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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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Trees, by Joyce Kilmer
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
A Familiar in a Strange Land, by Frederick J. Mayer
Catabolism of its soul's shadows
of its sole caterwaul
on winds that now blow its cabal
Parafeline of penumbra spaces
within prismic lines
On a Subway Express, by Chester Firkins
I, who have lost the stars, the sod,
For chilling pave and cheerless light,
Have made my meeting-place with God
A new and nether Night --
Have found a fane where thunder fills
The Native-Born, by Rudyard Kipling
We've drunk to the Queen -- God bless her! --
We've drunk to our mothers' land;
We've drunk to our English brother
(But he does not understand);
We've drunk to the wide creation,
Joe Hill, by Alfred Hayes
I dreamed I saw Joe Hill last night
Alive as you or me
Says I, But Joe, you're ten years dead
I never died, says he
I never died, says he
The Land o' the Leal, by Carolina, Lady Nairne
I'M wearin' awa', John
Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John,
I'm wearin' awa'
To the land o' the leal.
There 's nae sorrow there, John,
Bayswater, W., by Arthur H. Adams
About me leagues of houses lie,
Above me, grim and straight and high,
They climb; the terraces lean up
Like long grey reefs against the sky.
Packed tier on tier the people dwell;
Song, by Matthew Prior
THE merchant, to secure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrow'd name:
Euphelia serves to grace my measure;
But Chloe is my real flame.
My softest verse, my darling lyre,
Love is a Sickness, by Samuel Daniel
LOVE is a sickness full of woes,
All remedies refusing;
A plant that with most cutting grows,
Most barren with best using.
Why so?
The Automobile, by Percy MacKaye
Fluid the world flowed under us: the hills
Billow on billow of umbrageous green
Heaved us, aghast, to fresh horizons, seen
One rapturous instant, blind with flash of rills
And silver-rising storms and dewy stills
A Nocturne, by George Essex Evans
Like weary sea-birds spent with flight
And faltering,
The slow hours beat across the night
On leaden wing.
The wild bird knows where rest shall be
Where Are You, by Brother De Buff
The place in my heart is empty
I want to scream come back I love you
Words are lost
on my action of the past
Heavy is my burden I must continue
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