Man -- > Poem

[Man]

Poem







It don't sound so terrible—quite—as it did


426

It don't sound so terrible—quite—as it did—
I run it over—"Dead", Brain, "Dead."
Put it in Latin—left of my school—
Seems it don't shriek so—under rule.

Turn it, a little—full in the face
A Trouble looks bitterest—
Shift it—just—
Say "When Tomorrow comes this way—
I shall have waded down one Day."

I suppose it will interrupt me some
Till I get accustomed—but then the Tomb
Like other new Things—shows largest—then—
And smaller, by Habit—

It's shrewder then
Put the Thought in advance—a Year—
How like "a fit"—then—
Murder—wear!








-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem







It Dropped So Low -- In My Regard --


It dropped so low -- in my Regard --
I heard it hit the Ground --
And go to pieces on the Stones
At bottom of my Mind --

Yet blamed the Fate that flung it -- less
Than I denounced Myself,
For entertaining Plated Wares
Upon My Silver Shelf --










-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem







It dropped so low in my regard


It dropped so low in my regard
I heard it hit the ground,
And go to pieces on the stones
At bottom of my mind;

Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less
Than I reviled myself
For entertaining plated wares
Upon my silver shelf.













-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








It feels a shame to be Alive


444

It feels a shame to be Alive—
When Men so brave—are dead—
One envies the Distinguished Dust—
Permitted—such a Head—

The Stone—that tells defending Whom
This Spartan put away
What little of Him we—possessed
In Pawn for Liberty—

The price is great—Sublimely paid—
Do we deserve—a Thing—
That lives—like Dollars—must be piled
Before we may obtain?

Are we that wait—sufficient worth—
That such Enormous Pearl
As life—dissolved be—for Us—
In Battle's—horrid Bowl?

It may be—a Renown to live—
I think the Man who die—
Those unsustained—Saviors—
Present Divinity—










-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








It is a lonesome Glee


774

It is a lonesome Glee—
Yet sanctifies the Mind—
With fair association—
Afar upon the Wind

A Bird to overhear
Delight without a Cause—
Arrestless as invisible—
A matter of the Skies.








-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








It is an honorable thought,


It is an honorable thought,
And makes one lift one's hat,
As one encountered gentlefolk
Upon a daily street,

That we've immortal place,
Though pyramids decay,
And kingdoms, like the orchard,
Flit russetly away.




-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem









It is easy to work when the soul is at play


244

It is easy to work when the soul is at play—
But when the soul is in pain—
The hearing him put his playthings up
Makes work difficult—then—

It is simple, to ache in the Bone, or the Rind—
But Gimlets—among the nerve—
Mangle daintier—terribler—
Like a Panter in the Glove—






-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem









It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation


560

It knew no lapse, nor Diminuation—
But large—serene—
Burned on—until through Dissolution—
It failed from Men—

I could not deem these Planetary forces
Annulled—
But suffered an Exchange of Territory—
Or World—






-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem









It knew no Medicine


559

It knew no Medicine—
It was not Sickness—then—
Nor any need of Surgery—
And therefore—'twas not Pain—

It moved away the Cheeks—
A Dimple at a time—
And left the Profile—plainer—
And in the place of Bloom

It left the little Tint
That never had a Name—
You've seen it on a Cast's face—
Was Paradise—to blame—

If momently ajar—
Temerity—drew near—
And sickened—ever afterward
For Somewhat that it saw?








-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






It makes no difference abroad


620

It makes no difference abroad—
The Seasons—fit—the same—
The Mornings blossom into Noons—
And split their Pods of Flame—

Wild flowers—kindle in the Woods—
The Brooks slam—all the Day—
No Black bird bates his Banjo—
For passing Calvary—

Auto da Fe—and Judgment—
Are nothing to the Bee—
His separation from His Rose—
To Him—sums Misery—





-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






It might be lonelier


405

It might be lonelier
Without the Loneliness—
I'm so accustomed to my Fate—
Perhaps the Other—Peace—

Would interrupt the Dark—
And crowd the little Room—
Too scant—by Cubits—to contain
The Sacrament—of Him—

I am not used to Hope—
It might intrude upon—
Its sweet parade—blaspheme the place—
Ordained to Suffering—

It might be easier
To fail—with Land in Sight—
Than gain—My Blue Peninsula—
To perish—of Delight—




-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem







It sifts from Leaden Sieves


311


It sifts from Leaden Sieves—
It powders all the Wood.
It fills with Alabaster Wool
The Wrinkles of the Road—

It makes an Even Face
Of Mountain, and of Plain—
Unbroken Forehead from the East
Unto the East again—

It reaches to the Fence—
It wraps it Rail by Rail
Till it is lost in Fleeces—
It deals Celestial Vail

To Stump, and Stack—and Stem—
A Summer's empty Room—
Acres of Joints, where Harvests were,
Recordless, but for them--

It Ruffles Wrists of Posts
As Ankles of a Queen—
Then stills its Artisans—like Ghosts—
Denying they have been—






-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem







It struck me every day


It struck me every day
The lightning was as new
As if the cloud that instant slit
And let the fire through.

It burned me in the night,
It blistered in my dream;
It sickened fresh upon my sight
With every morning's beam.

I thought that storm was brief,--
The maddest, quickest by;
But Nature lost the date of this,
And left it in the sky.







-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








It tossed—and tossed


723

It tossed—and tossed—
A little Brig I knew—o'ertook by Blast—
It spun—and spun—
And groped delirious, for Morn—

It slipped—and slipped—
As One that drunken—stept—
Its white foot tripped—
Then dropped from sight—

Ah, Brig—Good Night
To Crew and You—
The Ocean's Heart too smooth—too Blue—
To break for You—









-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








It troubled me as once I was


600

It troubled me as once I was—
For I was once a Child—
Concluding how an Atom—fell—
And yet the Heavens—held—

The Heavens weighed the most—by far—
Yet Blue—and solid—stood—
Without a Bolt—that I could prove—
Would Giants—understand?

Life set me larger—problems—
Some I shall keep—to solve
Till Algebra is easier—
Or simpler proved—above—

Then—too—be comprehended—
What sorer—puzzled me—
Why Heaven did not break away—
And tumble—Blue—on me—




-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone


876

It was a Grave, yet bore no Stone
Enclosed 'twas not of Rail
A Consciousness its Acre, and
It held a Human Soul.

Entombed by whom, for what offence
If Home or Foreign born—
Had I the curiosity
'Twere not appeased of men

Till Resurrection, I must guess
Denied the small desire
A Rose upon its Ridge to sow
Or take away a Briar.






-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem







It was given to me by the Gods


454

It was given to me by the Gods—
When I was a little Girl—
They given us Presents most—you know—
When we are new—and small.
I kept it in my Hand—
I never put it down—
I did not dare to eat—or sleep—
For fear it would be gone—
I heard such words as "Rich"—
When hurrying to school—
From lips at Corners of the Streets—
And wrestled with a smile.
Rich! 'Twas Myself—was rich—
To take the name of Gold—
And Gold to own—in solid Bars—
The Difference—made me bold—








-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








It was not death, for I stood up,


It was not death, for I stood up,
And all the dead lie down;
It was not night, for all the bells
Put out their tongues, for noon.

It was not frost, for on my flesh
I felt siroccos crawl,--
Nor fire, for just my marble feet
Could keep a chancel cool.

And yet it tasted like them all;
The figures I have seen
Set orderly, for burial,
Reminded me of mine,

As if my life were shaven
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key;
And 't was like midnight, some,

When everything that ticked has stopped,
And space stares, all around,
Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns,
Repeal the beating ground.

But most like chaos,--stopless, cool,--
Without a chance or spar,--
Or even a report of land
To justify despair.









-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








It was too late for Man


623

It was too late for Man—
But early, yet, for God—
Creation—impotent to help—
But Prayer—remained—Our Side—

How excellent the Heaven—
When Earth—cannot be had—
How hospitable—then—the face
Of our Old Neighbor—God—








-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








It will be Summer—eventually


342

It will be Summer—eventually.
Ladies—with parasols—
Sauntering Gentlemen—with Canes—
And little Girls—with Dolls—

Will tint the pallid landscape—
As 'twere a bright Bouquet—
Thro' drifted deep, in Parian—
The Village lies—today—

The Lilacs—bending many a year—
Will sway with purple load—
The Bees—will not despise the tune—
Their Forefathers—have hummed—

The Wild Rose—redden in the Bog—
The Aster—on the Hill
Her everlasting fashion—set—
And Covenant Gentians—frill—

Till Summer folds her miracle—
As Women—do—their Gown—
Of Priests—adjust the Symbols—
When Sacrament—is done—












-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem









It would have starved a Gnat


612

It would have starved a Gnat—
To live so small as I—
And yet I was a living Child—
With Food's necessity

Upon me—like a Claw—
I could no more remove
Than I could coax a Leech away—
Or make a Dragon—move—

Not like the Gnat—had I—
The privilege to fly
And seek a Dinner for myself—
How mightier He—than I—

Nor like Himself—the Art
Upon the Window Pane
To gad my little Being out—
And not begin—again—







-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem










It would never be Common—more—I said


430

It would never be Common—more—I said—
Difference—had begun—
Many a bitterness—had been—
But that old sort—was done—

Or—if it sometime—showed—as 'twill—
Upon the Downiest—Morn—
Such bliss—had I—for all the years—
'Twould give an Easier—pain—

I'd so much joy—I told it—Red—
Upon my simple Cheek—
I felt it publish—in my Eye—
'Twas needless—any speak—

I walked—as wings—my body bore—
The feet—I former used—
Unnecessary—now to me—
As boots—would be—to Birds—

I put my pleasure all abroad—
I dealth a word of Gold
To every Creature—that I met—
And Dowered—all the World—

When—suddenly—my Riches shrank—
A Goblin—drank my Dew—
My Palaces—dropped tenantless—
Myself—was beggared—too—

I clutched at sounds—
I groped at shapes—
I touched the tops of Films—
I felt the Wilderness roll back
Along my Golden lines—

The Sackcloth—hangs upon the nail—
The Frock I used to wear—
But where my moment of Brocade—
My—drop—of India?






-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






It's all I have to bring today


26

It's all I have to bring today—
This, and my heart beside—
This, and my heart, and all the fields—
And all the meadows wide—
Be sure you count—should I forget
Some one the sum could tell—
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.







-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






It's coming—the postponeless Creature


390

It's coming—the postponeless Creature—
It gains the Block—and now—it gains the Door—
Chooses its latch, from all the other fastenings—
Enters—with a "You know Me—Sir"?

Simple Salute—and certain Recognition—
Bold—were it Enemy—Brief—were it friend—
Dresses each House in Crape, and Icicle—
And carries one—out of it—to God—




-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem







It's easy to invent a Life


724

It's easy to invent a Life—
God does it—every Day—
Creation—but the Gambol
Of His Authority—

It's easy to efface it—
The thrifty Deity
Could scarce afford Eternity
To Spontaneity—

The Perished Patterns murmur—
But His Perturbless Plan
Proceed—inserting Here—a Sun—
There—leaving out a Man—




-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





It's like the light, --


It's like the light, --
A fashionless delight
It's like the bee, --
A dateless melody.

It's like the woods,
Private like breeze,
Phraseless, yet it stirs
The proudest trees.

It's like the morning, --
Best when it's done, --
The everlasting clocks
Chime noon.









-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





It's such a little thing to weep


189

It's such a little thing to weep—
So short a thing to sigh—
And yet—by Trades—the size of these
We men and women die!










-- -- --




By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Bright Future


Now that you’ve graduated
Nothing can stop you now.
You’ve worked hard to get your diploma;
It’s time to take a bow.


Congratulations graduate!
Your future looks strong and bright.
May you achieve the things you hope for
And have a life of sheer delight.





-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs





--> Man

[Man]

Poem







Awesome Achievement


Your college graduation
Fills us with love and pride.
We always knew that you could do
Whatever you really tried.


It's a long and challenging journey
To get a college degree,
But you wouldn't quit it, you just went and did it,
And we're beaming affectionately.


Your achievement is awesome, (graduate's name);
You've worked hard and you've passed the test.
We love you so, and we want you to know,
We think you're the very best!





-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








Always Be A Student


Keep on learning, (graduate's name),
Though your graduation's done;
Your whole life's an education
That has only just begun.


Your diploma is the first big step,
For knowledge is the special key
To winning what you want in life
And being who you want to be.


If you'll always be a student,
You'll find the secrets to success
And travel on the golden road
To good fortune, peace and happiness.





-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








If You Believe


Your diploma means a future without boundaries,
A world that's full of energy and fun.
So as you reach for all life has to offer,
Remember that you're second to no one.


Pursue your goals, yet keep your loved ones close,
As you utilize your talent and ambition.
Let your friends and family give you their support,
And you'll master every challenging transition.


And always, (graduate's name), know you can achieve
The things you really want, if you believe.





-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs





--> Man

[Man]

Poem









On Wings of Knowledge


There you are in your cap and tassel
Ready to make the world your castle.
It seems just yesterday you were a kid,
Watching everything I/we did.


Now we're watching you graduate--
The grown young man/woman we helped create!
On wings of knowledge you will fly;
Following your vision and rising high.


We couldn't be prouder, (graduate's name), of you;
We wish you success in all you do.
Remember one thing we want you to know:
Our love is with you wherever you go.





-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs





--> Man

[Man]

Poem









Graduation Friendship


We’re graduating, and we know
Our lives will be different and new;
We’re going out into the world,
Our goals and dreams to pursue.


But one thing will never, ever change,
As we go our separate ways;
The friends we’ve made in school will be
Our friends for the rest of our days.


The special ties and attachments we’ve made,
These bonds will never be broken;
We’ll continue to feel the closeness,
Though words may not be spoken.


So it’s not "goodbye," but rather "farewell;"
I’ll see you again, my friend.
Your friendship means a lot to me,
And it will never end.





-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs





--> Man

[Man]

Poem









Graduation Thank You


Thank you for the gift you gave
For my (8th grade/high school/college) graduation;
Thank you for acknowledging
This special celebration.


I’m grateful for your thoughtfulness;
I appreciate your present;
Thanks for making this eventful time
More joyful and more pleasant!





-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs





--> Man

[Man]

Poem









Graduation Invitation


(I’m/name of person is) graduating from (8th grade, high school, college)
Please tell (me/us) you’ll be there;
This significant occasion
Is an event I/We’d like to share.


Please come to (my/this) graduation;
To see you is always a pleasure.
Your presence in the audience
Would be something (I/we) would treasure!




-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs





--> Man

[Man]

Poem







A New Beginning


As you make a new beginning in your life, graduate,
Be aware of important things you didn’t learn in school:


As you pursue your dreams,
Remember to take time to help and serve others
Even if doing so slows you down a little.
As you explore and develop your unique talents,
Remain humble,
Realizing that your special abilities
Are gifts from God.
As life hands you challenges, welcome them
As ways to become smarter and stronger.
As you acquire material things,
Know that your most important possessions
Are honesty, integrity,
And the desire to make a difference.
Congratulations, graduate.
May your new path take you where you want to go
And also bring you pleasant surprises!




-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs





--> Man

[Man]

Poem







You Stand Out


If every single graduate
Were as special as you are,
The world would be a better place
And everyone a star.


In the real world, though,
You sure stand out
For your extraordinary traits,
Those uncommon things about you
Everyone appreciates.


So congratulations, graduate!
We wish you all the best.
We know as you meet life’s challenges,
You’ll ace each and every test!




-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs





--> Man

[Man]

Poem







The Special Door


It took a lot of work,
Time, and persistence, too,
To achieve the important goal
That you set out to do.


That effort now pays off,
The world now offers more.
To you, new graduate,
It opens a special door.


Congratulations (Name of graduate),
You did it all; you made it through.
You took your first step toward success,
And (I'm/we're/everyone's) so proud of you




-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs





--> Man

[Man]

Poem







It's thoughts—and just One Heart


It's thoughts—and just One Heart—
And Old Sunshine—about—
Make frugal—Ones—Content—
And two or three—for Company—
Upon a Holiday—
Crowded—as Sacrament—

Books—when the Unit—
Spare the Tenant—long eno'—
A Picture—if it Care—
Itself—a Gallery too rare—
For needing more—

Flowers—to keep the Eyes—from going awkward—
When it snows—
A Bird—if they—prefer—
Though Winter fire—sing clear as Plover—
To our—ear—

A Landscape—not so great
To suffocate the Eye—
A Hill—perhaps—
Perhaps—the profile of a Mill
Turned by the Wind—
Tho' such—are luxuries—

It's thoughts—and just two Heart—
And Heaven—about—
At least—a Counterfeit—
We would not have Correct—
And Immortality—can be almost—
Not quite—Content—







-- -- --



By Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem







I've heard an Organ talk, sometimes


183

I've heard an Organ talk, sometimes
In a Cathedral Aisle,
And understood no word it said—
Yet held my breath, the while—

And risen up—and gone away,
A more Berdardine Girl—
Yet—know not what was done to me
In that old Chapel Aisle.









-- -- --



By Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem







I've known a Heaven, like a Tent


243

I've known a Heaven, like a Tent—
To wrap its shining Yards—
Pluck up its stakes, and disappear—
Without the sound of Boards
Or Rip of Nail—Or Carpenter—
But just the miles of Stare—
That signalize a Show's Retreat—
In North America—

No Trace—no Figment of the Thing
That dazzled, Yesterday,
No Ring—no Marvel—
Men, and Feats—
Dissolved as utterly—
As Bird's far Navigation
Discloses just a Hue—
A plash of Oars, a Gaiety—
Then swallowed up, of View.










