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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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An American, by Rudyard Kipling
The American Spirit speaks:
"If the Led Striker call it a strike,
Or the papers call it a war,
They know not much what I am like,
Nor what he is, my Avatar."
Haiku, by Michael Rehling
crucified
on a cold gray sky
a single bird
Soft, Low and Sweet, by Johannes Carl Andersen
Soft, low and sweet, the blackbird wakes the day,
And clearer pipes, as rosier grows the gray
Of the wide sky, far, far into whose deep
The rath lark soars, and scatters down the steep
His runnel song, that skyey roundelay.
Jolly Good Ale and Old, by William Stevenson
I CANNOT eat but little meat,
My stomach is not good;
But sure I think that I can drink
With him that wears a hood.
Though I go bare, take ye no care,
Fifty Years Spent, by Maxwell Struthers Burt
Fifty years spent before I found me,
Wind on my mouth and the taste of the rain,
Where the great hills circled and swept around me
And the torrents leapt to the mist-drenched plain;
Ah, it was long this coming of me
A Girl's Grave, by Patrick Edward Quinn
"Aged 17, OF A BROKEN HEART, January 1st, 1841."
What story is here of broken love,
What idyllic sad romance,
What arrow fretted the silken dove
That met with such grim mischance?
To Lucasta, going beyond the Seas, by Richard Lovelace
IF to be absent were to be
Away from thee;
Or that when I am gone
You or I were alone;
Then, my Lucasta, might I crave
Love and Age, by Thomas Love Peacock
I PLAY'D with you 'mid cowslips blowing,
When I was six and you were four;
When garlands weaving, flower-balls throwing,
Were pleasures soon to please no more.
Through groves and meads, o'er grass and heather,
Rivals, by William Walsh
OF all the torments, all the cares,
With which our lives are curst;
Of all the plagues a lover bears,
Sure rivals are the worst!
By partners in each other kind
My Lost Youth, by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
OFTEN I think of the beautiful town
That is seated by the sea;
Often in thought go up and down
The pleasant streets of that dear old town,
And my youth comes back to me.
Harps hung up in Babylon, by Arthur Colton
The harps hung up in Babylon,
Their loosened strings rang on, sang on,
And cast their murmurs forth upon
The roll and roar of Babylon:
"Forget me, Lord, if I forget
A thousand starring eyes, by Rebecka Smith
For what is one with no where to go, but alone in silent desolation.
Within the skies a thousand eyes, a thousand hearts, starring down upon you.
Hope has crippled and faded, but answer me this, is that so bad?
For what is a life without a hope?
A life without hope is a life without dissapointment, without pain and without fear.
The DayPoems web site, www.daypoems.net, is copyright 2001-2012 by Timothy Keith Bovee. All rights reserved.
The authors of poetry and other material appearing on DayPoems retain full rights to their work. Any requests for publication in other venues must be negotiated separately with the authors. The editor of DayPoems will gladly attempt to assist in putting interested parties in contact with the authors.
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