Silver Poems

Popular Silver Poems
Presents From My Aunts In Pakistan
by Moniza Alvi

They sent me a salwar kameez
      &nb sp;     peacock-blue,
                 & nbsp; and another
   glistening like an orange split open,
embossed slippers, gold and black
      &nbs p;     points curling.
   Candy-striped glass bangles
      &n bsp;     snapped, drew blood.
   Like at school, fashions changed
      &n bsp;     in Pakistan -

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In Spite Of War
by Angela Morgan

In spite of war, in spite of death,
In spite of all man's sufferings,
Something within me laughs and sings
And I must praise with all my breath.
In spite of war, in spite of hate
Lilacs are blooming at my gate,
Tulips are tripping down the path
In spite of war, in spite of wrath.
"Courage!" the morning-glory saith;
"Rejoice!" the daisy murmureth,

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The Weaver
by Anonymous Works

My life is but a weaving, between my God and me,
I do not choose the colors, He worketh steadily.
Ofttimes he weaveth sorrow, and I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper, and I the underside.
Not till the loom is silent, and the shuttles cease to fly,
Will God unroll the canvas, and explain the reasons why
The dark threads are as needful in the skillful weaver's hand
As threads of gold and silver in the pattern He has planned.

He knows, He loves, He cares,

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My Old Football
by John Milton Hayes

YOU can keep your antique silver and your statuettes of bronze,
Your curios and tapestries so fine,
But of all your treasures rare there is nothing to compare
With this patched up, wornout football pal o’ mine.
Just a patchedup wornout football, yet how it clings!
I live again my happier days in thoughts that football brings.
It’s got a mouth, it’s got a tongue,
And oft when we’re alone I fancy that it speaks
To me of golden youth that’s flown.
It calls to mind our meeting,

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Mariana
by Alfred Lord Tennyson

WITH BLACKEST moss the flower-plots
Were thickly crusted, one and all:
The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the pear to the gable-wall.
The broken sheds look'd sad and strange:
Unlifted was the clinking latch;
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch
Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "My life is dreary,
He cometh not," she said;

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Recent Silver Poems
Wild Moon of Magic
by Evelyn Judy Buehler

I was quite the cunning magician, famed for my illusions and sleight of hand,
Like cool tricks that jade green nature plays, that often we don't understand.

Days were filled with wonder and enchantment, like purple, star aster fields;
And the wonder of a coral, orange and red sunset, after a day of teal thrills!

The tradition of magic goes back centuries, as we frequently favor familiarity,
As sizzling sun follows the same golden path, amidst a pink peony prosperity.

Beside flower fields of blueberry fortune, friends in fashionable hats flaunted,

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A Winter Bluejay
by Sara Teasdale

Crisply the bright snow whispered,
Crunching beneath our feet;
Behind us as we walked along the parkway,
Our shadows danced,
Fantastic shapes in vivid blue.
Across the lake the skaters
Flew to and fro,
With sharp turns weaving
A frail invisible net.
In ecstacy the earth

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A November Night
by Sara Teasdale

There! See the line of lights,
A chain of stars down either side the street --
Why can't you lift the chain and give it to me,
A necklace for my throat? I'd twist it round
And you could play with it. You smile at me
As though I were a little dreamy child
Behind whose eyes the fairies live. . . . And see,
The people on the street look up at us
All envious. We are a king and queen,
Our royal carriage is a motor bus,

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Anadyomene
by Sara Teasdale

The wide, bright temple of the world I found,
And entered from the dizzy infinite
That I might kneel and worship thee in it;
Leaving the singing stars their ceaseless round
Of silver music sound on orbed sound,
For measured spaces where the shrines are lit,
And men with wisdom or with little wit
Implore the gods that mercy may abound.
Ah, Aphrodite, was it not from thee
My summons came across the endless spaces?

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Young Love
by Sara Teasdale

I

I cannot heed the words they say,
The lights grow far away and dim,
Amid the laughing men and maids
My eyes unbidden seek for him.

I hope that when he smiles at me
He does not guess my joy and pain,
For if he did, he is too kind

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