-- -- --



By Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem







I've none to tell me to but Thee


881

I've none to tell me to but Thee
So when Thou failest, nobody.
It was a little tie—
It just held Two, nor those it held
Since Somewhere thy sweet Face has spilled
Beyond my Boundary—

If things were opposite—and Me
And Me it were—that ebbed from Thee
On some unanswering Shore—
Would'st Thou seek so—just say
That I the Answer may pursue
Unto the lips it eddied through—
So—overtaking Thee—










-- -- --



By Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem







I've nothing else—to bring, You know


224

I've nothing else—to bring, You know—
So I keep bringing These—
Just as the Night keeps fetching Stars
To our familiar eyes—

Maybe, we shouldn't mind them—
Unless they didn't come—
Then—maybe, it would puzzle us
To find our way Home—












-- -- --



By Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






I've seen a Dying Eye


547

I've seen a Dying Eye
Run round and round a Room—
In search of Something—as it seemed—
Then Cloudier become—
And then—obscure with Fog—
And then—be soldered down
Without disclosing what it be
'Twere blessed to have seen—












-- -- --



By Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Jesus! thy Crucifix


225

Jesus! thy Crucifix
Enable thee to guess
The smaller size!

Jesus! thy second face
Mind thee in Paradise
Of ours!








-- -- --



By Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Joy to have merited the Pain


788

Joy to have merited the Pain—
To merit the Release—
Joy to have perished every step—
To Compass Paradise—

Pardon—to look upon thy face—
With these old fashioned Eyes—
Better than new—could be—for that—
Though bought in Paradise—

Because they looked on thee before—
And thou hast looked on them—
Prove Me—My Hazel Witnesses
The features are the same—

So fleet thou wert, when present—
So infinite—when gone—
An Orient's Apparition—
Remanded of the Morn—

The Height I recollect—
'Twas even with the Hills—
The Depth upon my Soul was notched—
As Floods—on Whites of Wheels—

To Haunt—till Time have dropped
His last Decade away,
And Haunting actualize—to last
At least—Eternity—







-- -- --



By Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Just as He spoke it from his Hands


848

Just as He spoke it from his Hands
This Edifice remain—
A Turret more, a Turret less
Dishonor his Design—

According as his skill prefer
It perish, or endure—
Content, soe'er, it ornament
His absent character.








-- -- --



By Emily Dickinson




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






The Next School


You did great work we're proud to say,
You did it, and you’re on your way.
The next school will be fun for you,
And it's something we know that you can do!










-- -- --



By Karl Fuchs




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Work Is Play


Everyone is proud of what you’ve done,
You’ve learned a lot and had some fun.
Now there's more school up ahead,
Just make your work seem like play instead.


And if you play the game that way,
How far you’ll go, no one can say.








-- -- --



By Karl Fuchs




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






You've Done Your Job


Now it's time to graduate
You did well, and that is great
You've done your job, and we're so proud,
We want to dance and shout out loud!







-- -- --



By Karl Fuchs




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Graduation Song


We’re graduating
Into our future,
Anticipating
Only the best.
Spreading our wings now
Into the wide world,
We’ll do great things now,
Pass every test.


We’ll overcome what-
ever life hands us,
Use what we learned here
For our success.
We’ll bloom wherever
Our journey lands us,
Reaching our goal of
Sweet happiness.


Friendships unbroken
Are what we made here;
Though words aren’t spoken,
Feelings are strong.
Memories we treasure
Tie us together,
Recalling pleasure
All our lives long.


We’re thankful for our
Good education;
Our school and teachers
Gave us their all.
We'd like to give them
Appreciation;
We learned a lot, and
We thank you all.








-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs




--> Man

[Man]

Poem



And here’s a graduation poem made into a graduation song for preschoolers to the lower elementary grades. It’s set the melody of the song "The Farmer in the Dell." Where it says, "insert grade," put "kinder" (for kindergarten) or "first grade" or whatever applies.


Graduation Song for Young Children


We’re graduating now;
We’re graduating now;
We’re going to a (insert grade) class;
We’re graduating now.


We’ll learn some new things there;
We’ll learn some new things there;
We’re going to have a lot of fun;
We’ll learn some new things there.


We’ll meet and make good friends;
We’ll meet and make good friends;
We’ll like them, and they’ll like us, too;
We’ll meet and make good friends;


Our teacher will be nice;
Our teacher will be nice.
She’ll teach us what we need to know;
Our teacher will be nice.


We’re graduating now;
We’re graduating now;
We’re going to a (insert grade) class;
We’re graduating now.








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By Joanna Fuchs




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There are thousands of searches for graduation prayers, so I wrote this graduation prayer in the form of a free verse inspirational graduation poem.


Dear Lord,
Please bless these graduates
as they go out into the world
to make it a better place,
while they pursue their dreams.
Gently guide them, lead them,
show them Your way to success and happiness
through service to others,
as they maximize their own potential.
Fill them with joy when they reach their goals.
Strengthen them, as they deal with life's obstacles,
and show them that every challenge
is a path to character development.
Give them the intelligence
to make a plan for their futures.
Give them the patience and persistence
to pursue their ambitions.
Most of all, give them caring hearts
to look for ways to help the people they meet
on their life's journey.
Encourage them and lift them up now,
as they spread their wings
into a clear sky of limitless opportunity.
Let each and every graduate here
be wrapped in the warmth of Your infinite love,
and let Your wisdom show them the way
to make the most of their lives.
In Jesus' name we pray, Amen.



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By Joanna Fuchs




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On the Death
OF
MAJOR WHITEFOORD,

DECEMBER 15TH, 1825.
LIKE blighted leaves, around us fall
The young, the gifted, and the brave;
And still the most belov'd of all
Seem earliest fated to the grave.

With health the morning saw thee blest,
And gladness brighten'd o'er thy brow;
When ev'ning flung across the West
Her dark'ning shadows,--where wert thou?





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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 2


Cold, cold for ever was thy heart,
And hush'd its pulse of joy, or pain:
Life's silver cord was torn apart,
The golden bowl was broken then.

Without one sign of warning giv'n,
To tell of danger lurking near,
With sudden wrench the chain was riv'n,
Which kept thy pilgrim footsteps here.

Yes! ere the sun whose dawning ray
Upon thy peaceful waking shone,
Withdrew from heav'n the light of day,
Thy spirit to its rest was gone.

And many a mourner o'er thy bed,
In pale, and speechless anguish hung;
And burning tears above thee shed,
From agony's deep source were wrung.






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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 3


Ev'n strangers wept for thee !--and yet,
By voices to thine ear unknown,
With fulness of unfeign'd regret,
Thy name is breath'd in sorrow's tone.

And, oh! through long, long years to come,
Shall sad, but tend'rest thoughts of thee,
Within the circle of thy home,
Be shrin'd and cherish'd faithfully!








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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 4

TWILIGHT.


The hour when Fancy, and Remembrance, weave
Their fairest tissue of enchanted dreams.
TWILIGHT! still season of deep communings,
And holiest hopes, and tears of tenderness,
Which soothe the soul in falling, as the dew
Freshens the fading flower, how sweet, and dear,
To me, the shadow of thy coming is !--
Beneath the magic of thy soothing spell,
The wilder throbbings of my heart grow hush'd
Almost to peacefulness; while from my mind
Departs the hurried fever, which doth wear
Its powers away amid life's busier scenes,





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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 5


And I awake to soft imaginings,--


And gentle thoughts,--and mingled memories,
Of sadness, and delight.--Oh! Joy may love
The brilliant beaming of the morning sun,
When the full splendour of his living rays
Kindles the Eastern heav'n; but unto me,
The faintest ling'ring of his farewell gleam
Is far more beautiful,--for it doth give .
A promise of that touching quietude,--
--Thine own peculiar charm,--with which thou still
Dost herald in the night !




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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 6

TO ANNA.


THINK of me, dearest! when the Western star
Sheds o'er the soft blue heav'n its lovely light;
For know, that I, though near thee, or afar,
Gaze on it ever with a still delight.

Think of me, dearest! when the op'ning spring
Show'rs her young buds of beauty round thy feet,
And early violets to the breezes fling
The rich, pure perfume, which I lov'd to greet.

Think of me, dearest! when the summer flow'rs
Give to the wand'ring wind their fragrant sighs:
Remember, I, in home, or foreign bow'rs,
Bend o'er their blossoms with enchanted eyes.





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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 7


Think of me, dearest! when the calm waves flow
All tranquilly beneath the moon-light beam;
For I have oft, with pleasure's warmest glow,
Watch'd silently their sweet, and silv'ry gleam.

Think of me, dearest! if thy ling'ring gaze
In far-off years upon this page shall rest:
Then may rekindling thoughts of "other days,"
Waken love's kindliest beatings in thy breast!







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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 8

[Where, oh ! where, on his restless wing &c.]
Where, oh! where, on his restless wing,
Hath the spirit of Love been wandering?--
I HAVE been where passionate hearts beat high
Beneath the glow of an Eastern heav'n,
And break with the wild intensity,
Of governless feelings, which I have giv'n;--
Where glances, bright as the star-beams, flash
From under the shade of the fringing lash,
Which mellows the light of the lustrous eyes,
Within the depth of whose darkness lies,
--"With pow'r to soften--subdue--and bless,--"
The soul of eloquent tenderness;--
Where lips, which even in silence speak,
Are only match'd by the rose-touch'd cheek,








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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 9


And the pure, white brow, where the softest blue
Of the delicate veins is shining through.
And I linger'd o'er isles of beauty, set
Like gems, in old Ocean's coronet,
Peopled by forms, which seem'd but wrought,
From the fairest dreams of a poet's thought,
They were so lovely !--
Young spirit! still
Chainless rove over the world at will,
But ne'er again in thy roamings come
To make my bosom thy passing home:
Though rapture dwell in thy sunny smile
Despair comes fast on thy steps the while!









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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 10

GERTRUDE.



SHE knelt in pray'r before th' eternal throne
Of the Most High,--her streaming eyes uprais'd,--
Her white hands clasp'd convulsively,--her cheek,
With the heart's passion pale. She did not ask
Pardon, or blessing, for herself, nor those
For whom her pure petitions once were pour'd,
In meek devotion's holiest spirit, forth.--
Her youth's affections were as nothing now
To that lost girl; --for her the world contain'd
One only Being; and to him she bow'd
In wild, and dark idolatry of soul.










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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 11

With most intense, and passionate fervency,
She pray'd for him;--she bent before her God
In mockery of worship, for each thought
Was chain'd to earth, and ev'ry hope entwin'd
Round him she lov'd so madly. She but wish'd
To live for him;--to die, if change should steal
Over a breast, whose tend'rest beatings now
Were all for her.--Soon was that wish fulfill'd !







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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 12



TO
A FRIEND,
WITH A PYRUS JAPONICA.


WHEN flow'rs o'er which the sun-light plays,
In summer's bright, and glorious days,
Have left each stem which bore their bloom,
And made the earth they grac'd,--their tomb;--
When the warm breeze, which hovers now
To catch their breath, and float it on,
Shall sound in murmers wild, and low,
A requiem to their beauty gone,
Or sweep, with loud, funereal cry,
Beneath the cold, and darken'd sky;--






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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 13


Then Lady ! to the chilling air,
The flow'r I send its grace shall give;
Unfold its blossoms, freshly fair,
And in young, rich luxuriance live,
Like some true heart, whose love is found
Most faithful in the stormiest hour,
And, when misfortunes gather round,
Shines out with purest,--gentlest, pow'r--
Cheering the gloom of sorrow's night,
With its warm glow, and changeless light!






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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 14

TO * * * * *


WE stood together in that tranquil scene
Of moon-light loveliness;-its silent spell
Stole o'er the spirit with a soft'ning pow'r,
Which might have hush'd the wildest heart to peace.
Beneath us far the sleeping waters lay,
In beautiful repose: their silv'ry gleam
Form'd a sweet contrast with the deep, dark, mass
Of shade upon their shores. The murm'ring sound
Of far-off voices came upon the breeze;
And the clear music of the vesper-chimes,
--Like a sweet hymn of farewell to the day,--
Stole on the ear, awakening memories,
Which only start to life in such an hour.





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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 15


There were young Roses blushing in the light
Of the pale moon-rays, and their fragrant breath
Floated around us, shedding on the air
All its most fresh, and rich deliciousness.
Long years have fleeted by !--again the hush
Of Ev'ning, is upon the wave, and hill ;--
Again, a glitt'ring track of liquid light
Brightens the gliding river; and the earth
Is garlanded with summer flow'rs, as when
I last beheld the spot:--all nature bears
The aspect which it wore in that same hour,
When, with delighted gaze, I ling'ring dwelt
Upon its quiet beauty. Time hath left
No traces of his touch on aught save me;
But o'er my breast, and brow, his passing wing
Hath swept with chilling, and destructive power,
Since that remember'd moment. I am chang'd
As the green foliage, when the autumn winds
Have sear'd its hue, and wither'd up its life.
Oh! ages of the heart, which fade the frame,






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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 16


And blight the mind of man, pass lightly o'er
The bosom of the universe, which still,
In undecay'd magnificence, and grace,
With its calm grandeur, seems to mock the proud
And restless race, who deem the world was fram'd
But for their petty sovereignty--and yet,
Are in themselves more frail than human hope,
The reed to which they cling.





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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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SONG.


I AM so weary, Love !--a chain,
Whose ev'ry link is form'd of pain,
Clings round me, like the serpent-coil,
Whose graspings crush its folded spoil.

I am so weary, Love !--the night
Is not more welcome to the sight
Of the toil-bow'd, and sinking slave,
Than unto me would be the grave.

I am so weary, Love !--my fate
Frowns still more darkly desolate,
Than when, with shudd'ring grief, and dread,
To thee my first farewell was said!




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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 18


I am so weary, Love!--O! when
Shall rest, and peace, be mine again?--
Not till above my cold, cold bed,
The emerald turf be lightly spread !





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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 21

RHYMES
WRITTEN IN ALBUMS.

TO CAROLINE.

TO win, beloved Caroline from thee,
One thought, in years when we shall sever'd be--
--Sever'd, perchance, by those deep waves, which pour
Their billowy murmurs round our native shore,--
For this, I wander'd round the Bow'rs of Song,
A weary, and rejected suppliant long,
And of the Muses crav'd in humblest tone
From their rich wreaths, one simple bud alone:
They did but fling their wildest weeds at me,
And thus I twin'd them into verse for thee!





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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 22


Oh! voiceless is the raptur'd feeling
Which passeth o'er me as I view,
The vesper-planet softly stealing,
Through heav'n's delightful depths of blue.

It comes in such sweet beauty beaming
When dark'ning shadows gather round,
That ever dear its gentle gleaming
To sad, or lonely hearts is found.

The crimson light which late was flushing
The Western wave, hath vanish'd then;
And ev'ning's silent spell is hushing
The murmurs, and the thoughts of men.

The hues, the freshness floating o'er us
In earlier hours have died away;
And cheeringly the path before us
Is brighten'd by that silvery ray.





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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 23


'Tis thus, when life's delicious morning
On rapid wing hath fleeted by,
And each fair flow'r we view'd adorning
Our once gay path, droops witheringly.

When ev'ry tint which Joy was lending,
We see, by Sorrow touch'd, expire,
And ev'n seraphic Hope is bending
In mournful silence o'er her lyre.

Star of the soul, serenely tender,
Through darkness Mem'ry rises then,
Sheds o'er the past her dreamy splendour
And all we lov'd revives again!



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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 24

TO CATHARINE.


FRESH may the flow'rs of remembrance remain
When calmly thy sister is sleeping;
And still may thy warm heart its kindness retain
When cold dews my pillow are steeping.

Brightly for thee may the buds of delight
Expand their young leaves in the dawning,
Ere the lustre of life can be dimm'd by the night,
Or the hopes be destroy'd of its morning!




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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 25

TO ELIZA D.

WHEN in far-future years thy bright glance shall be resting,
On the line of remembrance my pen hath impress'd,
Oh! may it, the past in bright colours investing,
Awaken one wandering thought in thy breast,

Of those moments, which, hallow'd by friendship, and feeling,
Still live in my heart, though they long have pass'd by;
But their memory comes like some sweet spirit, stealing
In silence to earth from the regions on high.





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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 26


How often thy voice, in its soul-thrilling measure,
Hath awaken'd emotions I may not forget;
Emotions of calm, and of unalloy'd pleasure;
Which faithfully cling to my memory yet!

Fare thee well!--I will hope that to thee may be giv'n
The most thornless and beautiful blossoms of earth;
And that brighter, by far, may await thee in heav'n,
The last home of gentleness, virtue, and worth!





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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 27

TO MARY.


COME turn with me, and gaze on that fair moon !--
"Her beams must fade, and we be parted soon !"
How beautifully soft her temper'd rays!
And tender as the, "light of other days,"
Which breaks o'er mem'ry's musings, when alone
The soul reviews life's sweetest moments flown.
She seems, in that far sky, like some bright mind,
High, in its native purity, enshrin'd
Above this world--and looking calmly down
On earth, unmindful of its smile or frown!--






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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 28

I know how vain it is to mourn


I KNOW how vain it is to mourn
O'er blighted hopes, and friendship fled;
How yet more vain it is, to turn
With sorrow to the slumb'ring dead.

