let that thy actions speak --
The Princess (part 7)
© Alfred Tennyson
'If you be, what I think you, some sweet dream,
I would but ask you to fulfil yourself:
But if you be that Ida whom I knew,
I ask you nothing: only, if a dream,
Sweet dream, be perfect. I shall die tonight.
Stoop down and seem to kiss me ere I die.'
"Sed Nos Qui Vivimus"
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
How beautiful is life--the physical joy of sense and breathing;
The glory of the world which has found speech and speaks to us;
The robe which summer throws in June round the white bones of winter;
The new birth of each day, itself a life, a world, a sun!
Christmas Shopping in Cactus Center
© Arthur Chapman
Women's scarce in Cactus Center, and there ain't no bargain stores
Fer to start them Monday rushes that break down the stoutest doors;
But we had some Christmas shoppin' that the town ain't over yet,
Jest because of one small woman and a drug store toilet set.
Husbands Overseas
© Lloyd Roberts
Each morning they sit down to their little bites of bread,
To six warm bowls of porridge and a broken mug or two.
And each simple soul is happy and each hungry mouth is fed
Then why should she be smiling as the weary-hearted do?
The Sorrows of a Simple Bard
© Henry Lawson
WHEN I tell a tale of virtue and of injured innocence,
Then my publishers and lawyers are the densest of the dense:
With the blank face of an image and the nod of keep-it-dark
And a wink of mighty meaning at their confidential clerk.
