Poem Poems
Poem
by Elizabeth Bishop
About the size of an old-style dollar bill,
American or Canadian,
mostly the same whites, gray greens, and steel grays
-this little painting (a sketch for a larger one?)
has never earned any money in its life.
Useless and free., it has spent seventy years
as a minor family relic handed along collaterally to owners
who looked at it sometimes, or didn't bother to.
It must be Nova Scotia; only there
......
Sun
by Michael Palmer
Write this. We have burned all their villages
Write this. We have burned all the villages and the people in them
Write this. We have adopted their customs and their manner of dress
Write this. A word may be shaped like a bed, a basket of tears or an X
In the notebook it says, It is the time of mutations, laughter at jokes,
secrets beyond the boundaries of speech
......
The Poem Of Zuhair
by İbn Abî Sûlmâ Zuhayr
'Does the blackened ruin, situated in the stony ground between Durraj and Mutathallam, which did not speak to me, when addressed, belong to the abode of Ummi Awfa?
'And is it her dwelling at the two stony meadows, seeming as though they were the renewed tattoo marks in the sinews of the wrist?
'The wild cows and the white deer are wandering about there, one herd behind the other, while their young are springing up from every lying-down place.
'I stood again near it, (the encampment of the tribe of Awfa,) after an absence of twenty years, and with some efforts, I know her abode again after thinking awhile.
'I recognized the three stones blackened by fire at the place where the kettle used to be placed at night, and the trench round the encampment, which had not burst, like the source of a pool.
......
A Poem For Martyrs' Day
by Frank Chipasula
The first vowel of pain
pierces the night, O!
We recoil in our nightmares,
hearing a man scream like sheep
under a merciless knife.
The cry coils about the midnight
pitch darkness, out of Chingwe's
......
Michael: A Pastoral Poem
by William Wordsworth
If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Greenhead Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
The pastoral mountains front you, face to face.
But, courage! for around that boisterous brook
The mountains have all opened out themselves,
And made a hidden valley of their own.
No habitation can be seen; but they
Who journey thither find themselves alone
......
Endless
by Joel C
Two doors open—
one flat on a sandy hill,
mine beneath a flickering light,
like a dying eye.
We step through,
and the tearing begins—
the skin of the world,
the brittle edge that held us in,
and kept us apart.
......
Color Me Slowly
by Joel C
Color me slowly,
lilac mist across my face—
the hush of dusk before I go.
Let soft sky blue gather
across my chest,
a quiet kind of silence
like a cloudless day
hiding me,
like a secret that lingers.
......
once again
by Rikske Kessner
there was a time
when thoughts
were pencilled in
by flashlight or nightlight
well after the house
has shut down for the night
there was a time
when poems
were extensions
......
sword or pen?
by Rikske Kessner
When a poet takes up arms
their quill is orphaned quick
though the pen is mightier
the sword some bards will pick
however just the cause may be
forsake their weapon true
to lose what makes them free
sad the day when all is through
a miscreant yearns
by Rikske Kessner
A soul’s cry, released in words—
chosen, picked, woven in quiet longing.
And there, in articulation, beauty finds its form...
The soul, unbound, bridges a gap, touching both heart and mind.
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Delmore Schwartz (12 poems about Poem)
8 December 1913 - 11 July 1966 / Brooklyn / New York / United States -
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