Oh! they sleep well!--for o'er their rest
No dark, and life-like mock'ries come
To cloud the brain, and wring the breast,
Which in the grave hath found a home !







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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 29

TO * * * * *


HOW sacred is the lightest thing
Which wakes a thought of thee !--
The wild-flow'r's lonely blossoming;
The young spring-zephyr's laden wing,
Are spells, which to my bosom bring
Rich tides of memory!

Soft tones of music floating far
At ev'ning o'er the sea;--
The trembling of the twilight star,
When not a cloud hath dar'd to mar
Its dewy smiles,--but sweet dreams are
Which lead my soul to thee!








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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 30

TO H. B. * * * * * * * * * *


WHEN the day-dreams which brighten'd the dawning of life
Have vanish'd, like gems of the morning away;
And Hope's fairy wreath, which with promise was rife,
Lies wither'd beneath the cold touch of decay;
The magic of memory's soft-breathing spell
Shall re-kindle the glow of the visions, and flowers,
And though youth's laughing witcheries whisper farewell,
Their light, and their loveliness, yet shall be ours !









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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 31


The sweetness of Joy's silver smile may depart,
And sadness may darken, where warmly it play'd,
But its sunshine again will steal over the heart,
When the ray of remembrance hath sever'd the shade.
From the fountain of years that are fled, my lov'd friend,
May the pure cup of Happiness sparkle for thee;
And in future ones oft o'er this page may'st thou bend,
With feelings, and thoughts, rich in kindness for me!










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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 32

THE GRAVE.


THERE is a low and lonely place of rest,
Upon whose couch the worn and wearied frame
Reposes in forgetfulness,--and there,
The streaming eye of misery is clos'd
In sweet and dreamless slumber;--on that bed
The painful beatings of the breaking heart
Are hush'd to stillness; and the harrowing pangs
Of hopeless agony, are felt no more!
Around that silent dwelling-place, the veil
Of darkness curtains closely:--not a sigh,
Nor lightest whisp'ring of the summer-wind
Steals on the breathless and eternal calm,
Which o'er that region spreads its canopy !











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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 33


PORTRAIT.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


THE second, with a brow serenely calm,
And eye of inspiration, is the child,
The favour'd child of Song, and o'er his lyre
The Spirit of sweet Poesy hath breath'd
Her holiest spell, making its ev'ry tone
A wonder, and delight.--Whether he pour
The fulness of his melody to her,
Th' enthron'd, but pallid Princess of the Night;
Or to the diamond-fires which gem the sky
When she hath veil'd her beauty; or doth sing











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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 34


The secrets of the radiant caves, which lie
Deep, deep enshrin'd within old Ocean's breast,
Peopled with spirits--he doth shed o'er all
The living light of genius--but the swell
Of his harmonious lyre ne'er charms as when
Its breathings are of Love,--etherial Love,
In its first starry dawning: he doth wake
The deep, and passionate strain, as one whose heart
Sends forth its own o'er mast'ring feelings with
The music of his numbers, which to us
Steal so deliciously! The mountain-path
Which he is treading now, will soon lead on
Ev'n to the templed summit where Fame dwells,
And crowds shall render homage to his name
Whom yet they know not.--Fortune! mar not thou
Prospects, as those of summer-mornings, bright











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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 35

NAY TWINE THE HEATH-FLOW'R
WILD FOR ME.


NAY twine the heath-flow'r wild for me,
It best will suit my blighted lot;
For I am flung neglectedly
Abroad, where fostering love is not--
And Roses on my aching brow,
Too soon would lose their blushing glow;
While on my throbbing bosom laid,
The lily's bloom in death would fade!

Enwreath the folds of Beauty's hair
With the white Jas'mine stars :--their snow
Will gleam in purer seeming there,
And grace on loveliness bestow--













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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 36

Their delicate, frail, life will be
Breath'd forth in sweet luxuriancy,
On the rich tresses, where they lie
Embalm'd, in their own od'rous sigh!

To the young seraph Hope, be giv'n,
In homage to her soft eyes hue,
The violet-buds, which stole from heav'n,
Its matchless depth of star-light blue.
Entwine,--the lyre of song to shade,--
The scented myrtle's shining braid!
But weave for me, that flow'r alone,
In wildness on the desert thrown!









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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 37

L'ABANDONNÉE.


THEY said, the words I lov'd to hear
Were whisper'd in another's ear,
With that sweet smile, and tender tone,
With which thou mad'st my heart thine own,
I listen'd to the torturing tale,
With brow and cheek as marble pale;
Yet nerv'd I then my woman's soul,
Its deadliest feelings to controul,
And mov'd about, as pale, and wan,
As if my very life were gone,
And I a wand'ring spirit, left
On earth, of ev'n a tomb bereft.










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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 38

I would have gladly borne for thee
Pain,--scorn,--reproach,--and penury;
Or,---dear as was thine early fame,--
Have shar'd with thee a blighted name.
With fearless confidence, that ne'er
Dream'd of the wound it soon must bear,
My soul repos'd itself on thine,
And deem'd it honour's purest shrine.
With startling suddenness, I woke
To the dark truth which o'er me broke;--
Yes!--I was rous'd from dreams of bliss
To know thee false--and oh! to feel
That there was agony in this
Beyond all earthly pow'r to heal:
It mattered little how the rest
Of life pass'd by,-- I knew that naught
Of fate, could make it more unblest,
Or be with bitterer anguish fraught.
And now thou com'st, thy wav'rings o'er,
To bid me be thy slave once more!











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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 39

The following three lines connected by large right brace. This is represented here by a smaller right brace at the end of each line so connected.


'Tis vainly ask'd!--affection's chain }
Was all too rudely wrench'd in twain }
And never will unite again. }
That voice whose ev'ry accent fell
Like softest music on mine ear,
Hath lost its deep, its touching spell,
Of eloquence unspeakable,
Which was, in days gone by, so dear,
I see thee with unthrobbing breast;
I meet thy glance, yet still am calm;
Go, then!--nor break the tranquil rest,
Which is my spirit's needful balm.
Leave me to peace !--my heart is grown,
Since thou didst cast its love away,
As cold, and careless as thine own,
And might as soon its trust betray.--
Yet, though estrang'd,--upon the past
Ev'n now unmov'd I cannot dwell:--
My first affections, and my last,
Were thine--thine only--fare thee well!











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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 40

TO SUSANNA.
FEBRUARY, 1824.


AMIDST the first young flow'rs of spring,
Which o'er this still, and lonely spot,
A gleam of grace and beauty fling,
I found a pale "Forget me not!"

Its blossoms had not gain'd the hue
They wear beneath a warmer sky;
That clear, intense, and lovely blue,
Which wins, and charms the wand'ring eye.

Cold winds had swept across its bloom,
And press'd its gentle form to earth;
And chilling tears, and wintry gloom,
Had gather'd round its place of birth.













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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 41


I will not send so frail a thing,
My herald to a distant spot,
But sunnier hours to thee shall bring
A fair and bright, "Forget me not!"














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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 42

THE LOVER'S SONG.


OH sooner shall yon star decline,
Which guides the wand'ring seaman's way,
Than thou shalt from the inmost shrine
Of this warm heart, be torn away:
No !--firm, as pure, my love shall be,
Though nurs'd for ever,--silently !

In vain for me the festal hall
Displays the wine-cup's blushing hue;
And music's swell, or faint, low fall,
Echoes, the vaulted chamber through:
Alike from song, and revelry,
I sorrowing turn me,--silently!













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By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




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Page 43

I gaze unmov'd, though Beauty's smile,
And Beauty's eyes, be near to bless;
I think with beating breast the while,
Of thy retiring loveliness:
And lonely, and afar from thee,
My tears fall fast but,--silently!

Ev'n when my swelling soul is full
Of those deep feelings, which arise,
When mid-night, calmly beautiful,
With starry splendour lights the skies,
O'er Nature's glorious charms I sigh,
And mourn thine absence,--silently!

To dwell eternally apart
From thee on earth, may be my lot,
With fading brow, and with'ring heart
To linger on, where thou art not;
Yet turning, with devotion high,
To thy bright image,--silently !--














-- -- --



By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Page 44


Should it be thus,--when in the grave
My spirit finds its rest at last,
Wilt thou, who had'st no pow'r to save,
Weep for awhile o'er suff'ring past;
And sometimes, e'en when crowds are nigh,
Recall thy lost one,--silently!












-- -- --



By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Page 45


I LINGER OFT BENEATH THY
RAY.

I LINGER oft beneath thy ray,
Young Queen of Heaven! at day's decline,
And muse on pleasures past away,
And happier hours, which once were mine.
How beautiful thy smiles of light,
O'er the still breast of ocean thrown,
When thou pursu'st, all calmly bright,
Thy clear, and silvery path alone !

When the low night-winds gently sweep
The flowers' fresh bloom in passing by,
And thy soft beams in lustre steep
Our vales, reposing peacefully,--












-- -- --



By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Page 47

CHIEFTAIN'S SONG.


On to the field my banners bear,
I shall not long delay!
One last kiss from my lady fair,--
One bright curl of her silken hair,--
And then, away !--away !

On to the field !--and where my plume
Gleams high amid the fray,
There gallant spirits! seek your doom--
A warrior's wreath, or warrior's tomb:--
And now--away !--away! --









-- -- --



By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Page 48

TO ---- ------


SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN AT THE TOMB OF HIS PARENTS.
THEY sleep in peacefulness !--while thou art left
Upon the world's bleak desert, like a leaf,
--A faded, and a fallen one,--of which
The wild winds make their pastime,--toss'd at will
By their still varying breath. How bitterly
Thine own beloved mother would have wept
To mark the change which years have wrought in thee,
The dearest of her sons;--to see the clouds
Of passion mar thy spirit,--and the good
And god-like qualities, which made thy heart
Their hallow'd temple, chill'd,--degraded,--lost.
That pang the grave hath spar'd her !--she is gone








-- -- --



By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Page 49


Where even Love,--the latest chain that binds
The human soul unto its earthly home,--
Can wake the throbbings of her breast no more.
HOW CAN Affection perish?--it should be
Link'd unto immortality--its pure,
And delicate essence deathless as divine !--
Oh! had she liv'd thou had'st not been the sad
And lonely thing thou art;--but mid the crowd
Who circle thee with smiles, and witching words,
Or, with enchanted eagerness, drink in
The music of thy dangerous flatteries,
Say is there one, who with enduring truth,
And firm devotedness like hers, would bear
The test of time--of poverty--or grief;--
One,--who if all beside were chang'd--would stand
"Faithful, amid the faithless," like the rose,
--The last, and loveliest,--which, in glowing grace
Meeteth the pallid sun-light, and the breath,
The bitter, blighting breath of Autumn's close.
Believe it not!--of those who gather round






-- -- --



By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Page 50


Thy steps with sweetest looks, and honied tones,
The many, would but mock thy trust;--the few,
Who would be all unchang'd, whate'er of ill
Might steal upon thy path-way, must be won
By sacred honour--pure integrity--
By gen'rous actions,--and unsullied truth.
Like the Death-Angel's, thy career hath been
Mark'd out by desolation!--thou hast cast
The shadow of destruction o'er the young,--
The beautiful,--the happy,--and the pure;--
Giving, in base requital of their love,
The cup of bitterness, and shame, to be
The only portion of their blasted years.
Come not these mem'ries o'er thy waking thoughts,
And slumb'ring visions, like the spectre-shapes
Which haunt a murd'rer's dreams ?--Canst thou look back
Upon thy work of ruin unappall'd?--
Doth remorse waken never, when thy glance
Is thrown upon the guilt which tracks the way




-- -- --



By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Page 51

Of thy past wand'rings?--'Tis a fearful thing
To know that mutter'd curses have been breath'd
In utt'rance with our name;--but worse it is
To feel that we deserve such malison
From lips once wont to bless us, with the tones,
And fond, deep fervency, of tenderness.
Thy gifted mind was never form'd to lie
Enchain'd in sin's low servitude;--to bend
Its lofty energies, its high proud hopes
Unto polluted pleasure's fettering pow'r.
Then be thy better self again!--nor quench
The early brightness of thy soul in gloom
Dark as the brow of mid-night--still some rays
Of Virtue linger round thee: may their glow
Kindle to rich and glorious light, and shed
A splendid radiance o'er thy coming days !




-- -- --



By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Page 52

ON APPROACHING PARIS,
1826.


WE journey'd on !--the twilight star
Shone, in its tranquil beauty, o'er us;
While, with its thousand lights, afar
The glitt'ring city lay before us.
Oh! never o'er an ev'ning's close
Sank more serene, and sweet repose!
So lingeringly the sun-set ray
Had faded from the west away,
It seem'd as if the Fire-God met
His parting moment with regret;
The voices of the winds were still,
And breath'd no sigh on bow'r or hill;




-- -- --



By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Page 53


There was not ev'n the slightest cloud
The heavens clear depth of blue to shroud;
But all things wore that peaceful mood,
Which wins the soul to solitude--
And it might well the spirit grieve
Such scene's soft quietude to leave,
To mix with restless crowds again,
Amidst the wildering haunts of men;
Where warring interests wear away
The best affections,--and decay
The links of confidence,--and steal
The springs of life from hearts that feel.
In sadness at the thought, I turn'd
To mark the countless fires that burn'd
Along the distance--flashing high,
From tow'r, and wall their radiancy;
For different, as the changing glare,
Of the red, fitful gleamings there,
To the pure planet's holy light,
Which o'er us beam'd, so calmly bright,





-- -- --



By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Page 54


The throng'd resorts, where thousands press
To snatch the spoils of selfishness,
To Nature's still seclusions are,
By God to Man, in goodness giv'n,
Where Vice not yet hath dar'd to mar,
The blest, and stainless gifts of heav'n!






-- -- --



By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Page 55

TAKE BACK THY RING.


TAKE back thy ring!--for I have learn'd
To hear thy name with hopeless heart,
And oft, with sick'ning soul, have turn'd
From what thou wert,--to what thou art!

I will not wear a pledge from one
Whose love is mock'ry like to thine;
I'd rather live uncheer'd, and lone,
As flowers, o'er which no sun-rays shine!

I know that thou wilt falsely say,
I shrink before misfortune's night;
That I can coldly turn away,
And leave thee to its withering blight.







-- -- --



By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Page 56


Thou wilt believe it not!--too well
Past years of deep devotedness,
The fonder--truer--tale will tell
Of my soul's changeless tenderness--

And aught but this I could have borne--
To know thee vile Dishonour's slave;
The finger-mark of shame and scorn,
Th' oppressor of the pure, and brave.

But never shall my fate be twin'd
With that of one, whose fame is blasted;
Whose word is as the idle wind;
Whose days in servile guilt are wasted !







-- -- --



By Acton, Eliza, 1799-1859.




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Just lost, when I was saved!


160

Just lost, when I was saved!
Just felt the world go by!
Just girt me for the onset with Eternity,
When breath blew back,
And on the other side
I heard recede the disappointed tide!

Therefore, as One returned, I feel
Odd secrets of the line to tell!
Some Sailor, skirting foreign shores—
Some pale Reporter, from the awful doors
Before the Seal!

Next time, to stay!
Next time, the things to see
By Ear unheard,
Unscrutinized by Eye—

Next time, to tarry,
While the Ages steal—
Slow tramp the Centuries,
And the Cycles wheel!







-- -- --



By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Just so—Jesus—raps


Hi There! I see you're enjoying the site, and just wanted to extend an invitiation to register for our free site. The members of oldpoetry strive to make this a fun place to learn and share - hope you join us! - Kevin






-- -- --



By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Kill your Balm—and its Odors bless you


238

Kill your Balm—and its Odors bless you—
Bare your Jessamine—to the storm—
And she will fling her maddest perfume—
Haply—your Summer night to Charm—

Stab the Bird—that built in your bosom—
Oh, could you catch her last Refrain—
Bubble! "forgive"—"Some better"—Bubble!
"Carol for Him—when I am gone"!







-- -- --



By Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Never Like This


I’ve held others before,
But it was never like this,
Where my body inhales you
And quivers with bliss,


Where my senses are reeling
From the strength of desire,
And if I can’t have you soon,
I’ll be consumed by the fire.









-- -- --



By Karl Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





A Love Song


Let me sing you a love song
About what I feel in my heart;
Butterflies can't find nectar
Whenever we're apart.


You're a flower in bloom.
In the dark, in the gloom,
It's you who brightens my day.
How many ways do I need you?
Every day, every way, come what may.





-- -- --



By Karl Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Creatures of the Fire


We swan-dive into the volcano, burning;
We’re creatures of the fire,
Mingled male and female, yearning
For the heat, the sweet explosion of desire.


I splash into the pleasure, all consuming;
I’m joyfully insane,
My passion for you deep, and fully blooming;
Long after, sweet warm flickers still remain.


You make my body sizzle with your kisses,
And yet there’s so much more;
My heart is kindled, too; It knows what bliss is,
This closeness that I’ve never felt before.


My body and my heart belong to you;
I’m peaceful and complete.
I see more adventures coming for we two,
We creatures of the tender fire and heat.








-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





If Not For You


If not for you, I wouldn’t know
What true love really meant.
I’d never feel this inner peace;
I couldn’t be content.


If not for you, I’d never have
The pleasures of romance.
I’d miss the bliss, the craziness,
Of love’s sweet, silly dance.


I have to feel your tender touch;
I have to hear your voice;
No other one could take your place;
You’re it; I have no choice.


