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A dozen poems
For todayA version friendly to printer and palmtop
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The Breaking, by Margaret Steele Anderson
(The Lord God speaks to a youth)
Bend now thy body to the common weight!
(But oh, that vine-clad head, those limbs of morn!
Those proud young shoulders I myself made straight!
How shall ye wear the yoke that must be worn?)
Neighbor's Flowers, by William Marr
a week ago our neighbor Eddie passed away
this morning I saw the potted flowers on their patio
all drooped and withered
his wife Helen who loves flowers so much
must not have heard the weather report
I have a Rendezvous with Death, by Alan Seeger
I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade,
When Spring comes back with rustling shade
And apple-blossoms fill the air --
I have a rendezvous with Death
The Day before April, by Mary Carolyn Davies
The day before April
Alone, alone,
I walked in the woods
And I sat on a stone.
I sat on a broad stone
The Married Lover, by Coventry Patmore
WHY, having won her, do I woo?
Because her spirit's vestal grace
Provokes me always to pursue,
But, spirit-like, eludes embrace;
Because her womanhood is such
The Inverted Torch, by Edith M. Thomas
Threading a darksome passage all alone,
The taper's flame, by envious current blown,
Crouched low, and eddied round, as in affright,
So challenged by the vast and hostile night,
Then down I held the taper; -- swift and fain
Sweet Content, by Thomas Dekker
ART thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?
O sweet content!
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex'd?
O punishment!
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'd
Il Penseroso, by John Milton
HENCE vain deluding joyes,
The brood of folly without father bred,
How little you bested,
Or fill the fixed mind with all your toyes;
Dwell in som idle brain,
Bridal Song, by George Chapman
O COME, soft rest of cares! come, Night!
Come, naked Virtue's only tire,
The reaped harvest of the light
Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire.
Love calls to war:
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
Anacreontics, The Epicure, by Abraham Cowley
UNDERNEATH this myrtle shade,
On flowerly beds supinely laid,
With odorous oils my head o'erflowing,
And around it roses growing,
What should I do but drink away
Godheart, by Mark Zimmerman
spinning and pumping along the
pathway, drenched with melting
rocks shaped like fornicating roses
twirling around, the heart is carried
while gliding back and forth through time
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