id int64 160k 1.59M | url stringlengths 46 285 | author stringlengths 0 217 | title stringlengths 1 241 | body stringlengths 100 77.3k |
|---|---|---|---|---|
183,438 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/25546/la-grande-jatte-sunday-afternoon | Thomas Cole | La Grande Jatte: Sunday Afternoon |
Seurat looked well to see these people
Leisurely pass their Sunday on the Jatte:
Madame, exact and stiff yet utterly relaxed,
Parades her monkey. Her barely-there escort
Is elegant in his dark suit and top hat,
Cane and cigar. One feels at once the fine
Distortions. The little dog's excited bark
Fails to arouse the i... |
196,492 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/32180/kerenza-on-sand-dunes | D. M. Thomas | Kerenza on Sand-Dunes |
Hovering on that consummate shell
Washed from the sea, I hear it say
'This is the true, the holy well,
Crystal and incorruptible.'
The sand has blown the wind away.
'Brush the grains as delicately
From this dark-clear parable,
Creases of a trustful smile,
As from the buried hermit's cell.'
The sand has blown the wind... |
185,728 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/26737/bamboo | Donald Hall | Bamboo | 'Wales'
Falmouth
Janaica, B.W.I.
In clumps like grass
By the road near Wales,
By the muddy river,
Bamboo prevails.
Big winds uproot
Fifty together,
A whole clump
In a bad weather.
The young bamboo,
Meta... |
188,202 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/28002/empty-house | Jack Crawford Jr. | Empty House | JACK CRAWFORD, JR.
EMPTY HOUSE
The house is still, empty as a ghost.
My daughters just went out into the snow
New with a great softness falling
From soundless heavens, smoothing down the earth.
The fields are full; the yards, roads, as far
As eye can see; the house gapes empti... |
175,032 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/21140/globe-amaranth | Agnes Dongan Moore | Globe Amaranth |
Take sod, I said,
And sod this garden over.
No one shall then discover
Rose-white or red;
Let there be nothing here
That speaks of a past year,
And none recall what was
Beneath this mat of grass.
Heart, now, I said,
Turn you to clay and never
Burn with your former fever.
Happy the dead;
And the unborn are wise.
Have d... |
208,746 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/38322/dear-god | Susan Abraham | Dear God |
Dear lost one who lopes across the lush fields
dear heartless marcher who storms the small boats
and rails the shingles of shacks
dear hawk who taunts the swallows
and feeds goslings to the wolf
dear lightning evoker, boulder crumbler
dear god who strums the banjo branches of this tree
dear stone heart, stone hands
... |
233,440 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/53989/harvest-song | Jean Toomer | Harvest Song | I am a reaper whose muscles set at sun-down. All my oats are cradled.
But I am too chilled, and too fatigued to bind them. And I hunger.
I crack a grain between my teeth. I do not taste it.
I have been in the fields all day. My throat is dry. I hunger.
My eyes are caked with dust of oat-fields at harvest-time.
I am a... |
183,690 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/25676/the-umbrella | Weldon Kees | The Umbrella | two poems
THE UMBRELLA
Because, in the hot countries,
They worshipped trees; because,
Under the sacred figs, Gautama
Became a god; because of the rain,
Because the sun beats down,
Because we followed orders, building a tent
"Of ten curtains of fine twined linen,
And blue and purple and scarlet." And because
The ark r... |
240,600 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/58024/a-gift-for-you | Eileen Myles | A Gift for You | around 530 is a beautiful peaceful time you can just hear the dog lapping David lifts his smoke to his lips forever dangling chain in the middle of everything bout the top shelf or so. The party at which I sd that's my col- lected works and every one stared my home was so small is it I'm not particularly into the task ... |
196,732 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/32300/the-puzzle | Howard Nemerov | The Puzzle |
for Lewis Mumford
Two children bow their heads
Over the ruins of what is yet to be:
Sun, sky, and sand, the Pyramids, the Sphinx.
Under their fingers, under their eyes, .
Before their minds, enclaves of order
Begin to appear amid the heaped debris
As they go steadily sorting and rejecting,
Turn... |
253,467 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/159633/ramadan-63d98c8027ebd | Yahya Hassan | RAMADAN | BEARDED CREATURE IN THE REARVIEW OF THE WHIP
BEFORE YOU EVEN REACHED THE SANDHOLM CENTER
YOUR MOM WAS A PHOTOGRAPH ON THE WALL
AND AN URN PACKED WITH SLAG AND FLY ASH
WE FASTED THAT MONTH AND BOUGHT A SHEEP AT BAZAAR WEST
YOU DEPOSITED THE MONEY WE GOT FROM OUR AUNTS
AND SAID IT'S NOT DECENT
FOR A KID TO HAVE SO... |
229,182 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51497/ode-to-a-yellow-onion | C. Dale Young | Ode to a Yellow Onion | And what if I had simply passed you by,
your false skins gathering light in a basket,
those skins of unpolished copper,
would you have lived more greatly?