If not for you, I’d be adrift;
I don’t know what I’d do;
I’d be searching for my other half,
Incomplete, if not for you.







-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Reasons Why


Our love is the long lasting kind;
We’ve been together quite awhile.
I love you for so many things,
Your voice, your touch, your kiss, your smile.


You accept me as I am;
I can relax and just be me.
Even when my quirks come out,
You think they’re cute; you let me be.


With you, there’s nothing to resist;
You’re irresistible to me.
I’m drawn to you in total trust;
I give myself to you willingly.


Your sweet devotion never fails;
You view me with a patient heart.
You love me, dear, no matter what.
You’ve been that way right from the start.


Those are just a few reasons why
I’ll always love you like I do.
We’ll have a lifetime full of love,
And it will happen because of you.






-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





One In A Million


You're one in a million, my most special one;
Your radiant smile is as bright as the sun;
You're smart and caring and have many great charms,
And my heart really sings when you're in my arms.


I'm happy you chose me from all of the rest,
And I'm proud 'cause I know that I got the best.
You're so cute and so sweet, and you glow like a pearl;
I just love you so much, my most wonderful girl!







-- -- --



By Karl Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





You Just Keep On Loving Me


No matter what I look like,
Whether pretty or plain you see,
When I’m all dressed up or in PJs,
You just keep on loving me.


Sometimes I’m happy and cheerful;
Other times grumpy and sad;
Your absolute love never wavers,
Whether I’m grouchy or glad.


Sometimes I try to change you;
And sometimes I criticize;
But I feel something melting within me,
When I see all the love in your eyes.


Your tolerance is endless,
However I choose to be;
Having my love makes you happy,
So you just keep on loving me.


And that is why, my darling,
Whatever else I do,
One thing is sure; no matter what,
I’ll just keep on loving you.






-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Beautiful


My thoughts of you are like raindrops on flowers...
Beautiful.
My thoughts of you are like a rainbow at a splashing waterfall...
Beautiful.
My thoughts of you are like a full moon
shining through a cloudy night sky...
Beautiful.
No matter what wonders my eyes have seen,
Nothing compares to the beauty I see
when I look at you.
My love for you is beautiful.





-- -- --



By Karl Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





No One Loves Me Like You Do


No one loves me like you do;
I’ve never felt like this;
You please me in so many ways,
With a word, a caress, a kiss.


No one understands me like you do;
You see me deep inside,
You choose to overlook my flaws,
The ones I try to hide.


No one satisfies me like you do,
When our bodies intertwine;
You give so much with your tender touch,
You’re amazing, and you’re mine!


No one loves me like you do;
You fill my every need,
And that is why, my darling,
I’ll follow wherever you lead.




-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





I Think Of You


When I think of you, you fill my mind;
There’s no more thinking room I find.
I’ve never had such thoughts before;
I’m lost in you, whom I adore.


I think no more of mundane things,
Like common pleasures that living brings.
I just think of you, and I’m filled with dreams;
To keep your love fills all my schemes.





-- -- --



By Karl Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Lucky


We all are explorers on the great sea of life;
We search and we hunt for our pleasure.
Some adventures are fruitful, and some disappoint,
But few find a gem they can treasure.


I’m so blessed I found you as my priceless prize;
You’re a treasure in every way.
I searched with the rest and discovered the best;
Finding you was my luckiest day.







-- -- --



By Karl and Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Beware


When love strikes us hard and makes mush of our brain,
When love sneaks in and makes us insane,
All sense can depart and leave the brain blank,
When love like that strikes it can drain our whole tank.


So beware of the power you exert over me,
For I’m under your spell; that’s clear as can be.
Whenever you’re near, my brain slips out of joint;
I fight my love, but what is the point?


You’re my strength and my weakness, for I love you so dearly,
And I hope our love shines through the years just as clearly.



-- -- --



By Karl Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem



All The Things I Love About You


I love you for the warm, sweet affection
in your eyes
whenever you look at me,
and the special smile
you save only for me.
I love that you always seek
to have your body close to mine,
reaching out to touch,
to hold my hand,
to wrap your arms around me.
I love how you show me you care
by looking for ways
to make my life easier and more comfortable.
I love that when I ask you to do things,
you try to do them
instead of thinking me demanding.
I love that your favorite place is near me,
that you’d rather be with me
than anywhere else.
I love you for more reasons
than this page has space to write,
so I’ll try to tell you and show you in person
all the things I love about you


-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem




The Prisoner


What is it about you that makes me feel weak,
And gives me the goose bumps whenever you speak?
Why does the sight of you fill me with pleasure,
Like a spotlight that shines on a glorious treasure?


Are you so different from others I’ve known?
What qualities do you have that are yours alone?
What can it be that fills up my heart?
And makes me feel lost whenever we part?


There’s no easy answer for this marvelous bliss,
For the wonder I feel whenever we kiss,
For the fire that rages at the touch of your skin,
For the way my heart pounds for you way deep within.


It must be the power of love that I feel,
That ties me in bonds that seem strong as steel.
I could fight to get loose, but I’d rather give in;
To stay trapped by your charms is how I will win.






-- -- --



By Karl and Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Safe Within Our Love


How did this miracle happen
That we're so very blessed,
So close…and more contented,
Than I ever would have guessed.


I never thought that I
Could spend each precious minute
With just one special person
And find happiness within it.


I've learned so much from you
About loving, sharing, giving;
I know if I hadn't met you,
I wouldn't be really living.


We're facing life together;
We're handling joy and sorrow;
I'm glad you're on my side,
Whatever comes tomorrow.


You're my perfect partner,
Sweet lover, trusted friend.
We're safe within our love,
A love that will never end.



-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem




I’m Writing It Down


Sometimes a man’s mind and tongue
seem disconnected.
My mind realizes your wonderfulness,
but my tongue might fail to tell you.
Maybe, since my eyes and brain
see how very obvious
your lovely, endearing qualities are,
my tongue thinks
I don’t need to let you know.
In case there is any doubt
about what I am thinking and feeling,
I am writing it down for you:
I always think
you are the prettiest, smartest,
most wonderful, kindest,
most loveable girl
in all the world.
I want to hug, kiss, love
and adore you forever.
Please try to have patience
with the negligence of my tongue.
I am working to keep it in the loop better.



-- -- --



By Karl And Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem




You Let Me Be Me


While others tell me I have faults and flaws,
And pick me all apart and criticize,
You love me, sweetheart, just the way I am;
I only see affection in your eyes.


My pesky quirks you only find endearing;
Your perfect mate is what you choose to see;
I love you for a multitude of reasons;
And most of all 'cause you let me be me.


I never have to change to meet your standards;
Acceptance is the greatest gift you give;
I appreciate you for your sweet devotion,
And I’ll love you for as long as we shall live.



-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem




A Dream Fulfilled


How could anyone ever know,
The sweet dreams that I dreamt as a youth,
Could blossom and focus and grow,
Until now they’d turn up as a truth.


A truth filled with blessing and wonder,
A truth filled with love and with caring,
A truth with a voice loud as thunder,
A truth with a message worth sharing.


For you, my love, filled all my dreams,
Of a life I thought never could be.
Now with you at my side, I’m contented;
For my dreaming came true, don’t you see?


I never gave up on my dreaming,
I persisted because I just knew,
A wait for real love is worth waiting,
Now you’re here, and my dreams have come true.



-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





My Girl with the Reddish Hair


Pirates bold in days of old
Searched the world for treasure rare,
But none they found as bright and sound,
As my girl with the reddish hair.


Precious gold and sparkling jewels
Were fortunes to make men care,
But none were worth a penny
Next to my girl with the reddish hair.


These pirates fought and died for wealth;
Their lives I wouldn’t share,
For I have the only wealth I need:
My girl with the reddish hair.



-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Because of You


I was self sufficient,
gratified by my independence,
alone, but not lonely,
I thought.
But I was restless,
searching blindly for something
to fill an empty place
I didn't even know I had,
dimly aware
that I was somehow unfinished.
Then you came,
and filled everything,
every space, every need,,
even secret dreams
I had concealed from myself.
I was self sufficient,
and restless;
Now I am profoundly peaceful
and complete,
because of you.


-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Love poems can contain detailed description, metaphors, even stories. This cute love poem includes fantasy as well.


The Wizard


There's a story told of a wizard
Who, for money, would cast a spell,
And I'm sure that you met this wizard,
And you, his wares he did sell.


What else can explain how your smile
Can make my heartbeat roar,
Or how your look slows my breathing,
While causing my spirits to soar.


I'm sure that you and this wizard
Conspired to control my brain,
For I'm always thinking about you--
Feeling happy and slightly insane.


Now I hope I meet that same wizard,
For I'd give him all of my gold,
To make you want to stay with me,
And share happiness as we grow old.



-- -- --



By Karl Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Love poems can tell a story. Here's a love poem from someone who's had some rough relationships, but finally found his dream partner.


The Dream Road


I've had a dream, since I was young
Of just how life should be,
But through the years, try as I might,
That dream eluded me.


I dreamed of a life that was filled with bliss;
I dreamed of love and sharing.
I dreamed, imagined and creatively planned
An adventure for two who were caring.


The road to today was paved with the dreams
That slowly got ground to dust.
And I've trudged that road and carried my load
And tried very hard to adjust.


Each step made me stronger; each test made me wiser,
So on my long walk, I grew,
Till the time was right one magical night,
For the road to make room for two.


Now my brain shouts your name, and your loving reply
Makes a place for you in my heart.
(Name), it cries--so tender, so wise--
Let's make the adventure start!


Together we're blessed with a perfect match,
Something that's bright and new.
It's not too late, so let's create
A life that makes dreams come true.


-- -- --



By Karl Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Until I Met You


Before I met you,
I thought I was happy,
and I was,
but I had never known
the rich contentment,
deep satisfaction,
and total fulfillment
you brought to me
when you came into my life.
Before I met you,
I felt a lot of things,
good things,
but I had never experienced
the indescribably intense
feelings I have for you.
Before I met you,
I thought I knew myself,
and I did,
but you looked deep inside me
and found fresh new things
for us to share.
Before I met you,
I thought I knew about love,
but I didn’t,
until I met you.





-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Day Dreams


My thoughts of you come frequently;
They’re always filled with you and me.
No matter what I see or when,
It brings you back to mind again.


I’d be sitting, reading a book,
Or be out walking by a brook;
No matter what the path I took,
I’d see dream images of how you look.


Each day is filled with dreams of you;
I hope that all these dreams come true.




-- -- --



By Karl Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Invisible


I see you at school
And you glance my way,
Passing in the halls
In your ordinary day.


But anytime
Your eyes meet mine
Is a day so rare,
A day so fine.


Just another face,
I’m nothing to you;
You look but don’t see;
You haven’t a clue...


That my heart is racing;
I’m trembling inside;
So much love for you
I’m trying to hide.


You smile at others;
You pass me by;
I’m invisible,
And I want to cry.


-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Just Friends?


You say that you like me,
But that we're just friends;
Can I feel the same?
Well I think it depends:


Can I quit breathing fast
Each time you appear?
Will my heart stop its pounding
Whenever you're near?


I'd like to feel nothing,
And get rid of the thrill.
I wish I'd stop loving you,
But I don't think I will.



-- -- --



By Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Love Can Stay Strong


When love first comes and all seems right;
It’s beyond our reason that we two can fight.
Yet fights will come, and anger might thrive,
So let’s try to be sure that our love will survive.


Let’s make our plans with similar goals,
So our wants and desires won’t hit hidden shoals,
That set us crashing when things get hard,
So our love can stay strong even when it gets jarred.


For if love can stay strong when it’s tested by fire,
Then we'd share a future that most would admire,
A future where partners would strive side by side,
A future where love would always abide.


-- -- --



By Karl And Joanna Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem






The Lover's Quarrel


For many years we’ve lived and loved,
Our lives a rich delight.
Then one day’s events caused us to clash,
And the friction led to a fight.


You think that words can’t do a lot,
But words are not inert.
Words have the power to sooth and calm,
But can also cut and hurt.


If thoughts are kept within your head,
They can be dealt with by you alone.
But once the words are past your lips,
They’re like a monument carved in stone.


So always take the time to think,
Of the hurt that can take place,
Whenever a thought is hastily said,
To cause someone loss of face.


It’s hard work to tear the monument down,
To make the hurtful words lose their power.
It’s so much better not to speak the thought,
And just complain to yourself for an hour.



-- -- --



By Karl Fuchs






--> Man

[Man]

Poem






The Blue Bowl


Like primitives we buried the cat
with his bowl. Bare-handed
we scraped sand and gravel
back into the hole.
They fell with a hiss
and thud on his side,
on his long red fur, the white feathers
between his toes, and his
long, not to say aquiline, nose.

We stood and brushed each other off.
There are sorrows keener than these.

Silent the rest of the day, we worked,
ate, stared, and slept. It stormed
all night; now it clears, and a robin
burbles from a dripping bush
like the neighbor who means well
but always says the wrong thing.



-- -- --



By Jane Kenyon






--> Man

[Man]

Poem






The Distances


This house, pitched now
The dark wide stretch
Of plains and ocean
To these hills over
The night-filled river,
Billows with night,
Swells with the rooms
Of sleeping children, pulls
Slowly from this bed,
Slowly returns, pulls and holds,
Is held where we
Lock all distances!

Ah, how the distances
Spiral from that
Secrecy:
Room,
Rooms, roof
Spun to the huge
Midnight, and into
The rings and rings of stars.




-- -- --



By Henry Rago






--> Man

[Man]

Poem






“Do You Have Any Advice For Those of Us Just Starting Out?"


Give up sitting dutifully at your desk. Leave
your house or apartment. Go out into the world.

It's all right to carry a notebook but a cheap
one is best, with pages the color of weak tea
and on the front a kitten or a space ship.

Avoid any enclosed space where more than
three people are wearing turtlenecks. Beware
any snow-covered chalet with deer tracks
across the muffled tennis courts.

Not surprisingly, libraries are a good place to write.
And the perfect place in a library is near an aisle
where a child a year or two old is playing as his
mother browses the ranks of the dead.

Often he will pull books from the bottom shelf.
The title, the author's name, the brooding photo
on the flap mean nothing. Red book on black, gray
book on brown, he builds a tower. And the higher
it gets, the wider he grins.

You who asked for advice, listen: When the tower
falls, be like that child. Laugh so loud everybody
in the world frowns and says, "Shhhh."

Then start again.





-- -- --



By Ron Koertge






--> Man

[Man]

Poem






This poem is spoken by an
epitaph -- words on a tombstone.

Passer-by, these are words...



Passer-by, these are words. But instead of reading
I want you to listen: to this frail
Voice like that of letters eaten by grass.

Lend an ear, hear first of all the happy bee
Foraging in our almost rubbed-out names.
It flits between two sprays of leaves,
Carrying the sound of branches that are real
To those that filigree the still unseen.

Then know an even fainter sound, and let it be
The endless murmuring of all our shades.
Their whisper rises from beneath the stones
To fuse into a single heat with that blind
Light you are as yet, who can still gaze.

May your listening be good! Silence
Is a threshold where a twig breaks in your hand,
Imperceptibly, as you attempt to disengage
A name upon a stone:

And so our absent names untangle your alarms.
And for you who move away, pensively,
Here becomes there without ceasing to be.



from The Partisan Review

Translated from the French by Hoyt Rogers






-- -- --



By Yves Bonnefoy





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Her Body Like a Lantern Next to Me


There's this movie I am watching:
my love's belly almost five months
pregnant with cancer,

more like a little rock wall
piled and fitted inside her
than some prenatal rounding.

Over there's her face
near the frying pan she's bent over,
but there's no water in the pan,

and so, no reflection. No pool
where I might gather such a thing as a face,
or sew it there on a tablet made of water.

To have and to haul it away,
sometimes dipping into her
in the next room that waits for me.

* *

I am old at this. I am stretching
the wick again into my throat
when the flame burns down.

She's splashing in the tub
and singing, I love him very much,
though I'm old and tired

and cancerous. It's spring
and now she's stopping traffic,
lifting one of her painted turtles

across the road. Someone's honking,
pumping an arm out the window,
cheering her on.

She falls then like there's a house
on her back, hides her head in the bank grass
and vomits into the ditch.

* *

She keeps her radioactive linen,
bowl, and spoon separate. For seven days
we sleep in different rooms.

Over there's the toilet she's been
heaving her roots into. One time I heard her
through the door make a toast to it,

Here's to you, toilet bowl.
There's nothing poetic about this.
I have one oar that hangs

from our bedroom window,
and I am rowing our hut
in the same desperate circle.

* *

I warm her tea then spread
cream cheese over her bagel,
and we lie together like two guitars,

a rose like a screw
in each of our mouths.
There's that liquid river of story

that sometimes sweeps us away
from all this, into the ha ha
and the tender. At night the streetlights

buzz on again with the stars,
and the horses in the field swat their tails
like we will go on forever.

* *

I'm at my desk herding some
lost language when I notice how quiet
she has been. Twice I call her name

and wait after my voice has lost its legs
and she does not ring back.
Dude, I'm still here, she says at last,

then the sound of her
stretching her branches, and from them
the rain falling thick through our house.

I'm racing to place pots and pans
everywhere. Bottle her in super canning jars.
For seventeen years, I've lined

the shelves of our root cellar with them.
One drop for each jar.
I'll need them for later.






