Poem Poems
On Raglan Road
by Patrick Kavanagh
On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew
That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue;
I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way,
And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day.
On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge
Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge,
The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay -
O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away.
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The Poem Of Imru Al Qays
by Imru al Qays Ibn Hujr
Stop, oh my friends, let us pause to weep over the remembrance of my beloved.
Here was her abode on the edge of the sandy desert between Dakhool and Howmal.
The traces of her encampment are not wholly obliterated even now.
For when the South wind blows the sand over them the North wind sweeps it away.
The courtyards and enclosures of the old home have become desolate;
The dung of the wild deer lies there thick as the seeds of pepper.
On the morning of our separation it was as if I stood in the gardens of our tribe,
Amid the acacia-shrubs where my eyes were blinded with tears by the smart from the bursting pods of colocynth.
As I lament thus in the place made desolate, my friends stop their camels;
They cry to me 'Do not die of grief; bear this sorrow patiently.'
......
One Train May Hide Another
by Kenneth Koch
In a poem, one line may hide another line,
As at a crossing, one train may hide another train.
That is, if you are waiting to cross
The tracks, wait to do it for one moment at
Least after the first train is gone. And so when you read
Wait until you have read the next line--
Then it is safe to go on reading.
In a family one sister may conceal another,
So, when you are courting, it's best to have them all in view
Otherwise in coming to find one you may love another.
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Alphabet (An Excerpt)
by Inger Christensen
1
apricot trees exist, apricot trees exist
2
bracken exists; and blackberries, blackberries;
bromine exists; and hydrogen, hydrogen
3
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A Birthday Poem
by Ted Kooser
Just past dawn, the sun stands
with its heavy red head
in a black stanchion of trees,
waiting for someone to come
with his bucket
for the foamy white light,
and then a long day in the pasture.
I too spend my days grazing,
feasting on every green moment
till darkness calls,
......
a leafy bloom’s pledge
by Rikske Kessner
“a leafy bloom’s pledge"
Firm will enters through hidden morphemes,
a vow carried without leaf or bloom.
Resolve bends but does not shatter,
its path refusing the easy blossom.
Leaf trembles against the restless air,
flower opens to a waning flame.
Soil shifts beneath uncertain steps,
......
Mother Call me Ayatullah Nurjati (After Learning the Legacy of the Saint)
by Ayatullah Nurjati
Mother called me Ayatullah Nurjati—two words I made into a blind map for this ever-heavier life.
Back then, I thought only she strung them together.
“Ayatullah,” she said, “Sign of Allah.”
I learned to read it in the wrinkles of my father’s brow,
in prayers stumbling from our mouths too busy complaining.
“Nurjati,” she whispered, “Light of the Teak.”
I thought it an old metaphor,
until I realized: teak isn’t valued in its youth.
......
The Corridor of Truth (A Sonnet)
by Ayatullah Nurjati
A poet does not chase the fleeting fame,
For life is more than just persisting breath;
Mere words without true ground are weak and lame,
But truth revealed outlives the grasp of death.
Though oft condemned, he walks with honesty,
His ego’s shadow rests but fades away;
Each line a prayer shaped through constancy,
Rewarded by God’s grace at close of day.
......
the silence between lines
by Rikske Kessner
Unread poems
are unwritten poetry —
ink still dreaming in the vein,
pages breathing in the dark,
their margins uncreased
by any gaze.
They live in the quiet tide
before the pen descends,
......
Poems for money and no kicks for free
by Rikske Kessner
Poems for Money, and No Kicks for Free
Verse 1
The air smells of printer’s ink and cold coffee,
and the page stares back like a shopfront window
where the mannequins wear my metaphors,
price tags swinging from their wrists.
I used to think the words were a kind of weather —
blowing in from nowhere,
......
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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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