Now you are free of that metallic coating,
a broken hull of parchment,
the dried petals of a lily-
those who have not loved you
will not know differently.
But y... |
223,002 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47146/my-violin | Bruce Lansky | My Violin | My mom brought home a violin
so I could learn to play.
She told me if I practiced hard
I'd play it well someday.
Without a single lesson,
I tried to play a song.
My fiddle squeaked, my fiddle squawked.
The notes came out all wrong.
My little brother fled the room.
Mom covered up her ears.
My puppy dog began to howl.
... |
240,322 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57876/music-man | Rigoberto González | Music Man | Oh father, oh music man
with a whistle instead of a coin
to toss on your walks,
keep these things for us
until we're ready to come home:
our baby teeth, fragments of bone
that rattle in a domino box.
Tuck it in your pocket but please
don't gamble it away
the way you lost our
christening gowns in poker.
We had outgrow... |
207,238 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/37566/maybe-natural-analogies | Annalisa Cima | ("Maybe natural analogies...") | ANNALISA CIMA
da IPOTESI D'AMORE
1. ACHERUBINO
Forse analogie naturali
danzano la gioia
forse scolorita la noia
dell'inganno
vanno
le ipotesi d'amore.
Forse bastava
una lama
per trinciare pensieri
futilita, e darci
in un fusorio incontro
compattezza
temperatura
... |
183,146 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/25396/to-an-unknown-dead | Buddhadeva Bose | To an Unknown Dead |
two poems
TO AN UNKNOWN DEAD
I could never have believed her dead
When they carried her along the afternoon street,
Followed by mourners, themselves so purified,
That their bare, unhurried, unhesitant feet
Seemed to tread on air. And two or three in a closed
Slow-pacing car, sitting erect, and gazing straight ahead... |
224,106 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47986/1941 | Ruth Stone | 1941 | I wore a large brim hat
like the women in the ads.
How thin I was: such skin.
Yes. It was Indianapolis;
a taste of sin.
You had a natural Afro;
no money for a haircut.
We were in the seedy part;
the buildings all run-down;
the record shop, the jazz
impeccable. We moved like
the blind, relying on our touch.
At the corn... |
214,964 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/41443/at-the-beach-56d21f9923578 | Robert Wrigley | At the Beach |
What are they, those burrowing crustaceans, the ones
my son and I unbeach each summer
building sandcastles? Thumb-large
helmets with dainty, iridescent feet
and as far as I can see no eyes,
no head, no front or back at all, only
the shove and pull of the waves,
or only the quick, attentive gulls, who love them
just as... |
1,544,003 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43090/the-lady-in-kicking-horse-reservoir | Richard Hugo | The Lady in Kicking Horse Reservoir | Not my hands but green across you now.
Green tons hold you down, and ten bass curve
teasing in your hair. Summer slime
will pile deep on your breast. Four months of ice
will keep you firm. I hope each spring
to find you tangled in those pads
pulled not quite loose by the spillway pour,
stars in dead reflect... |
254,295 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/160951/ode-to-plastic-cups | Naomi Ortiz | Ode to Plastic Cups | Weight of both reusable glass plus liquid means
my wrist twists down
the only direction it bends
sends drink to splash on carpets or slippery floor
Worse yet
non-flexing elbow means arm
smacks cup across room with accidental gusto
at least once a week
Beloved coffee cups
shatter into h u n d r e d s of p i e c e s
... |
214,628 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/41275/henry-james-in-cape-may | Stephen Dunn | Henry James in Cape May | SEPTEMBER 2001
STEPHEN DUNN
HENRY JAMES IN CAPE MAY
Though the society he sought did not exist here,
no coteries of fine talk or drawing rooms
where the posturings of the privileged could be skewered,
he nevertheless took pleasure in the Victorian B&B's,
and the old, gran... |
246,227 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/144839/he-said-she-said | Sachiko Murakami | He Said She Said | I swallowed the sweet thing in a dream. I woke up heavy.
I said, what's the matter with you.
I said, stop seeing what's the matter with me.
I ran to/from only moving one frantic eye.
Something snitched. Then back to the argument.
It is more acceptable to steal from the ether.
When you said, we take matters into our own... |
195,898 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/31883/the-undertaking | Louise Glück | The Undertaking | MAY 1971
LOUISE GLUCK
THE UNDERTAKING
The darkness lifts, imagine, in your lifetime.
There you are-cased in clean bark you drift
Through weaving rushes, fields flooded with cotton.