-- -- --



By John Rybicki





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Friends

There's nothing as nice as someone who shares,
your laughter, your secrets, your wishes and cares,
someone who's there through your good times and tears,
who stays by your side as your friend through the years.








-- -- --



By Autymn Skillings -





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Precious Gift


When times seem too hard to bear & I l feel like giving up
I vision your beautiful face, the twinkle of your eyes and things of such
The bond we created from my womb to the day you were born
Is a mother and daughter bind that can never be torn
With the strength and guidance of God and the blessings he pours down from above
I want to be the best mom I can be to you and embrace you with all my love
You are as precious as a flower and as gorgeous as a rose
You have been specially made to the very tip of your nose
You are as sweet as honey; such an innocent young child
You are brighter than any star in the sky every time you smile
I want you to be proud of who you are and strive to be the best
Put forth your efforts to achieve your goals and let God do the rest
I will always be your mother first, but I'm also your friend
Your are the most precious gift, that I've ever been given

With All My Love,

Mommy
.






-- -- --



By Sherri Lawrence





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






.

Mommy don't go


Fields of love,
rain drops of joy.
You hear friends saying,
you're mommys little boy.
Mommy can you play,
mommy will you stay.
Walk a little straighter mommy,
because you're leading me this way.
Mommy please don't leave,
it's not your turn to go.
I'm sitting in this waiting chair,
praying your blood will flow.
Please don't leave,
I need you here.
So my life,
can be perfectly clear.
Pull through this,
I know that you can.
Come on mommy,
it's mommys little man.
Mommy can you here me?
please say you do.
Come on mommy,
I know you'll pull through.
I love you mommy,
nothing is going to change.
Mommy please try,
so my life can stay the same.
Please try, please try!
It's not your turn,
you can not die.
Mommy I love you,
I know you love me too.
That is why you've got to make it,
please make it through.
I've said enough,
I know that you can do it.
Please stay with me,
I know you'll pull through it.

I Love You Mommy!



-- -- --



By Lauren M. Duncan





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Daughter



A beautiful cry as I fade away
I open my eyes to see her face
The miracle of a new life
Through all the pain and strife
Heaven's angel here to take my place
To run the race of this world
In the form of a little girl
Through all the commotion
I feel the emotion of a joyful life
As death calls me
The end of a life to be
I feel no pain
No shame
No regret
Nor do I fear
For with her eyes and a tear
She fills me with joy, calm and peace
As my life does decease
She will live
The gift I give to all
As I stand tall
I will watch her
From the Heavenly altar
For she will always be
The living part of me
My beautiful daughter


-- -- --



By Amanda D. Lindley





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





No Greater Love



I caused you a lot pain and I didn't care, but you still loved me.
Please forgive me Mama.

I hurt you in so many ways but you were always there for me.
Please forgive me Mama.

When you gave me advice, I didn't listen and I have so many regrets.
Please forgive me Mama.

If I knew then what I know now, I would have told you everyday how much I loved you.
Please forgive me Mama

When you were growing older, I didn't want to hear about your aches and pains. You waited for my calls and visits that never came.

I always made excuses why I couldn't be there for you.
Please forgive me Mama.

I know now there is no greater love like your love Mama, and how much I need you right now to hold me and kiss me and tell me you forgive me.

Now that I am older and my health is failing, I realize why I should have been there for you when you needed me.
Please forgive me Mama.

I need you now Mama. How I long to see your beautiful smile and feel your loving touch and tell me everything will be all right like you used to.
Please forgive me Mama.

Can you hear me Mama as I kneel here beside your grave? Can you hear what I am saying? Can you hear how much I love you and how much I miss you?

I don't know when the good lord is coming for me, but I hope you will be waiting, so I could hug you and hold you in my arms and tell you how much I love you.


-- -- --



By Ann Coren





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





The One



The one who brought me down to earth,
And held me everyday.
The one who gracefully gave me birth,
And said, I love you in every way.

The one who taught me everything,
Like how to crawl and walk.
The one who taught me how to sing,
After learning how to talk.

The one who told me, stay in school,
And always play nice.
The one who told me, keep it cool,
And gave me good advice.

The one who taught me how to read,
And how to do my math.
The one who taught me how to bead,
And told me to take a bath.

The one who lectured, “school before men”
And to love one another.
Believe me that this woman,
Can be no one but my Mother!

By Crystal Adame
To my mother who raised me and was there when I needed her.
I love you!


-- -- --



By Crystal R. Adame





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





HER EYES



Gone are the eyes that watched me grow
The eyes that were able to see into my soul
Together we climbed mountains and made it through the pain
Only to find out that someday it would be forever changed

As you've gotten weaker, I've gotten stronger
Able to take care of myself even though I didn't want to

You'd be proud of my wit, my confidence and my charm
People say I'm just like you and I know all about your charms
The eyes are in my heart, the eyes that saw my soul
But gone are the beautiful eyes, the eyes that watched me grow



-- -- --



By VALARIE M. SHEA





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





My Heart



She's always be there for me
Just talking to her can make me happy
She tells me of the hard times she's been through
In hopes that I won't go through them too
She's an independent woman of stature and grace
She has beautiful eyes and a lovely face
An audacious strength from deep inside
In her I know I can confide
She's my guardian angel who'll always be
A very special part of me
She takes pride in caring for her kin
She gives us hope and things to believe in
If I didn't have her there for me
I wouldn't be half the woman I turned out to be
I Love You Mom




-- -- --



By Sharlynn N. Manning





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Dear Mother



I can never explain the ways I've felt
Growing up without you, playing the cards I was dealt.
There were always many things I wanted to say
My dreams and new thoughts that came each day
I wish I could take back some of the skeptical things I've said
To be more respectful, listen, be positive instead.
At times I felt you were never listening to what I would say,
So I'd get angry and react in the wrong way.
I understand that it took some time for me to change my ways,
I prayed for this each night and even some days.
Although you'd never see the true feelings I'd hide
I love you very much, deep down inside.
Always my mother, and never my friend, so you could not see,
The angry little girl that lay within me
Notice how I've changed each and every day
I've grown to follow your footsteps, but in a different way.
Although I'm quite unsure of where the road might lead,
If you stay by my side I promise to take heed
I am your child and I love you dearly
Thanks for all you've done mom truly and sincerely
To me you’re very special like no other,
Loving, caring, and concerned, my dear mother


-- -- --



By Theresa R. Barnes





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








Remembrance


Mother, as I walk through the journey of life, I remember.
I remember how you helped me to grow with love, truth, and honesty.
I remember how you helped me to choose the right path with values, morals, and self worth.
I remember how you gave me dreams with hope and confidence.
As I remember, I pray to be a mother like you, to shape my children into strong adults, full of hopes and dreams.
You made me who I am today, and I will always remember you in life's passings for no one could touch my life as you have.

REMEMBRANCE IN LIFE'S PASSINGS IS THE TRUEST FORM OF LOVE ONE CAN GIVE, FOR A MEMORY SHOULD NEVER DIE AND A LOVE SHOULD LIVE FOREVER IN THE HEART OF ANOTHER!!!



-- -- --



By Laura M. Phipps-Kelley





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








For my Angel....


You were very unexpected,
but you're special in my eyes.
Nobody's celebrating,
but My Dear, you are the prize.

People say you were an accident,
but that is so untrue.
You're a gift from high above;
my Angel through, and though.

If I could go back,
I wouldn't change a thing.
I couldn't live without you,
you make my heart sing.

Sometimes I sit and wonder,
.....if you had never been.....
I've been through so much pain,
but I'd do it all again.

Some people said don't keep you,
but I did not agree.
Some people said I'm stupid,
they were blind and could not see.

That you were meant to be here,
and to cherish everyday.
You're my heaven sent,
and you're perfect in every way.

Some people said to give you up,
but that's something I could not do.
You are my Baby Girl,
and I need to be with you.

Ten tiny little fingers,
ten tiny little toes,
one tiny little body,
one tiny little nose!!

You are so small and innocent,
you're perfect all around.
You've got the special baby smell,
you make that baby sound.

Nobody came to party,
only few came to see.
You are not what was desired,
but you are no less dear to me.



-- -- --



By Leigh Johnson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








Knows how to forget!


433

Knows how to forget!
But could It teach it?
Easiest of Arts, they say
When one learn how

Dull Hearts have died
In the Acquisition
Sacrificed for Science
Is common, though, now—

I went to School
But was not wiser
Globe did not teach it
Nor Logarithm Show

"How to forget"!
Say—some—Philosopher!
Ah, to be erudite
Enough to know!

Is it in a Book?
So, I could buy it—
Is it like a Planet?
Telescopes would know—

If it be invention
It must have a Patent.
Rabbi of the Wise Book
Don't you know?






-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








Least Bee that brew


676

Least Bee that brew—
A Honey's Weight
Content Her smallest fraction help
The Amber Quantity—





-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








Least Rivers—docile to some sea


212

Least Rivers—docile to some sea.
My Caspian—thee.








-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








Let Us play Yesterday


728

Let Us play Yesterday—
I—the Girl at school—
You—and Eternity—the
Untold Tale—

Easing my famine
At my Lexicon—
Logarithm—had I—for Drink—
'Twas a dry Wine—

Somewhat different—must be—
Dreams tint the Sleep—
Cunning Reds of Morning
Make the Blind—leap—

Still at the Egg-life—
Chafing the Shell—
When you troubled the Ellipse—
And the Bird fell—

Manacles be dim—they say—
To the new Free—
Liberty—Commoner—
Never could—to me—

'Twas my last gratitude
When I slept—at night—
'Twas the first Miracle
Let in—with Light—

Can the Lark resume the Shell—
Easier—for the Sky—
Wouldn't Bonds hurt more
Than Yesterday?

Wouldn't Dungeons sorer frate
On the Man—free—
Just long enough to taste—
Then—doomed new—

God of the Manacle
As of the Free—
Take not my Liberty
Away from Me—









-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








Life—is what we make of it


698

Life—is what we make of it—
Death—we do not know—
Christ's acquaintance with Him
Justify Him—though—

He—would trust no stranger—
Other—could betray—
Just His own endorsement—
That—sufficeth Me—

All the other Distance
He hath traversed first—
No New Mile remaineth—
Far as Paradise—

His sure foot preceding—
Tender Pioneer—
Base must be the Coward
Dare not venture—now—




-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








Life—is what we make of it


698

Life—is what we make of it—
Death—we do not know—
Christ's acquaintance with Him
Justify Him—though—

He—would trust no stranger—
Other—could betray—
Just His own endorsement—
That—sufficeth Me—

All the other Distance
He hath traversed first—
No New Mile remaineth—
Far as Paradise—

His sure foot preceding—
Tender Pioneer—
Base must be the Coward
Dare not venture—now—






-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








Light is sufficient to itself


862

Light is sufficient to itself—
If Others want to see
It can be had on Window Panes
Some Hours in the Day.

But not for Compensation—
It holds as large a Glow
To Squirrel in the Himmaleh
Precisely, as to you.




-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








Like eyes that looked on Wastes


458

Like eyes that looked on Wastes—
Incredulous of Ought
But Blank—and steady Wilderness—
Diversified by Night—

Just Infinites of Nought—
As far as it could see—
So looked the face I looked upon—
So looked itself—on Me—

I offered it no Help—
Because the Cause was Mine—
The Misery a Compact
As hopeless—as divine—

Neither—would be absolved—
Neither would be a Queen
Without the Other—Therefore—
We perish—tho' We reign—






-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews


513

Like Flowers, that heard the news of Dews,
But never deemed the dripping prize
Awaited their—low Brows—
Or Bees—that thought the Summer's name
Some rumor of Delirium,
No Summer—could—for Them—

Or Arctic Creatures, dimly stirred—
By Tropic Hint—some Travelled Bird
Imported to the Wood—

Or Wind's bright signal to the Ear—
Making that homely, and severe,
Contented, known, before—

The Heaven—unexpected come,
To Lives that thought the Worshipping
A too presumptuous Psalm—






-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem








Like her the Saints retire


60

Like her the Saints retire,
In their Chapeaux of fire,
Martial as she!

Like her the Evenings steal
Purple and Cochineal
After the Day!

"Departed"—both—they say!
i.e. gathered away,
Not found,

Argues the Aster still—
Reasons the Daffodil
Profound!








-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Like Mighty Foot Lights—burned the Red


595

Like Mighty Foot Lights—burned the Red
At Bases of the Trees—
The far Theatricals of Day
Exhibiting—to These—

'Twas Universe—that did applaud—
While Chiefest—of the Crowd—
Enabled by his Royal Dress—
Myself distinguished God—









-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Like Some Old fashioned Miracle


302

Like Some Old fashioned Miracle
When Summertime is done—
Seems Summer's Recollection
And the Affairs of June

As infinite Tradition
As Cinderella's Bays—
Or Little John—of Lincoln Green—
Or Blue Beard's Galleries—

Her Bees have a fictitious Hum—
Her Blossoms, like a Dream—
Elate us—till we almost weep—
So plausible—they seem—

Her Memories like Strains—Review—
When Orchestra is dumb—
The Violin in Baize replaced—
And Ear—and Heaven—numb—











-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Like trains of cars on tracks of plush


Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry

Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms.

His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.

His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!










-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Love reckons by itself—alone


826

Love reckons by itself—alone—
"As large as I"—relate the Sun
To One who never felt it blaze—
Itself is all the like it has—











-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Love—is anterior to Life


917

Love—is anterior to Life—
Posterior—to Death—
Initial of Creation, and
The Exponent of Earth—






-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Love—is that later Thing than Death


924

Love—is that later Thing than Death—
More previous—than Life—
Confirms it at its entrance—And
Usurps it—of itself—

Tastes Death—the first—to hand the sting
The Second—to its friend—
Disarms the little interval—
Deposits Him with God—

Then hovers—an inferior Guard—
Lest this Beloved Charge
Need—once in an Eternity—
A smaller than the Large—





-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Love—thou art high


453

Love—thou art high—
I cannot climb thee—
But, were it Two—
Who know but we—
Taking turns—at the Chimborazo—
Ducal—at last—stand up by thee—

Love—thou are deep—
I cannot cross thee—
But, were there Two
Instead of One—
Rower, and Yacht—some sovereign Summer—
Who knows—but we'd reach the Sun?

Love—thou are Veiled—
A few—behold thee—
Smile—and alter—and prattle—and die—
Bliss—were an Oddity—without thee—
Nicknamed by God—
Eternity—







-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Love—is anterior to Life


917

Love—is anterior to Life—
Posterior—to Death—
Initial of Creation, and
The Exponent of Earth—







-- -- --



Emily Dickinson





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Here We Have a Story for the World

Here we have the story for the world,
A tale of justice served and freedom won,
Principles of goodness, universal,
Printed out on stone by God's own hand.
Yes, the past was bloody, and the old
Promise was by faithlessness undone.
And wonders ceased, memories turned brittle,
Shadows fell, and love turned into land.
Still, the story breathes the air of words
Old and new, a tale not writ in stone,
Vast as the hard history of a people
Ever changing, ever one, a grand
Recital running through time's glass like sand.








-- -- --



Unknown





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






How Best Can We Remember We Were Slaves



How best can we remember we were slaves?
After all, it's been three thousand years.
Perhaps in time the ceremony paves
Pleasingly the terrace of our tears.
Yet it happened once, this morning myth,
Past the open window of the wound,
And again, and yet again, the truth
Still streaming from the altars of the doomed.
So must we be the slaves of our own time,
Our holocaust the holocaust of all,
Victorious only when the ancient crime
Exists alone as ritual and rhyme,
Remnants of a myth beyond recall.




-- -- --



Unknown





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






How Could the Lord for Our Sake Part the Sea



How could the Lord for our sake part the sea
And choose full well a folk that evil knew?
Passion, greed, and cruelty each Jew
Possessed with Egypt's children equally.
Yet those the Lord anointed as His own,
Passing over them on vengeance bent,
After many centuries to repent,
Still have, like other humans, hearts of stone.
So must we understand the Lord's high will
On us to place a burden, not a crown.
Vivid though His love, we lay it down
Even as we think we bear it still,
Righteous in our hearts, yet doing ill.




-- -- --



Unknown





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Pass Over Me, Dear Lord, Please Pass Me By



Pass over me, dear Lord, please pass me by.
Attend not to the fortune of my fate.
Spare me not, nor crush me. Let me be
Servant only to my willing heart.
Open not your gates, nor oceans part.
Vest not laws and covenants in me.
Each soul must choose the valor of its state:
Return to myth that I might truly die.




-- -- --



Unknown





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






The Green One Over There


My half-brother had dark sad eyes, wheaten hair
and the same gorgeous skin his mother had.
He was cute and smart and innately kind,
unlike me at his age, according to our father.
Five years younger than me,
Tim attracted all the love
my father had frozen in his heart
when I was growing up.
Tim was brought up on my old books.
He did better than I with poetry,
reciting by six some “grownup” verses
which I couldn’t memorize at eleven.
At eight he wrote a poem
at the back of his math exercise book
and forgot about it.
It was a love poem
with an underlined dedication, “To A.”
It so happened that I knew who A was.
The poem read as follows:
“I loved and missed her so much
that I forgot what she looked like,
and when she entered the classroom
in the morning, I did not recognize her.
I did not recognize her long face,
nor her slow neck, nor her skinny hands,
I had completely forgotten her green eyes.”
It was quite a work of art, in my opinion,
but I told him that to sigh about
legs and necks and eyes
was sentimental and girlish.
He listened to me with dry eyes
and then tore out the page and threw it away
into the wastebasket.
He never wrote poetry again, but I did.
At fifteen I wrote a short story
which had some success and was even
published in a teenage literary magazine
called “Asterisks.” It was around that time
that I stopped visiting my dad’s house
after I realized
that everything about this boy
put me down, humiliated me
and filled me with jealousy.
I would meet dad on one condition:
if he wanted to see me,
he had to come to my place
or to stop by at the artsy café,
where my older friend Lena and I
would go after school
to sip strawberry milkshakes.
One day my father
came to my school during class hours
to take me to a hospital: the night before
my half-brother had gotten sick.
We arrived in the middle of the doctor’s rounds.
The waiting area was noisy
and smelled of urine and medication.
Dad had gone inside,
I waited for him to call me in.
Through the door left ajar
I saw a row of iron bunks with striped mattresses.
Tim’s was next to the door.
He lay leaning on a big gray pillow,
a glass of water in his hand.
The doctor wanted him to take a pill,
but he wouldn’t hear of it.
He was willful, obstreperous,
he pushed away the hand of medicine.
“I want that ship, that ship …” he whined.
“What ship?” My father turned pale
and stared at the doctor. “Can’t you see?
The green one, over there!” cried Tim,
inserting his finger in the glass of water
where a green ship, a three-funneled steamer,
was slowly sinking at the time.





-- -- --



Katia Kapovich





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






This is a poem not about heroes, but their sidekicks.

Sidekicks


They were never handsome and often came
with a hormone imbalance manifested by corpulence,
a yodel of a voice or ears big as kidneys.

But each was brave. More than once a sidekick
has thrown himself in front of our hero in order
to receive the bullet or blow meant for that
perfect face and body.

Thankfully, heroes never die in movies and leave
the sidekick alone. He would not stand for it.
Gabby or Pat, Pancho or Andy remind us of a part
of ourselves,

the dependent part that can never grow up,
the part that is painfully eager to please,
always wants a hug and never gets enough.

Who could sit in a darkened theatre, listen
to the organ music and watch the best
of ourselves lowered into the ground while
the rest stood up there, tears pouring off
that enormous nose.



-- -- --



Ronald Koertge *





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






The Summer I Was Sixteen



The turquoise pool rose up to meet us,
its slide a silver afterthought down which
we plunged, screaming, into a mirage of bubbles.
We did not exist beyond the gaze of a boy.

Shaking water off our limbs, we lifted
up from ladder rungs across the fern-cool
lip of rim. Afternoon. Oiled and sated,
we sunbathed, rose and paraded the concrete,

danced to the low beat of "Duke of Earl".
Past cherry colas, hot-dogs, Dreamsicles,
we came to the counter where bees staggered
into root beer cups and drowned. We gobbled

cotton candy torches, sweet as furtive kisses,
shared on benches beneath summer shadows.
Cherry. Elm. Sycamore. We spread our chenille
blankets across grass, pressed radios to our ears,

mouthing the old words, then loosened
thin bikini straps and rubbed baby oil with iodine
across sunburned shoulders, tossing a glance
through the chain link at an improbable world.




-- -- --



Geraldine Connolly





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






This poem uses the many meanings
of the word "line" to talk about love.

Lines



Draw a line. Write a line. There.
Stay in line, hold the line, a glance
between the lines is fine but don't
turn corners, cross, cut in, go over
or out, between two points of no
return's a line of flight, between
two points of view's a line of vision.
But a line of thought is rarely
straight, an open line's no party
line, however fine your point.
A line of fire communicates, but drop
your weapons and drop your line,
consider the shortest distance from x
to y, let x be me, let y be you.







-- -- --



Martha Collins





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






The Distances


This house, pitched now
The dark wide stretch
Of plains and ocean
To these hills over
The night-filled river,
Billows with night,
Swells with the rooms
Of sleeping children, pulls
Slowly from this bed,
Slowly returns, pulls and holds,
Is held where we
Lock all distances!

Ah, how the distances
Spiral from that
Secrecy:
Room,
Rooms, roof
Spun to the huge
Midnight, and into
The rings and rings of stars.







-- -- --



Henry Rago





--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Numbers



I like the generosity of numbers.
The way, for example,
they are willing to count
anything or anyone:
two pickles, one door to the room,
eight dancers dressed as swans.

I like the domesticity of addition--
add two cups of milk and stir--
the sense of plenty: six plums
on the ground, three more
falling from the tree.

And multiplication's school
of fish times fish,
whose silver bodies breed
beneath the shadow
of a boat.

Even subtraction is never loss,
just addition somewhere else:
five sparrows take away two,
the two in someone else's
garden now.

There's an amplitude to long division,
as it opens Chinese take-out
box by paper box,
inside every folded cookie
a new fortune.

And I never fail to be surprised
by the gift of an odd remainder,
footloose at the end:
forty-seven divided by eleven equals four,
with three remaining.

Three boys beyond their mothers' call,
two Italians off to the sea,
one sock that isn't anywhere you look.








-- -- --



Mary Cornish





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





At the Un-National Monument Along the Canadian Border



This is the field where the battle did not happen,
where the unknown soldier did not die.
This is the field where grass joined hands,
where no monument stands,
and the only heroic thing is the sky.

Birds fly here without any sound,
unfolding their wings across the open.
No people killed — or were killed — on this ground
hallowed by neglect and an air so tame
that people celebrate it by forgetting its name.









-- -- --



William Stafford




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




The Bat



By day the bat is cousin to the mouse.
He likes the attic of an aging house.

His fingers make a hat about his head.
His pulse beat is so slow we think him dead.

He loops in crazy figures half the night
Among the trees that face the corner light.

But when he brushes up against a screen,
We are afraid of what our eyes have seen:

For something is amiss or out of place
When mice with wings can wear a human face.







-- -- --



Theodore Roethke




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Did I Miss Anything?



Nothing. When we realized you weren’t here
we sat with our hands folded on our desks
in silence, for the full two hours

Everything. I gave an exam worth
40 percent of the grade for this term
and assigned some reading due today
on which I’m about to hand out a quiz
worth 50 percent

Nothing. None of the content of this course
has value or meaning
Take as many days off as you like:
any activities we undertake as a class
I assure you will not matter either to you or me
and are without purpose

Everything. A few minutes after we began last time
a shaft of light suddenly descended and an angel
or other heavenly being appeared
and revealed to us what each woman or man must do
to attain divine wisdom in this life and
the hereafter
This is the last time the class will meet
before we disperse to bring the good news to all people
on earth.

Nothing. When you are not present
how could something significant occur?

Everything. Contained in this classroom
is a microcosm of human experience
assembled for you to query and examine and ponder
This is not the only place such an opportunity has been
gathered

but it was one place

And you weren’t here








-- -- --



Tom Wayman




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Neglect



Is the scent of apple boughs smoking
in the woodstove what I will remember
of the Red Delicious I brought down, ashamed

that I could not convince its limbs to render fruit?
Too much neglect will do that, skew the sap's
passage, blacken leaves, dry the bark and heart.

I should have lopped the dead limbs early
and watched each branch with a goshawk's eye,
patching with medicinal pitch, offering water,

compost and mulch, but I was too enchanted
by pear saplings, flowers and the pasture,
too callow to believe that death's inevitable

for any living being unloved, untended.
What remains is this armload of applewood
now feeding the stove's smolder. Splendor

ripens a final time in the firebox, a scarlet
harvest headed, by dawn, to embers.
Two decades of shade and blossoms - tarts

and cider, bees dazzled by the pollen,
spare elegance in ice - but what goes is gone.
Smoke is all, through this lesson in winter

regret, I've been given to remember.
Smoke, and Red Delicious apples redder
than a passing cardinal's crest or cinders.








-- -- --



R. T. Smith




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




The Poet


Loses his position on worksheet or page in textbook
May speak much but makes little sense
Cannot give clear verbal instructions
Does not understand what he reads
Does not understand what he hears
Cannot handle “yes-no” questions

Has great difficulty interpreting proverbs
Has difficulty recalling what he ate for breakfast, etc.
Cannot tell a story from a picture
Cannot recognize visual absurdities

Has difficulty classifying and categorizing objects
Has difficulty retaining such things as
addition and subtraction facts, or multiplication tables
May recognize a word one day and not the next




-- -- --



Tom Wayman




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Radio



No radio
in car

No radio on board

No radio
Already stolen

Absolutely no radio!

Radio broken
Alarm is set
To go off

No radio
No money

No radio
no valuables

No radio or
valuables
in car or trunk

No radio
Stolen 3X

No radio
Empty trunk
Empty glove compartment
Honest

In car
Nothing of value

No radio
No nuthin
(no kidding)

Radio Broken
Nothing Left!

Radio Gone
Note Hole in Dashboard

Warning!
Radio Will Not Play
When Removed
Security Code Required

Would you keep
Anything valuable
In this wreck?

No valuables
In this van

Please do not
Break-in
Unnecessarily

Thank you
For your kind
Consideration

Nothing of value
in car
No radio
No tapes
No telephone




-- -- --



Laurel Blossom




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Bad Day



Not every day
is a good day
for the elfin tailor.
Some days
the stolen cloth
reveals what it
was made for:
a handsome weskit
or the jerkin
of an elfin sailor.
Other days
the tailor
sees a jacket
in his mind
and sets about
to find the fabric.
But some days
neither the idea
nor the material
presents itself;
and these are
the hard days
for the tailor elf.



-- -- --



Kay Ryan




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




The Farewell



They say the ice will hold
so there I go,
forced to believe them by my act of trusting people,
stepping out on it,

and naturally it gaps open
and I, forced to carry on coolly
by my act of being imperturbable,
slide erectly into the water wearing my captain's helmet,
waving to the shore with a sad smile,
"Goodbye my darlings, goodbye dear one,"
as the ice meets again over my head with a click.






-- -- --



Edward Field




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




The Partial Explanation


Seems like a long time
Since the waiter took my order.
Grimy little luncheonette,
The snow falling outside.

Seems like it has grown darker
Since I last heard the kitchen door
Behind my back
Since I last noticed
Anyone pass on the street.

A glass of ice-water
Keeps me company
At this table I chose myself
Upon entering.

And a longing,
Incredible longing
To eavesdrop
On the conversation
Of cooks.







-- -- --



Charles Simic




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Dorie Off To Atlanta



Jen? Hi, it’s Dorie. I’m on the bus to LaGuardia. … Atlanta.
What? … Maybe. I’m not really sure. I mean his schedule is so
whacked,
y’know? … But anyway. I was telling you about Marcie. Yeah.
So
I said to her, I said, Marcie, this one seems different, y’know?
I said the last few guys you’ve dated–from what you’ve told
me–
I mean frankly– … Yeah. I said, Marcie, they might be
like very charming, y’know, and with great jobs, but frankly–
what it comes down to is, Let’s hit the bed,
and in the morning, Thanks for the excellent coffee. Y’know?
But this guy– … What? It’s Jason. Yeah.
So I said Marcie, from what you’ve said, Jason sounds
different–
and from what Bob said about him also. … Bob knows him
from some project last fall. So I said Marcie, you’ve had, what,
two coffees, two lunches, and a dinner, and he still hasn’t– …
No, Bob says he’s definitely straight. …
I think there was a divorce like six years ago or something. But
my–
What? … That’s right, yeah, I did. At Nathan’s party after some
show …
Yeah, “The Duchess of Malfi,” I forgot I told you. What? …
Only for five minutes–one cigarette, y’know? … Kind of low-
Key,
like thoughtful. But my point is– … Yeah, exactly! So I said,
Marcie, this is a guy who understands, y’know,
that bed is like part of something, y’know?
Like it’s not the big objective for godsake. It’s like an aspect–
What? … Exactly–it’s an expression of something much more–
Yes!–it’s like, Can we be companions in life, y’know?
So I said, Marcie, for godsake–if you don’t give this guy
like a serious chance, somebody else–y’know? … Right,
I mean let’s face it– … Jen? I’m losing you here–am I breaking
up?
Jen, I’ll call you from the airport–Okay bye.





-- -- --



Mark Halliday




--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Wheels



My brother kept
in a frame on the wall
pictures of every motorcycle, car, truck:
in his rusted out Impala convertible
wearing his cap and gown
waving
in his yellow Barracuda
with a girl leaning into him
waving
on his Honda 350
waving
on his Honda 750 with the boys
holding a beer
waving
in his first rig
wearing a baseball hat backwards
waving
in his Mercury Montego
getting married
waving
in his black LTD
trying to sell real estate
waving
back to driving trucks
a shiny new rig
waving
on his Harley Sportster
with his wife on the back
waving
his son in a car seat
with his own steering wheel
my brother leaning over him
in an old Ford pickup
and they are
waving
holding a wrench a rag
a hose a shammy
waving.

My brother helmetless
rides off on his Harley
waving
my brother's feet
rarely touch the ground-
waving waving
face pressed to the wind
no camera to save him.




-- -- --



Jim Daniels



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Remora, Remora



Clinging to the shark
is a sucker shark,
attached to which
and feeding off its crumbs
is one still tinier,
inch or two,
and on top of that one,
one the size of a nick of gauze;
smaller and smaller
(moron, idiot, imbecile, nincompoop)
until on top of that
is the last, a microdot sucker shark,
a filament’s tip – with a heartbeat – sliced off,
and the great sea
all around feeding
his host and thus him.
He’s too small
to be eaten himself
(though some things swim
with open mouths) so
he just rides along in the blue current,
the invisible point of the pyramid,
the top beneath all else.





-- -- --



Thomas Lux



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Tour



Near a shrine in Japan he'd swept the path
and then placed camellia blossoms there.

Or -- we had no way of knowing -- he'd swept the path
between fallen camellias.



-- -- --



Carol Snow



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




This poem creates a mysterious atmosphere.

After Us



I don't know if we're in the beginning
or in the final stage.
-- Tomas Tranströmer

Rain is falling through the roof.
And all that prospered under the sun,
the books that opened in the morning
and closed at night, and all day
turned their pages to the light;

the sketches of boats and strong forearms
and clever faces, and of fields
and barns, and of a bowl of eggs,
and lying across the piano
the silver stick of a flute; everything

invented and imagined,
everything whispered and sung,
all silenced by cold rain.

The sky is the color of gravestones.
The rain tastes like salt, and rises
in the streets like a ruinous tide.
We spoke of millions, of billions of years.
We talked and talked.

Then a drop of rain fell
into the sound hole of the guitar, another
onto the unmade bed. And after us,
the rain will cease or it will go on falling,
even upon itself.







-- -- --



Connie Wanek



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Domestic Work, 1937



All week she's cleaned
someone else's house,
stared down her own face
in the shine of copper-
bottomed pots, polished
wood, toilets she'd pull
the lid to--that look saying

Let's make a change, girl.

But Sunday mornings are hers--
church clothes starched
and hanging, a record spinning
on the console, the whole house
dancing. She raises the shades,
washes the rooms in light,
buckets of water, Octagon soap.

Cleanliness is next to godliness ...

Windows and doors flung wide,
curtains two-stepping
forward and back, neck bones
bumping in the pot, a choir
of clothes clapping on the line.

Nearer my God to Thee ...

She beats time on the rugs,
blows dust from the broom
like dandelion spores, each one
a wish for something better.







-- -- --



Natasha Trethewey



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Before She Died



When I look at the sky now, I look at it for you.
As if with enough attention, I could take it in for you.

With all the leaves gone almost from
the trees, I did not walk briskly through the field.

Late today with my dog Wool, I lay down in the upper field,
he panting and aged, me looking at the blue. Leaning

on him, I wondered how finite these lustered days seem
to you, A stand of hemlock across the lake catches

my eye. It will take a long time to know how it is
for you. Like a dog's lifetime -- long -- multiplied by sevens.







-- -- --



Karen Chase



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Poetry



In the same way that the mindless diamond keeps
one spark of the planet's early fires
trapped forever in its net of ice,
it's not love's later heat that poetry holds,
but the atom of the love that drew it forth
from the silence: so if the bright coal of his love
begins to smoulder, the poet hears his voice
suddenly forced, like a bar-room singer's -- boastful
with his own huge feeling, or drowned by violins;
but if it yields a steadier light, he knows
the pure verse, when it finally comes, will sound
like a mountain spring, anonymous and serene.

Beneath the blue oblivious sky, the water
sings of nothing, not your name, not mine.






-- -- --



Karen Chase



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




P Foundations

I built on the sand
And it tumbled down,
I built on a rock
And it tumbled down.
Now when I build, I shall begin
With the smoke from the chimney.





-- -- --



Leopold Staff



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




This very short poem plays a trick
with perspective. Read it twice.

Advice from the Experts



I lay down in the empty street and parked
My feet against the gutter's curb while from
The building above a bunch of gawkers perched
Along its ledges urged me don't, don't jump.






-- -- --



Bill Knott



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




One Morning



Looking for distinctive stones, I found the dead otter
rotting by the tideline, and carried all day the scent of this savage
valediction. That headlong high sound the oystercatcher makes
came echoing through the rocky cove
where a cormorant was feeding and submarining in the bay
and a heron rose off a boulder where he'd been invisible,
drifted a little, stood again -- a hieroglyph
or just longevity reflecting on itself
between the sky clouding over and the lightly ruffled water.