You are free. The river films with lilies,
Shrubs appear, shoots thicken into palm. And now
All f... |
214,366 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/41144/two-moon-to-a-journalist-after-rehearsal-1898 | Geoffrey Brock | Two Moon to a Journalist after Rehearsal: 1898 |
I thought then that the Great Spirits
had made the Sioux, put them there,
and white men and the Cheyenne here,
expecting fights. The Great Spirits,
I thought, liked fighting-it was to them
like play. So I joined Crazy Horse,
and at the place called Little Big Horn
we wiped the white men from the earth.
Shooting was q... |
189,948 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/28890/in-the-gorge | W. S. Merwin | In the Gorge |
Lord of the bow,
Our jagged hands
Like the ends of a broken bridge
Grope for each other in silence
Over the loose water.
Have you left us nothing but your blindness?
|
162,556 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/14095/first-fig | Edna St. Vincent Millay | Figs from Thistles: First Fig | My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends-
It gives a lovely light! |
165,820 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/15953/before-words-come | Marguerite Edwards Werner | Before Words Come |
These sweet and quiet days before words come,
My baby, are the happiest, I know.
Of our dear mute exchanges, all the sum
Is laughter, love, and music-wordless, low.
To you I bend an ever-smiling face;
Your eyes have never turned from mine in fear.
Serene they see and share my gift of grace-
The peaceful joy God gave w... |
167,894 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/17085/georgette-leblanc | Mark Turbyfill | Georgette Leblanc | "Commandeth even the winds and water, and they obey."
Ebony waves stand parted
With braided fangs;
In defeat
Earth's dark ether congeals.
She is roses
And a thin white sword.
She is a quill of light,
Sharp stencil
A goddess cuts through.
Golden words hover about her
(Conversation is in heaven).
Golden words are flowe... |
224,718 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/48447/by-dark- | W. S. Merwin | By Dark | When it is time I follow the black dog
into the darkness that is the mind of day
I can see nothing there but the black dog
the dog I know going ahead of me
not looking back oh it is the black dog
I trust now in my turn after the years
when I had all the trust of the black dog
through an age of brightness and through... |
223,884 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47849/the-goddess-who-created-this-passing-world | Alice Notley | The Goddess Who Created This Passing World | The Goddess who created this passing world
Said Let there be lightbulbs & liquefaction
Life spilled out onto the street, colors whirled
Cars & the variously shod feet were born
And the past & future & I born too
Light as airmail paper away she flew
To Annapurna or Mt. McKinley
Or both but instantly
Clarified, composed,... |
173,120 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/20013/appeal-in-grey | Millen Brand | Appeal in Grey | THREE POEMS
APPEAL IN GREY
This air is grey the swallows tantalize
with flick of wing and veering lines of joy.
Grey crape is crushed against the hills and skies.
No tones of gold or scarlet here annoy
dun sunset and these wings' delirious turn
under low clouds, against a grey cold sea.
Sustain... |
247,021 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/147034/what39s-not-to-liken | Evie Shockley | what's not to liken? | the 14-year-old girl was treated like:
(a) a grown woman.
(b) a grown man.
the bikini-clad girl was handled by the cop like:
(a) a prostitute.
(b) a prostitute by her pimp.
the girl was slung to the ground like:
(a) a sack of garbage into a dumpster.
(b) somebody had ... |
218,018 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43032/makeup-on-empty-space | Anne Waldman | Makeup on Empty Space | I am putting makeup on empty space
all patinas convening on empty space
rouge blushing on empty space
I am putting makeup on empty space
pasting eyelashes on empty space
painting the eyebrows of empty space
piling creams on empty space
painting the phenomenal world
I am hanging ornaments on empty space
gold clips, lacq... |
246,045 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/144381/mothers-dirge-59bc0225c5a1d | Duy Doan | Mother’s Dirge | Because our family is from the countryside,
Your father liked falling from high places.
Limber feet make expert tree climbers.
The coconut - meat for eating, fiber for the buttonmaker.
Your father liked falling from high places.
Upon landing, he smiles. I carry my share.
The coconut - meat for eating, fiber for the bu... |
171,712 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/19218/the-wisdom-of-the-hand | Helen Cornelius | The Wisdom of the Hand |
Shaped and patterned to a star,
The image of the hand in white
Tapers and presses on the mind
A veined and thin-blown branch of light.
The hand implants the urgent seed
Of music in the flesh. Its flower
Will bear the heart a winy cup
To fire with song its eloquent hour.
The hollow of the hand contains
The cloudy cry... |
239,166 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/57266/the-cherry-trees | Edward Thomas | The Cherry Trees | The cherry trees bend over and are shedding
On the old road where all that passed are dead,
Their petals, strewing the grass as for a wedding
This early May morn when there is none to wed. |
164,964 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/15460/first-snow | Esther Louise Ruble | First Snow |
The night was hiding a secret
When it stole
Through the red gates of sunset,
Coming so silently.
We heard it whispering
To the bare trees.