This was the morning after your dream of dying, of being held
and told it didn't matter. A butterfly went jinking over
the wave-silky stones, and where I turned
to go up the road again, a couple in a blue camper sat
smoking their cigarettes over their breakfast coffee (blue
scent of smoke, the thick dark smell of fresh coffee)
and talking in quiet voices, first one then the other answering,
their radio telling the daily news behind them. It was warm.
All seemed at peace. I could feel the sun coming off the water.






-- -- --



Eamon Grennan



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Marcus Millsap: School Day Afternoon



I climb the steps of the yellow school bus,
move to a seat in back, and we're off,
bouncing along the bumpy blacktop.
What am I going to do when I get home?
I'm going to make myself a sugar sandwich
and go outdoors and look at the birds
and the gigantic blue silo
they put up across the road at Motts'.
This weekend we're going to the farm show.
I like roosters and pigs, but farming's no fun.
When I get old enough to do something big,
I'd like to grow orange trees in a greenhouse.
Or maybe I'll drive a school bus
and yell at the kids when I feel mad:
"Shut up back there, you hear me?"
At last, my house, and I grab my science book
and hurry down the steps into the sun.
There's Mr. Mott, staring at his tractor.
He's wearing his DeKalb cap
with the crazy winged ear of corn on it.
He wouldn't wave over here to me
if I was handing out hundred dollar bills.
I'll put brown sugar on my bread this time,
then go lie around by the water pump,
where the grass is very green and soft,
soft as the body of a red-winged blackbird.
Imagine, a blue silo to stare at,
and Mother not coming home till dark!







-- -- --



Dave Etter



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Publication Date



One of the few pleasures of writing
is the thought of one’s book in the hands of a kind-hearted
intelligent person somewhere. I can’t remember what the
others are right now.
I just noticed that it is my own private

National I Hate Myself and Want to Die Day
(which means the next day I will love my life
and want to live forever). The forecast calls
for a cold night in Boston all morning

and all afternoon. They say
tomorrow will be just like today,
only different. I’m in the cemetery now
at the edge of town, how did I get here?

A sparrow limps past on its little bone crutch saying
I am Frederico Garcia Lorca
risen from the dead–
literature will lose, sunlight will win, don’t worry.






-- -- --



Franz Wright



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




This poet invented a new word
for her poem: "my withness," meaning
a person who is always with you.

The Meadow



Half the day lost, staring
at this window. I wanted to know
just one true thing

about the soul, but I left thinking
for thought, and now -
two inches of snow have fallen

over the meadow. Where did I go,
how long was I out looking
for you?, who would never leave me,
my withness, my here.



-- -- --



Kate Knapp Johnson



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




The four items in the title are all tools,
which is what this poem is about.

Gouge, Adze, Rasp, Hammer



So this is what it's like when love
leaves, and one is disappointed
that the body and mind continue to exist,

exacting payment from each other,
engaging in stale rituals of desire,
and it would seem the best use of one's time

is not to stand for hours outside
her darkened house, drenched and chilled,
blinking into the slanting rain.

So this is what it's like to have to
practice amiability and learn
to say the orchard looks grand this evening

as the sun slips behind scumbled clouds
and the pears, mellowed to a golden-green,
glow like flames among the boughs.

It is now one claims there is comfort
in the constancy of nature, in the wind's way
of snatching dogwood blossoms from their branches,

scattering them in the dirt, in the slug's
sure, slow arrival to nowhere.
It is now one makes a show of praise

for the lilac that strains so hard to win
attention to its sweet inscrutability,
when one admires instead the lowly

gouge, adze, rasp, hammer--
fire-forged, blunt-syllabled things,
unthought-of until a need exists:

a groove chiseled to a fixed width,
a roof sloped just so. It is now
one knows what it is to envy

the rivet, wrench, vise -- whatever
works unburdened by memory and sight,
while high above the damp fields

flocks of swallows roil and dip,
and streams churn, thick with leaping salmon,
and the bee advances on the rose.








-- -- --



Chris Forhan



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Hand Shadows



My father put his hands in the white light
of the lantern, and his palms became a horse
that flicked its ears and bucked; an alligator
feigning sleep along the canvas wall leapt up
and snapped its jaws in silhouette, or else
a swan would turn its perfect neck and drop
a fingered beak toward that shadowed head
to lightly preen my father's feathered hair.
Outside our tent, skunks shuffled in the woods
beneath a star that died a little every day,
and from a nebula of light diffused
inside Orion's sword, new stars were born.
My father's hands became two birds, linked
by a thumb, they flew one following the other







-- -- --



Mary Cornish



--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Here is a poem about
typographical errors.

The Printer's Error



Fellow compositors
and pressworkers!

I, Chief Printer
Frank Steinman,
having worked fifty-
seven years at my trade,
and served five years
as president
of the Holliston
Printer's Council,
being of sound mind
though near death,
leave this testimonial
concerning the nature
of printers' errors.

First: I hold that all books
and all printed
matter have
errors, obvious or no,
and that these are their
most significant moments,
not to be tampered with
by the vanity and folly
of ignorant, academic
textual editors.
Second: I hold that there are
three types of errors, in ascending
order of importance:
One: chance errors
of the printer's trembling hand
not to be corrected incautiously
by foolish professors
and other such rabble
because trembling is part
of divine creation itself.

Two: silent, cool sabotage
by the printer,
the manual laborer
whose protests
have at times taken this
historical form,
covert interferences
not to be corrected
censoriously by the hand
of the second and far
more ignorant saboteur,
the textual editor.
Three: errors
from the touch of God,
divine and often
obscure corrections
of whole books by
nearly unnoticed changes
of single letters
sometimes meaningful but
about which the less said
by preemptive commentary
the better.
Third: I hold that all three
sorts of error,
errors by chance,
errors by workers' protest,
and errors by
God's touch,
are in practice the
same and indistinguishable.

Therefore I,
Frank Steinman,
typographer
for thirty-seven years,
and cooperative Master
of the Holliston Guild
eight years,
being of sound mind and body
though near death
urge the abolition
of all editorial work
whatsoever
and manumission
from all textual editing
to leave what was
as it was, and
as it became,
except insofar as editing
is itself an error, and

therefore also divine.








-- -- --



Aaron Fogel


--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Here's a short poem
with a haunting refrain.

She Didn't Mean to Do It



Oh, she was sad, oh, she was sad.
She didn't mean to do it.

Certain thrills stay tucked in your limbs,
go no further than your fingers, move your legs through their paces,
but no more. Certain thrills knock you flat
on your sheets on your bed in your room and you fade
and they fade. You falter and they're gone, gone, gone.
Certain thrills puff off you like smoke rings,
some like bell rings growing out, out, turning
brass, steel, gold, till the whole world's filled
with the gonging of your thrills.

But oh, she was sad, she was just sad, sad,
and she didn't mean to do it.



-- -- --



Daisy Fried






--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Cartoon Physics, part 1



Children under, say, ten, shouldn't know
that the universe is ever-expanding,
inexorably pushing into the vacuum, galaxies

swallowed by galaxies, whole

solar systems collapsing, all of it
acted out in silence. At ten we are still learning

the rules of cartoon animation,

that if a man draws a door on a rock
only he can pass through it.
Anyone else who tries

will crash into the rock. Ten-year-olds
should stick with burning houses, car wrecks,
ships going down -- earthbound, tangible

disasters, arenas

where they can be heroes. You can run
back into a burning house, sinking ships

have lifeboats, the trucks will come
with their ladders, if you jump

you will be saved. A child

places her hand on the roof of a schoolbus,
& drives across a city of sand. She knows

the exact spot it will skid, at which point
the bridge will give, who will swim to safety
& who will be pulled under by sharks. She will learn

that if a man runs off the edge of a cliff
he will not fall

until he notices his mistake.


-- -- --



Nick Flynn






--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Sometimes younger brothers and sisters
never stop asking questions.

Snow



Walking through a field with my little brother Seth

I pointed to a place where kids had made angels in the snow.
For some reason, I told him that a troop of angels
had been shot and dissolved when they hit the ground.

He asked who had shot them and I said a farmer.




Then we were on the roof of the lake.
The ice looked like a photograph of water.

Why he asked. Why did he shoot them.

I didn't know where I was going with this.

They were on his property, I said.




When it's snowing, the outdoors seem like a room.

Today I traded hellos with my neighbor.
Our voices hung close in the new acoustics.
A room with the walls blasted to shreds and falling.

We returned to our shoveling, working side by side in silence.




But why were they on his property, he asked.






-- -- --



David Berman






--> Man

[Man]

Poem




Driving to Town Late to Mail a Letter


It is a cold and snowy night. The main street is deserted.
The only things moving are swirls of snow.
As I lift the mailbox door, I feel its cold iron.
There is a privacy I love in this snowy night.
Driving around, I will waste more time.






-- -- --



Robert Bly






--> Man

[Man]

Poem




A dog fell down a well, and here
a boy has to help his father retrieve it.

In the Well



My father cinched the rope,
a noose around my waist,
and lowered me into
the darkness. I could taste

my fear. It tasted first
of dark, then earth, then rot.
I swung and struck my head
and at that moment got

another then: then blood,
which spiked my mouth with iron.
Hand over hand, my father
dropped me from then to then:

then water. Then wet fur,
which I hugged to my chest.
I shouted. Daddy hauled
the wet rope. I gagged, and pressed

my neighbor's missing dog
against me. I held its death
and rose up to my father.
Then light. Then hands. Then breath.





-- -- --



Andrew Hudgins





--> Man

[Man]

Poem




The Poetry of Bad Weather


Someone had propped a skateboard
by the door of the classroom,
to make quick his escape, come the bell.

For it was February in Florida,
the air of instruction thick with tanning butter.
Why, my students wondered,

did the great dead poets all live north of us?
Was there nothing to do all winter there
but pine for better weather?

Had we a window, the class could keep an eye
on the clock and yet watch the wild plum
nod with the absent grace of the young.

We could study the showy scatter of petals.
We could, for want of a better word, call it “snowy.”
The room filled with stillness, flake by flake.

Only the dull roar of air forced to spend its life indoors
could be heard. Not even the songbird
of a cell phone chirped. Go home,

I wanted to tell the horse on the page.
You know the way, even in snow
gone blue with cold.



-- -- --



Debora Greger





--> Man

[Man]

Poem




The Green One Over There


My half-brother had dark sad eyes, wheaten hair
and the same gorgeous skin his mother had.
He was cute and smart and innately kind,
unlike me at his age, according to our father.
Five years younger than me,
Tim attracted all the love
my father had frozen in his heart
when I was growing up.
Tim was brought up on my old books.
He did better than I with poetry,
reciting by six some “grownup” verses
which I couldn’t memorize at eleven.
At eight he wrote a poem
at the back of his math exercise book
and forgot about it.
It was a love poem
with an underlined dedication, “To A.”
It so happened that I knew who A was.
The poem read as follows:
“I loved and missed her so much
that I forgot what she looked like,
and when she entered the classroom
in the morning, I did not recognize her.
I did not recognize her long face,
nor her slow neck, nor her skinny hands,
I had completely forgotten her green eyes.”
It was quite a work of art, in my opinion,
but I told him that to sigh about
legs and necks and eyes
was sentimental and girlish.
He listened to me with dry eyes
and then tore out the page and threw it away
into the wastebasket.
He never wrote poetry again, but I did.
At fifteen I wrote a short story
which had some success and was even
published in a teenage literary magazine
called “Asterisks.” It was around that time
that I stopped visiting my dad’s house
after I realized
that everything about this boy
put me down, humiliated me
and filled me with jealousy.
I would meet dad on one condition:
if he wanted to see me,
he had to come to my place
or to stop by at the artsy café,
where my older friend Lena and I
would go after school
to sip strawberry milkshakes.
One day my father
came to my school during class hours
to take me to a hospital: the night before
my half-brother had gotten sick.
We arrived in the middle of the doctor’s rounds.
The waiting area was noisy
and smelled of urine and medication.
Dad had gone inside,
I waited for him to call me in.
Through the door left ajar
I saw a row of iron bunks with striped mattresses.
Tim’s was next to the door.
He lay leaning on a big gray pillow,
a glass of water in his hand.
The doctor wanted him to take a pill,
but he wouldn’t hear of it.
He was willful, obstreperous,
he pushed away the hand of medicine.
“I want that ship, that ship …” he whined.
“What ship?” My father turned pale
and stared at the doctor. “Can’t you see?
The green one, over there!” cried Tim,
inserting his finger in the glass of water
where a green ship, a three-funneled steamer,
was slowly sinking at the time.




-- -- --



Katia Kapovich





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





A Man I Knew



has a condo

a maid who comes
every other week

kids who won't

are on the dresser
they float forever

like a boat





-- -- --



Margaret Levine





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Nights



There’s nothing that I really want:
The stars tonight are rich and cold
Above my house that vaguely broods
Upon a path soon lost in dark.

My dinner plate is chipped all round
(It tells me that I’ve changed a lot);
My glass is cracked all down one side
(It shows there is a path for me).

My hands—I rest my head on them.
My eyes—I rest my mind on them.
There’s nothing that I really need
Before I set out on that path.






-- -- --



Kevin Hart





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Grammar



Maxine, back from a weekend with her boyfriend,
smiles like a big cat and says
that she's a conjugated verb.
She's been doing the direct object
with a second person pronoun named Phil,
and when she walks into the room,
everybody turns:

some kind of light is coming from her head.
Even the geraniums look curious,
and the bees, if they were here, would buzz
suspiciously around her hair, looking
for the door in her corona.
We're all attracted to the perfume
of fermenting joy,

we've all tried to start a fire,
and one day maybe it will blaze up on its own.
In the meantime, she is the one today among us
most able to bear the idea of her own beauty,
and when we see it, what we do is natural:
we take our burned hands
out of our pockets,
and clap.




-- -- --



Tony Hoagland





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





In this poem, a mother worries --
we think unnecessarily -- about her son.

Fault


In the airport bar, I tell my mother not to worry.
No one ever tripped and fell into the San Andreas
Fault. But as she dabs at her dry eyes, I remember
those old movies where the earth does open.

There's always one blonde entomologist, four
deceitful explorers, and a pilot who's good-looking
but not smart enough to take off his leather jacket
in the jungle.

Still, he and Dr. Cutie Bug are the only ones
who survive the spectacular quake because
they spent their time making plans to go back
to the Mid-West and live near his parents

while the others wanted to steal the gold and ivory
then move to Los Angeles where they would rarely
call their mothers and almost never fly home
and when they did for only a few days at a time.




-- -- --



Ron Koertge





--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Thanks For Remembering Us



The flowers sent here by mistake,
signed with a name that no one knew,
are turning bad. What shall we do?
Our neighbor says they're not for her,
and no one has a birthday near.
We should thank someone for the blunder.
Is one of us having an affair?
At first we laugh, and then we wonder.

The iris was the first to die,
enshrouded in its sickly-sweet
and lingering perfume. The roses
fell one petal at a time,
and now the ferns are turning dry.
The room smells like a funeral,
but there they sit, too much at home,
accusing us of some small crime,
like love forgotten, and we can't
throw out a gift we've never owned.



-- -- --



Dana Gioia




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Painting a Room



Here on a March day in ‘89
I blanch the ceiling and walls with bluish lime.
Drop cloths and old newspapers hide
the hardwood floors. All my furniture has been sold,
or given away to bohemian friends.
There is nothing to eat but bread and wine.

An immigration visa in my pocket, I paint
the small apartment where I’ve lived for ten years.
Taking a break around 4 p.m.,
I sit on the last chair in the empty kitchen,
smoke a cigarette and wipe my tears
with the sleeve of my old pullover.
I am free from regrets but not from pain.

Ten years of fears, unrequited loves, odd jobs,
of night phone calls. Now they’ve disconnected the line.
I drop the ashes in the sink, pour turpentine
into a jar, stirring with a spatula. My heart throbs
in my right palm when I pick up the brush again.

For ten years the window’s turquoise square
has held my eyes in its simple frame.
Now, face to face with the darkening sky,
what more can I say to the glass but thanks
for being transparent, seamless, wide
and stretching perspective across the size
of the visible.

Then I wash the brushes and turn off the light.
This is my last night before moving abroad.
I lie down on the floor, a rolled-up coat
under my head. This is the last night.
Freedom smells of a freshly painted room,
of wooden floors swept with a willow broom,
and of stale raisin bread.


-- -- --



Katia Kapovich




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Otherwise


I got out of bed
on two strong legs.
It might have been
otherwise. I ate
cereal, sweet
milk, ripe, flawless
peach. It might
have been otherwise.
I took the dog uphill
to the birch wood.
All morning I did
the work I love.

At noon I lay down
with my mate. It might
have been otherwise.
We ate dinner together
at a table with silver
candlesticks. It might
have been otherwise.
I slept in a bed
in a room with paintings
on the walls, and
planned another day
just like this day.
But one day, I know,
it will be otherwise.



-- -- --



Jane Kenyon




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Look what this poet does
with the alphabet.

A Primer of the Daily Round



A peels an apple, while B kneels to God,
C telephones to D, who has a hand
On E's knee, F coughs, G turns up the sod
For H's grave, I do not understand
But J is bringing one clay pigeon down
While K brings down a nightstick on L's head,
And M takes mustard, N drives into town,
O goes to bed with P, and Q drops dead,
R lies to S, but happens to be heard
By T, who tells U not to fire V
For having to give W the word
That X is now deceiving Y with Z,
Who happens just now to remember A
Peeling an apple somewhere far away.





-- -- --



Howard Nemerov




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Love Poem With Toast


Some of what we do, we do
to make things happen,
the alarm to wake us up, the coffee to perc,
the car to start.

The rest of what we do, we do
trying to keep something from doing something,
the skin from aging, the hoe from rusting,
the truth from getting out.

With yes and no like the poles of a battery
powering our passage through the days,
we move, as we call it, forward,
wanting to be wanted,
wanting not to lose the rain forest,
wanting the water to boil,
wanting not to have cancer,
wanting to be home by dark,
wanting not to run out of gas,

as each of us wants the other
watching at the end,
as both want not to leave the other alone,
as wanting to love beyond this meat and bone,
we gaze across breakfast and pretend.



-- -- --



Miller Williams




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Selecting a Reader



First, I would have her be beautiful,
and walking carefully up on my poetry
at the loneliest moment of an afternoon,
her hair still damp at the neck
from washing it. She should be wearing
a raincoat, an old one, dirty
from not having money enough for the cleaners.
She will take out her glasses, and there
in the bookstore, she will thumb
over my poems, then put the book back
up on its shelf. She will say to herself,
"For that kind of money, I can get
my raincoat cleaned." And she will.





-- -- --



Ted Kooser




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





This poem is about his daughter.

Song



At her Junior High School graduation,
she sings alone
in front of the lot of us--

her voice soprano, surprising,
almost a woman's. It is
the Our Father in French,

the new language
making her strange, out there,
fully fledged and

ready for anything. Sitting
together -- her separated
mother and father -- we can

hear the racket of traffic
shaking the main streets
of Jersey City as she sings

Deliver us from evil,
and I wonder can she see me
in the dark here, years

from belief, on the edge
of tears. It doesn't matter. She
doesn't miss a beat, keeps

in time, in tune, while into
our common silence I whisper,
Sing, love, sing your heart out!






-- -- --



Eamon Grennan




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Biscuit



The dog has cleaned his bowl
and his reward is a biscuit,
which I put in his mouth
like a priest offering the host.

I can't bear that trusting face!
He asks for bread, expects
bread, and I in my power
might have given him a stone.







-- -- --



Jane Kenyon



--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Fat Is Not a Fairy Tale


I am thinking of a fairy tale,
Cinder Elephant,
Sleeping Tubby,
Snow Weight,
where the princess is not
anorexic, wasp-waisted,
flinging herself down the stairs.

I am thinking of a fairy tale,
Hansel and Great,
Repoundsel,
Bounty and the Beast,
where the beauty
has a pillowed breast,
and fingers plump as sausage.

I am thinking of a fairy tale
that is not yet written,
for a teller not yet born,
for a listener not yet conceived,
for a world not yet won,
where everything round is good:
the sun, wheels, cookies, and the princess.






-- -- --



Jane Yolen



--> Man

[Man]

Poem





White-Eyes



In winter
all the singing is in
the tops of the trees
where the wind-bird

with its white eyes
shoves and pushes
among the branches.
Like any of us

he wants to go to sleep,
but he's restless—
he has an idea,
and slowly it unfolds

from under his beating wings
as long as he stays awake
But his big, round music, after all,
is too breathy to last.

So, it's over.
In the pine-crown
he makes his nest,
he's done all he can.

I don't know the name of this bird,
I only imagine his glittering beak
tucked in a white wing
while the clouds—

which he has summoned
from the north—
which he has taught
to be mild, and silent—

thicken, and begin to fall
into the world below
like stars, or the feathers
of some unimaginable bird

that loves us,
that is asleep now, and silent—
that has turned itself
into snow.





-- -- --



Mary Oliver


--> Man

[Man]

Poem





To Help the Monkey Cross the River,



which he must
cross, by swimming, for fruits and nuts,
to help him
I sit with my rifle on a platform
high in a tree, same side of the river
as the hungry monkey. How does this assist
him? When he swims for it
I look first upriver: predators move faster with
the current than against it.
If a crocodile is aimed from upriver to eat the monkey
and an anaconda from downriver burns
with the same ambition, I do
the math, algebra, angles, rate-of-monkey,
croc- and snake-speed, and if, if
it looks as though the anaconda or the croc
will reach the monkey
before he attains the river’s far bank,
I raise my rifle and fire
one, two, three, even four times into the river
just behind the monkey
to hurry him up a little.
Shoot the snake, the crocodile?
They’re just doing their jobs,
but the monkey, the monkey
has little hands like a child’s,
and the smart ones, in a cage, can be taught to smile.





-- -- --



Thomas Lux



--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Lesson


It was 1963 or 4, summer,
and my father was driving our family
from Ft. Hood to North Carolina in our 56 Buick.
We'd been hearing about Klan attacks, and we knew

Mississippi to be more dangerous than usual.
Dark lay hanging from the trees the way moss did,
and when it moaned light against the windows
that night, my father pulled off the road to sleep.

Noises
that usually woke me from rest afraid of monsters
kept my father awake that night, too,
and I lay in the quiet noticing him listen, learning
that he might not be able always to protect us

from everything and the creatures besides;
perhaps not even from the fury suddenly loud
through my body about his trip from Texas
to settle us home before he would go away

to a place no place in the world
he named Viet Nam. A boy needs a father
with him, I kept thinking, fixed against noise
from the dark.




-- -- --



Forrest Hamer



--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Here's a moment of sports
confusion for you.

Football



I take the snap from the center, fake to the right, fade back...
I've got protection. I've got a receiver open downfield...
What the hell is this? This isn't a football, it's a shoe, a man's
brown leather oxford. A cousin to a football maybe, the same
skin, but not the same, a thing made for the earth, not the air.
I realize that this is a world where anything is possible and I
understand, also, that one often has to make do with what one
has. I have eaten pancakes, for instance, with that clear corn
syrup on them because there was no maple syrup and they
weren't very good. Well, anyway, this is different. (My man
downfield is waving his arms.) One has certain responsibilities,
one has to make choices. This isn't right and I'm not going
to throw it.



-- -- --



Louis Jenkins



--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Some needs can never be filled,
this poem reminds us.

Sister Cat


Cat stands at the fridge,
Cries loudly for milk.
But I've filled her bowl.
Wild cat, I say, Sister,
Look, you have milk.
I clink my fingernail
Against the rim. Milk.
With down and liver,
A word I know she hears.
Her sad miaow. She runs
To me. She dips
In her whiskers but
Doesn't drink. As sometimes
I want the light on
When it is on. Or when
I saw the woman walking
toward my house and
I thought there's Frances.
Then looked in the car mirror
To be sure. She stalks
The room. She wants. Milk
Beyond milk. World beyond
This one, she cries.



-- -- --



Frances Mayes




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





This poem reminds us that anyone
can feel like a child at times.

The Bagel



I stopped to pick up the bagel
rolling away in the wind,
annoyed with myself
for having dropped it
as if it were a portent.
Faster and faster it rolled,
with me running after it
bent low, gritting my teeth,
and I found myself doubled over
and rolling down the street
head over heels, one complete somersault
after another like a bagel
and strangely happy with myself.




-- -- --



David Ignatow




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





What I Would Do



If my wife were to have an affair,
I would walk to my toolbox in the garage,
Take from it my 12" flathead screwdriver
And my hickory-handle hammer,
The one that helped me build three redwood fences,
And I would hammer out the pins
In all the door hinges in the house,
And I would pull off all the doors
And I would stack them in the backyard.
And I would empty all the sheets from the linen closet,
And especially the flannels we have slept between for
nineteen winters;
And I would empty all the towels, too,
The big heavy white towels she bought on Saturdays at
Target,
And the red bath towels we got for our wedding,
And which we have never used;
And I would unroll the aluminum foil from its box,
And carry all the pots and pans from the cupboards to the
backyard,
And lay this one long sheet of aluminum foil over all our
pots and pans;
And I would dump all the silverware from the drawer
Onto the driveway; and I would push my motorcycle over
And let all its gas leak out,
And I would leave my Jeep running at the curb
Until its tank was empty or its motor blew up,
And I would turn the TV up full-blast and open all the
window;
And I would turn the stereo up full-blast,
With Beethoven's Ninth Symphony on it,
Schiller's "Ode to Joy," really blasting;
And I would strip our bed;
And I would lie on our stripped bed;
And I would see our maple budding out the window.
I would see our maple budding out our window,
The hummingbird feeder hanging from its lowest bough.
And my cat would jump up to see what was the matter
with me.
And I would tell her. Of course, I would tell her.
From her, I hold nothing back.







-- -- --



Marc Petersen




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





Here a father speaks to
his daughter.

For My Daughter



When I die choose a star
and name it after me
that you may know
I have not abandoned
or forgotten you.
You were such a star to me,
following you through birth
and childhood, my hand
in your hand.

When I die
choose a star and name it
after me so that I may shine
down on you, until you join
me in darkness and silence
together.







-- -- --



David Ignatow




--> Man

[Man]

Poem





I’ve Been Known



to spread it on thick to shoot off my mouth to get it off my chest
to tell him where
to get off
to stay put to face the music to cut a shine to go under to sell
myself short to play
myself down
to paint the town to fork over to shell out to shoot up to pull a
fast one to go haywire
to take a shine to
to be stuck on to glam it up to vamp it up to get her one better to
eat a little higher
on the hog
to win out to get away with to go to the spot to make a stake to
make a stand to
stand for something to stand up for
to snow under to slip up to go for it to take a stab at it to try out
to go places to play
up to get back at
to size up to stand off to slop over to be solid with to lose my
shirt to get myself off
to get myself off the hook








-- -- --



Denise Duhamel




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






The Moon


After writing poems all day,
I go off to see the moon in the pines.
Far in the woods I sit down against a pine.
The moon has her porches turned to face the light,
But the deep part of her house is in the darkness.



-- -- --



Robert Bly




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






"Selva" means forest or jungle.

Watching the Mayan Women



I hang the window inside out
like a shirt drying in a breeze
and the arms that are missing come to me
Yes, it's a song, one I don't quite comprehend
although I do understand the laundry.
White ash and rain water, a method
my aunt taught me, but I'll never know
how she learned it in Brooklyn. Her mind
has gone to seed, blown by a stroke,
and that dandelion puff called memory
has flown far from her eyes. Some things remain.
Procedures. Methods. If you burn
a fire all day, feeding it snapped
branches and newspapers—
the faces pressed against the print
fading into flames-you end up
with a barrel of white ash. If
you take that same barrel and fill it
with rain, let it sit for a day,
you will have water
that can bring brightness to anything.
If you take that water,
and in it soak your husband's shirts,
he'll pause at dawn when he puts one on,
its softness like a haunting afterthought.
And if he works all day in the selva,
he'll divine his way home
in shirtsleeves aglow with torchlight.




-- -- --



Luisa Villani




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






The speaker of this poem is trying to distract herself from an unpleasant reality. Here, the title means everything.

Bringing My Son to the Police Station to be Fingerprinted



My lemon-colored
whisper-weight blouse
with keyhole closure
and sweetheart neckline is tucked
into a pastel silhouette skirt
with side-slit vents
and triplicate pleats
when I realize in the sunlight
through the windshield
that the cool yellow of this blouse clashes
with the buttermilk heather in my skirt
which makes me slightly queasy
however

the periwinkle in the pattern on the sash
is sufficiently echoed by the twill uppers
of my buckle-snug sandals
while the accents on my purse
pick up the pink
in the button stitches

and then as we pass
through Weapons Check
it's reassuring to note
how the yellows momentarily mesh
and make an overall pleasing
composite





-- -- --



Shoshauna Shy




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






The Space Heater


On the then-below-zero day, it was on,
near the patients' chair, the old heater
kept by the analyst's couch, at the end,
like the infant's headstone that was added near the foot
of my father's grave. And it was hot, with the almost
laughing satire of a fire's heat,
the little coils like hairs in Hell.
And it was making a group of sick noises-
I wanted the doctor to turn it off
but I couldn't seem to ask, so I just
stared, but it did not budge. The doctor
turned his heavy, soft palm
outward, toward me, inviting me to speak, I
said, "If you're cold-are you cold? But if it's on
for me..." He held his palm out toward me,
I tried to ask, but I only muttered,
but he said, "Of course," as if I had asked,
and he stood up and approached the heater, and then
stood on one foot, and threw himself
toward the wall with one hand, and with the other hand
reached down, behind the couch, to pull
the plug out. I looked away,
I had not known he would have to bend
like that. And I was so moved, that he
would act undignified, to help me,
that I cried, not trying to stop, but as if
the moans made sentences which bore
some human message. If he would cast himself toward the
outlet for me, as if bending with me in my old
shame and horror, then I would rest
on his art-and the heater purred, like a creature
or the familiar of a creature, or the child of a familiar,
the father of a child, the spirit of a father,
the healing of a spirit, the vision of healing,
the heat of vision, the power of heat,
the pleasure of power.






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Sharon Olds




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Sentimental Moment or Why Did the Baguette Cross the Road?



Don't fill up on bread
I say absent-mindedly
The servings here are huge

My son, whose hair may be
receding a bit, says
Did you really just
say that to me?

What he doesn't know
is that when we're walking
together, when we get
to the curb
I sometimes start to reach
for his hand





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Robert Hershon




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[Man]

Poem






Smoking


I like the cool and heft of it, dull metal on the palm,
And the click, the hiss, the spark fuming into flame,
Boldface of fire, the rage and sway of it, raw blue at the base
And a slope of gold, a touch to the packed tobacco, the tip
Turned red as a warning light, blown brighter by the breath,
The pull and the pump of it, and the paper's white
Smoothed now to ash as the smoke draws back, drawn down
To the black crust of lungs, tar and poisons in the pink,
And the blood sorting it out, veins tight and the heart slow,
The push and wheeze of it, a sweep of plumes in the air
Like a shako of horses dragging a hearse through the late centennium,
London, at the end of December, in the dark and fog.





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Elton Glaser



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[Man]

Poem






The title explains what this poem is about.

Gratitude to Old Teachers



When we stride or stroll across the frozen lake,
We place our feet where they have never been.
We walk upon the unwalked. But we are uneasy.
Who is down there but our old teachers?

Water that once could take no human weight-
We were students then-holds up our feet,
And goes on ahead of us for a mile.
Beneath us the teachers, and around us the stillness.




-- -- --



Robert Bly



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[Man]

Poem






Love Song



Love comes hungry to anyone’s hand.
I found the newborn sparrow next to
the tumbled nest on the grass. Bravely

opening its beak. Cats circled, squirrels.
I tried to set the nest right but the wild
birds had fled. The knot of pin feathers

sat in my hand and spoke. Just because
I’ve raised it by touch, doesn’t mean it
follows. All day it pecks at the tin image of

a faceless bird. It refuses to fly,
though I’ve opened the door. What
sends us to each other? He and I

had a blue landscape, a village street,
some poems, bread on a plate. Love
was a camera in a doorway, love was

a script, a tin bird. Love was faceless,
even when we’d memorized each other’s
lines. Love was hungry, love was faceless,

the sparrow sings, famished, in my hand.





-- -- --



Carol Muske-Dukes



--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Near the Wall of a House


Near the wall of a house painted
to look like stone,
I saw visions of God.

A sleepless night that gives others a headache
gave me flowers
opening beautifully inside my brain.

And he who was lost like a dog
will be found like a human being
and brought back home again.

Love is not the last room: there are others
after it, the whole length of the corridor
that has no end.





-- -- --



Yehuda Amichai




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






A Birthday Candle



Thirty today, I saw
The trees flare briefly like
The candles on a cake,
As the sun went down the sky,
A momentary flash,
Yet there was time to wish



-- -- --



Donald Justice




--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Love—is that later Thing than Death


924

Love—is that later Thing than Death—
More previous—than Life—
Confirms it at its entrance—And
Usurps it—of itself—

Tastes Death—the first—to hand the sting
The Second—to its friend—
Disarms the little interval—
Deposits Him with God—

Then hovers—an inferior Guard—
Lest this Beloved Charge
Need—once in an Eternity—
A smaller than the Large—




-- -- --



Emily Dickinson



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[Man]

Poem






Love—thou art high


453

Love—thou art high—
I cannot climb thee—
But, were it Two—
Who know but we—
Taking turns—at the Chimborazo—
Ducal—at last—stand up by thee—

Love—thou are deep—
I cannot cross thee—
But, were there Two
Instead of One—
Rower, and Yacht—some sovereign Summer—
Who knows—but we'd reach the Sun?

Love—thou are Veiled—
A few—behold thee—
Smile—and alter—and prattle—and die—
Bliss—were an Oddity—without thee—
Nicknamed by God—
Eternity—







-- -- --



Emily Dickinson



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[Man]

Poem






Low at my problem bending


69

Low at my problem bending,
Another problem comes—
Larger than mine—Serener—
Involving statelier sums.

I check my busy pencil,
My figures file away.
Wherefore, my baffled fingers
They perplexity?









-- -- --



Emily Dickinson



--> Man

[Man]

Poem






Make me a picture of the sun


188

Make me a picture of the sun—
So I can hang it in my room—
And make believe I'm getting warm
When others call it "Day"!

Draw me a Robin—on a stem—
So I am hearing him, I'll dream,
And when the Orchards stop their tune—
Put my pretense—away—

Say if it's really—warm at noon—
Whether it's Buttercups—that "skim"—
Or Butterflies—that "bloom"?
Then—skip—the frost—upon the lea—
And skip the Russet—on the tree—
Let's play those—never come!








-- -- --



Emily Dickinson



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