And while we wondered,
The white souls of the autumn leaves
Came softly back,
Drifting, drifting.
|
251,967 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/156918/thirds-of-a-ghost | Roy White | Thirds of a Ghost | They've packed a whole umbrage of courtiers
into their rattletrap conveyance, something between
a landau and a saloon. But nobody wants
to tell the young Queen she has to sit on the hump in front
with her dad's sweaty arm draped on the seat behind her.
The ball game on the radio
comes in each time they crest a hill, t... |
204,572 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/36229/the-cast | Sharon Olds | The Cast |
When the doctor cut off my son's cast the
high scream of the saw filled the room
and Gabey's lap was covered with fluff like the
chaff of a new thing emerging, the
down in the hen-yard. Down the seam that
runs along the outside of the arm and
up the seam along the inside-that
line where the color of a white boy's arm
... |
199,782 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/33827/the-death-of-dido | Tom Lowenstein | The Death of Dido |
For Grant Fisher
Felix, heu! nimium felix, si litora tantum
numque Dardaniae tetigissent nostra carinae!
Aeneid ıv
I
Inarticulate till the last moment,
listening, listening to the hero's
diagrams of plot and reminiscence,
finally, her dying c... |
235,646 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/55318/the-wound-56d236c8c5ded | Adonis | The Wound | 1. The leaves asleep under the wind are the wounds' ship, and the ages collapsed on top of each other are the wound's glory, and the trees rising out of our eyelashes are the wound's lake. The wound is to be found on bridges where the grave lengthens and patience goes on to no end between the shores of our love and dea... |
235,998 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/55530/may-56d2373a7826d | Karen Volkman | May | In May's gaud gown and ruby reckoning
the old saw wind repeats a colder thing.
Says, you are the bluest body I ever seen.
Says, dance that skeletal startle the way I might.
Radius, ulna, a catalogue of flex.
What do you think you're grabbing
with those gray hands? What do you think
you're hunting, cat-mouth creel... |
208,840 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/38369/bringing-in-the-cows | Laurel Trivelpiece | Bringing in the Cows |
Easy enough to begin:
the sun behind, yes, and
daddy longleg shadows bounding
before us down the path
we and the stock have made
deep in prairie sod.
Thistles red with sunset
dust blow with us,
across the canyon soapweeds
shine like harps;
before the first string's struck
more pieces glide in place.
It's always summ... |
211,114 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/39513/change-56d21d160917e | Philip Schultz | Change |
You wake up earlier than usual,
everything feels new, irrevocable,
like the light hovering near the ceiling
in silken scarves- you can taste it
on your tongue, fizzing like dry ice,
on the tips of your fingers, salty
like ocean foam. Your shadow
is sitting on the edge of your bed,
stretching. It has already brushed it... |
251,761 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/156569/crusa-the-hour-before-dawn | Kate Rushin | Crusa: The Hour before Dawn | In the hour before dawn, I rise up
to give myself a little bit
before it all starts again.
"Rise up" is not really what I do;
I lie there, awake, on my pallet,
and very still, barely breathing.
I listen, make sure no one else is stirring,
make sure nobody hears me.
I take a few moments to listen to
my blood beating ... |
166,934 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/16555/against-the-wall | Aline Kilmer | Against the Wall | THREE POEMS
AGAINST THE WALL
If I live till my fighting days are done
I must fasten my armor on my eldest son.
I would give him better, but this is my best;
I can get along without it-I'll be glad to have a rest.
And Tl sit mending armor with my back against the wall,
Because I have a se... |
173,298 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/20115/she-nameless | Henry W. Rago | She, Nameless | These winds pass, and breathe a soft song for her,
And press their loving mouths upon the grass
Where yesterday she danced.
The twilight, grey-robed, comes from the glowing mist
To pin a blue star in her rippling hair-
But she is gone. . . .
She left a song to tremble on these lips,
To beat its tired wings upon the nar... |
199,376 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/33624/a-small-boy-once-lost-and-found | Gary Smith | A Small Boy, Once Lost and Found |
He, trembling on the edge of whimsy,
I rescued a small boy hidden amid roses;
the bleeding paint of life colored his design
red, and red their petals crushed underfoot
his thornstruck hand ravished in pursuit.
Perhaps his frenzy was informed by innocence,
as an insatiable host devouring her guest;
or even one rose dis... |
231,764 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/53041/address | James Schuyler | Address | Right hand graced with writing,
my left arm my secondhand new
suit bestrode, from the auto I
say, "Antinous, perched like a
parakeet cracking sunflower seeds
in a hot ice cave or cage,
you're an apogee. Acid pennies
will fill your mouth, your head
bowl at a soldiers' revel. Fly
the safety you despise and seek,
a butche... |
199,390 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/33631/opposing | D. R. Fosso | Opposing |
D. R. FOSSO
OPPOSING
Binary, to curve coordinated
As moonlight dredges ur
Burgeoning continuum,
A line making light
Connections, lashing point
For pointing across stars
Whose grid in place
Quadrants out, to hang
Like stretching reluctance
Drawn, racked, fixed toward
Being equal to what hurt is
Quarter... |
221,576 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46253/november-night | Adelaide Crapsey | November Night | Listen. .
With faint dry sound,
Like steps of passing ghosts,
The leaves, frost-crisp'd, break from the trees
And fall. |
208,314 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/38106/a-fifties-4th | Daniel Hall | A Fifties 4th |
Word came down: the show
would go on, in spite of fog
thick as water. Then the initial
stumpf, and a rocket rose
to a dead-center, rib-
rattling concussion, like a fist
of the sea balked in granite
underfoot. But where skies past
had given way to meadows
of mullein and boneset, dandelions
gone to seed, asters distin... |
253,127 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/159125/piers-plowman-passus-6 | William Langland | Piers Plowman: Passus 6 | 'þis were a wikkede wey but whoso hadde a gyde
þat [myȝte] folwen us ech foot': þus þis folk hem mened.
Quod Perkyn þe Plowman, 'By Seint Peter of Rome!
I haue an half acre to erie by þe heiȝe weye;
Hadde I eryed þis half acre and sowen it after
I wolde wende wiþ yow and þe wey teche.'
'þis were a long lettyng,' quod a... |
167,402 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/16814/withdrawal-tr-by-muna-lee | Jos Manuel Poveda | Withdrawal | Enchanting is this suburb wide and cold,
With gray streets running into dingy alleys,
And the friendly room where your calm came to fold
Its essences with mine as in one chalice.
I would prolong this life secure and lonely,
Would make this pleasant quietude endure:
Cuba
Most ... |
210,950 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/39431/birth-certificate-amsterdam-22-june-1988 | Michael O'Loughlin | Birth Certificate: Amsterdam, 22 June 1988 |
1944: I hate those barbed-wire numbers,
evil crystals breaking the light,
death's rusted formula.
Two broken crosses.
The clawprints of a monstrous bird
gouged in a century come to grief.
There is no road. Our bodies
are flimsy bridges
across the unspeakable river,
and out in to
these bloodswept streets
we will car... |
230,454 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/52277/the-kings-question | Brian Culhane | The King’s Question | Before he put his important question to an oracle,
Croesus planned to test all the famous soothsayers,
Sending runners half around the world, to Delphi,
Dodona, Amphiarius, Branchidae, and Ammon,
So as to determine the accuracy of their words;
His challenge: not to say anything of his future
But rather what he was doi... |
225,880 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49214/valentine-56d22b153e7d1 | Tom Pickard | Valentine | simplicity
say sleep
or
shall we
shower
have an apple
you are
as I need
water
shall I move?
do you dream?
shallow snow
flesh
melt this |
229,802 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51917/the-violet | Jane Taylor | The Violet | Down in a green and shady bed,
A modest violet grew,
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head,
As if to hide from view.
And yet it was a lovely flower,
Its colours bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there,
Yet there it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused it... |
166,788 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/16480/sonnet-lovers-stir-not | Dorothy Keeley Aldis | Sonnet ("Lovers, stir not...") | BRIDES
I like to look at soft young brides,
And know that they are warmed and fed,
And, if grieving, comforted.
I like to think of their delight
In day and night,
And all the sweet surprises of
Their waking love.
SONNET
Lovers, stir not the bright pool of your love,
Nor throw a s... |
248,887 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/150757/iraq-vag-panic | Tracy Fuad | Iraq Vag Panic | You could say it wrong, like my wracked
brain, or with the wrong g
like gag or Garamond.
Some words are nearly in ruins.
Yesterday the gynecologist told me
I spell my name wrong-should have an o between the f and u .
Am I trying to get pregnant?
In my country, he begins.
And then, between my parted legs, tells me that ... |
161,984 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/13765/petals | Lila Rich | Petals | THE SNOWSTORM
Something is going to happen:
The moon is blue,
The sky is black,
The stars are yellow.
Suddenly the snow comes . . .
Next -morning
The children make snow-men
All over the town,
With tall silk hats,
And berries for eyes,
And little brown mittens,
FROZEN HEART
The ground is covered deep with ... |
216,114 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/42020/things-as-they-are-when-they-take-you | Renée Ashley | THINGS AS THEY ARE WHEN THEY TAKE YOU |
It is the now that is reordered. All the markers gone. Thunder
on the window ledge. Your heart a rattle of rocks and
the world ends every day. You would like to get closer to
what-it-is. The what-you-just-by-moments-missed when
you were otherwise, abstractly, occupied. The what-bodies-
rolled-by-you, the what-fell-f... |
252,529 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/157936/bodhisattvas-at-the-beach-in-november | Monica Sok | Bodhisattvas at the Beach in November | You can bring half that Gouda in your fridge if you want.
I'll bring a persimmon, my cutting board, and knife.
But first golden chrysanthemums at the farmers market, cut at the stem
and wrapped in butcher paper.
What about this olive bread- Oh yes, get this olive bread. Cash only.
Do you have cash? All right... |
164,114 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/14987/children-at-play | Jack Merten | Children at Play |
"The wind is whistling in the lane," said Sybil.
"Fairies whispering," said Jane.
"The leaves are sighing overhead."
"Songs of dying birds," Jane said.
"The vines are dripping with the rain," said Sybil.
"Diamond necklaces," said Jane.
"The toadstools perk their ugly heads."
"Cricket umbrellas," Jane said.
"The water ... |
230,402 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/52251/game-night | Conor O'Callaghan | Game Night | Love not
being in the loop.
Grant the spruces' wish,
the golf compound
graying out of use,
suvs in the it lot,
power outage,
a chorus from the quad.
Bless the elsewhere
where others are
not here or you.
And rain
after midnight . . .
Ask yourself,
is that rain or bells? |
175,310 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/21300/kin-56d20c90dccdf | Edward Weismiller | Kin | THE LATCHED GATE
KIN
These I see with a dog's eyes:
'The hunched cloud on a sunset rise
Like a tawny cat with sickle claws;
The eyes, nose, mouth a rabbit draws
In the windy snow with its thimble track;
And the long moon burning, white on black.
'These I know as a dog knows:
Disquiet... |
217,806 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42911/poor-old-lady | Anonymous | Poor Old Lady | Poor old lady, she swallowed a fly.
I don't know why she swallowed a fly.
Poor old lady, I think she'll die.
Poor old lady, she swallowed a spider.
It squirmed and wriggled and turned inside her.
She swallowed the spider to catch the fly.
I don't know why she swallowed a fly.
Poor old lady, I think she'll die.
Poor o... |
211,896 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/39907/my-friend-someone | Charles Simic | My Friend Someone |
By the sudden draft of cool air,
It could be, a door has opened
Somewhere in the evening quiet.
Someone hesitates on the threshold
With a faint smile
Of a happy premonition.
On this day without a date,
On a back street, dusky
But for the light of a TV set
Here and there,
And one lone tree in flower
Trailing a long tr... |
244,445 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/92048/twang-they-and-i-incline-this-ear-to-tin | Fanny Howe | Twang they. And I incline this ear to tin. | If my fingers could twang
the guitar as before they
would not be what they are and
neither would I. I
would be back in young-time. Incline
towards me, Gwendolyn, this
Monday, and lend me your ear
while I loll on my pillows to
turn your songs from strings into tin. |
193,130 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/30497/poem-flowering-balls | Alan Dugan | Poem ("Flowering balls!...") | FOUNDED IN I9I2 BY HARRIET MONROE
VOLUME CVIX NUMBER 4
JANUARY 1967
ALAN DUGAN
FLOWER GROWER IN AQUARIUS
I fell away toward death
for lack of company and goods:
no business but to flinch.
A woman caught me with the hook
her smile wore at its edge
... |
200,512 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/34192/mar-45 | Mark Halperin | April 1945 |
How even the light is on this afternoon
of my fifth year. Mother must hear
the radio, she pushes the vacuum
through such graceful arabesques.
I am not paying attention to my cards
but to Mother, beautiful in her short skirt
and cream blouse, light shining
in the edges of her upswept hair.
We ... |
195,056 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/31462/the-unifying-principle | A. R. Ammons | The Unifying Principle |
Ramshackles, archipelagoes, loose constellations
are less fierce, subsidiary centers, with the
attenuations of interstices, roughing the salience,
jarring the outbreak of too insistent commonalty:
a board, for example, not surrendering the rectitude
of its corners, the island of the oaks an
admonishment to pines, un... |
192,248 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/30055/the-grandfather-father-poem | Charles Olson | The Grandfather-Father Poem |
rolled in the grass
like an overrun horse
or a poor dog
to cool himself
from his employment
in the South Works
of U S Steel
as an Irish shoveler
to make their fires hot
to make ingots above
by puddlers of
melted metal
and my grandfather
down below
at the bottom of the
rung
stoking
their furnaces
with black
... |
190,194 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/29013/mirror-in-february | Thomas Kinsella | Mirror in February |
The day dawns, with scent of must and rain,
Of opened soil, dark trees, dry bedroom air.
Under the fading lamp, half dressed-my brain
Idling on some compulsive fantasy-
I towel my shaven jaw and stop, and stare,
Riveted by a dark exhausted eye,
A dry downturning mouth.
It seems again that it is time to learn,
In this... |
243,713 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/90970/from-feeld | Jos Charles | from feeld | i
thees wite skirtes / & orang
sweters / i wont / inn the feedynge marte /
wile mye vegetable partes bloome /
inn the commen waye / a grackel
inn the guarden rooste / the tall
wymon wasching handes /
or eyeing turnups
/ the sadened powres wee rub / ... |
209,526 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/38713/pas-de-deux-56d21c27c61c7 | Michael McFee | Pas de Deux | MICHAEL MC FEE
PAS DE DEUX
Sleep is our long dark dance.
All night we turn
with a grace impossible by day,
feeling for each other
like parts of a single body:
under the blank sheet
hands know where to find hands,
feet stretch for feet,
we fill the bed's familiar sta... |
183,526 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/25594/the-death-of-kropotkin | Herbert Read | The Death of Kropotkin |
Emma said there had been snow
and a keen wind sighing in the withered branches
And I imagined little details
sheepswool caught in the thorns
red berries
and a prophet's dead face on the pillow.
She said he had died in peace
and the eternal intelligence on his brow
had seemed like a light
in the dark unlit hut
And I i... |
217,572 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42782/in-the-deep-channel | William E. Stafford | In the Deep Channel | Setting a trotline after sundown
if we went far enough away in the night
sometimes up out of deep water
would come a secret-headed channel cat,
Eyes that were still eyes in the rush of darkness,
flowing feelers noncommittal and black,
and hidden in the fins those rasping bone daggers,
with one spiking upward ... |
222,256 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46683/on-the-gift-of-a-book-to-a-child | Hilaire Belloc | On the Gift of a Book to a Child | Child! do not throw this book about!
Refrain from the unholy pleasure
Of cutting all the pictures out!
Preserve it as your chiefest treasure.
Child, have you never heard it said
That you are heir to all the ages?
Why, then, your hands were never made
To tear these beautiful thick pages!
Your litt... |
198,646 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/33259/october-56d216c039635 | Gary Soto | October |
GARY SOTO
OCTOBER
A cold day, though only October,
And the grass has greyed
Like the frost that hardened it
This morning.
And this morning
After the wind left
With its pile of clouds
The broken fence steamed, sunlight spread
Like seed from one field .
To another, out of a bare syc... |
244,843 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/92679/what-to-read-this-summer | Ange Mlinko | What to Read This Summer | Terrible are the rose names ...
Stakeholders in a tradition of
"Grande Amore" and "True Love"
(one carmine, the other blush ... ), their aims
are, for the most part, scattershot.
"Mothersday" and "Playboy,"
"Senior Prom" and "Let's Enjoy"
vie with a lyrical "Lady of Shalott,"
while a flyweight "Pink Knockout"
com... |
177,760 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/22617/sir-isaac-newton | Robert Liddell Lowe | Sir Isaac Newton (1642-1727) | THREE POEMS
SIR ISAAC NEWTON
(1642-1727)
An apple fell in England
And Revelation spread
Its haughty, secret sunlight
Within a bachelor's head.
The Abstract humbly rested
In symbol round and red.
Strong Force exerted pull
On him who clearly saw.
Unloosened from the stem
Of Nature-the heedless Awe-
The frui... |
170,894 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/18760/shadow-56d20af819a5c | Marion Ethel Hamilton | Shadow | A sudden coolness comes, the dusk drops down,
The quail run to the chaparral with a cry;
And so these orange poppies fall away-
The golden petals of a golden day.
SHADOW
When I remember what a swift sharp hour
Youth lit upon me, like a butterfly
Upon some glowing and unknowing flower,
And with what in... |
1,547,258 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/146441/teenage-riot | Matthew Dickman | Teenage Riot | All of us were boys only some were taller or already in high school, and almost
nothing else
mattered but to learn some new trick,
to pull off something we saw in a skate video, wind cutting
around our bodies when we flew
off the lip of a ramp, grabbed the board and twisted
into a 180, kicking
a leg out and lan... |
235,290 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/55071/brutal | Andrea Cohen | Brutal | Brutal to give
the prisoner a window-
a blue sky glimpse-
as if an afterlife
existed. Brutal
for you to parade
in a body
in the same
room where I dream you. |
220,708 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45320/claribel | Alfred, Lord Tennyson | Claribel | Where Claribel low-lieth
The breezes pause and die,
Letting the rose-leaves fall:
But the solemn oak-tree sigheth,
Thick-leaved, ambrosial,
With an ancient melody
Of an inward agony,
Where Claribel low-lieth.
At eve the beetle boometh
Athwart the thicket lone:
At noon the wild bee hummeth
About the moss'd headstone:
A... |
160,172 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/12761/quest | Winifred Webb | Quest | Ho all you eager travelers!
Have you some place to go
Where you forget the many things
You wish you did not know?
Forget your own insistent past
And feel just fit and free?
Tf you have found it, won't you tell
Its happy name to me?
|
187,034 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/27401/davids-boyhood | Adrienne Rich | David's Boyhood |
Lying against the throne-room wall,
Let David play the harp for Saul.
So shall the melancholic brain
Forget the crown and its migraine,
The kingdom's mischief, and the way
The self disperses, day by day.
Though ... |
227,836 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50582/a-prospect-of-heaven-makes-death-easy | Isaac Watts | A Prospect of Heaven Makes Death Easy | There is a land of pure delight
Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.
There everlasting spring abides,
And never-withering flowers;
Death like a narrow sea divides
This heavenly land from ours.
Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
Stand dressed in li... |
215,592 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/41758/voyage-to-cythera | Charles Simic | Voyage to Cythera |
I'll go to the island of Cythera
On foot, of course,
I'll set out some May evening,
Light as a feather,
There where the goddess is fabled to have risen
Naked from the sea-
And instead, jump over the park fence
Where the lilacs are blooming
And the trees are feverish with new leaves.
The famous swing,
I saw in a paint... |
219,292 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44095/a-burnt-ship | John Donne | A Burnt Ship | Out of a fired ship, which by no way
But drowning could be rescued from the flame,
Some men leap'd forth, and ever as they came
Near the foes' ships, did by their shot decay;
So all were lost, which in the ship were found,
They in the sea being burnt, they in the burnt ship drown'd. |
207,240 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/37567/beloved-lover | Annalisa Cima | ("Beloved lover...") | ANNALISA CIMA
da IPOTESI D'AMORE
1. ACHERUBINO
Forse analogie naturali
danzano la gioia
forse scolorita la noia
dell'inganno
vanno
le ipotesi d'amore.
Forse bastava
una lama
per trinciare pensieri
futilita, e darci
in un fusorio incontro
compattezza
temperatura
... |
232,828 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/53614/beginning-with-an-acute-stab-of-nostalgia-it-gets-worse-and-worse | Arthur Vogelsang | Beginning With an Acute Stab of Nostalgia, It Gets Worse and Worse | I called Hart on my longer distance line
And in case you didn't know he is in heavine.
Hart, I implored, I searched your book
(Yes, you have a Collected ) and could fine
Nothing about the 36 cast iron bridges in
Central Park, why didn't you write about one
At least. He said he wrote about the narrow Bow Bridge
For peds... |
170,196 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/18375/spring-song-56d20ac526d76 | Thomas Hill McNeal | Spring Song |
There goes the way to the moon-
A path as gay and white
As ever sent a giddy streak
Across a purple night.
And every bat and beetle
That wears a ready wing
Is up and lumbering about
In quest of spring!
|
228,866 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/51241/marble-sized-song | Albert Goldbarth | Marble-Sized Song | Does she love you? She says yes, but really
how do you know unless you undress that easy assertion,
undoing its petals and laminae, and going in
below all trace of consciousness, into the neuroelectrical
coffer where self-understanding is storaged away,
and then lifting its uttermost molecule out, to study
in its naked... |
164,856 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/15399/encounter-56d208c687c34 | Emanuel Carnevali | Encounter | Little grey lady sitting by the roadside in the cold,
My fire is to warm you, not to burn you up.
Little grey lady in your little grey house in the warmth,
Your warmth is to loosen my frozen arms and tongue,
Not to drowse me.
|
223,656 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47729/stone-gullets | May Swenson | Stone Gullets | Stone gullets among Inrush Feed Backsuck and
The borders swallow Outburst Huge engorgements Swallow
In gulps the sea Tide crams jagged Smacks snorts chuckups Follow
In urgent thirst Jaws the hollow Insurge Hollow
Gushing evacuati... |
234,380 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/54573/symphony-no3-in-d-minor | Jonathan Williams | Symphony No.3, in D Minor | I. Pan Awakes: Summer Marches In
Pan's
spring rain
"drives his victims
out to the animals
with whom they become
as one"-
pain and paeans,
hung in the mouth,
to be sung
... |
196,196 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/32032/the-poem-arriving-at-last | Daniel G. Hoffman | The Poem ("Arriving at last...") | DANIEL HOFFMAN
DANIEL HOFFMAN
COMANCHES
I read this once: how the Comanche,
Weak after long fasting, felt a slow
Trembling shake the earth-the buffalo!-
And raced his pony barebacked toward the herd.
That morning not a brave in camp could gird
Himself with streng... |
194,414 | https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/31139/chateau | Andrew Hoyem | Chateau |
The house I would build for us has twelve rooms. One dozen
presently exist. I have built them with my own hands at various
times and places over the thirty years since you were conceived.
They are constructed inside-out, out of doors, in nature, out of
doorways, out in the open.
Twelve times I have found places for a... |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.