Gooseberry Season By Simon Armitage Which reminds me. He appeared at noon, asking for water. He’d walked from town after losing his job, leaving me a note for his wife and his brother and locking his dog in the coal…
Tag: poem analysis
Woman with Kite
Woman with Kite By Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni Meadow of crabgrass, faded dandelions, querulous child-like voice. She takes from her son’s disgruntled hands the spool of the kite that will not fly. Pulls on the heavy string, ground glass rough between…
Messy Room
Messy Room By Shel Silverstein Whosever room this is should be ashamed! His underwear is hanging on the lamp. His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair, And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp. His workbook is wedged…
Crossing The Bar
Crossing The Bar By Lord Alfred Tennyson Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep,…
Cousin Kate
Cousin Kate By Christina Rossetti I was a cottage maiden Hardened by sun and air, Contented with my cottage mates, Not mindful I was fair. Why did a great lord find me out, And praise my flaxen hair? Why did…
Coup De Grace
Coup De Grace By Noel Moratilla When you bother to come to our slums, remember to carry the hardest & heaviest rifles to jog our memory. Bring some gasoline to singe our unwashed conscience. Sear our flesh misshapen by bullet…
Christmas 1970
Christmas 1970 By Sandra M. Castillo We assemble the silver tree, our translated lives, its luminous branches, numbered to fit into its body. place its metallic roots to decorate our first Christmas. Mother finds herself opening, closing the Red Cross…
Choices
Choices By Nikki Giovanni If i can’t do what i want to do then my job is to not do what i don’t want to do It’s not the same thing but it’s the best i can do If i…
Discovery Of the New World
Discovery Of the New World By Carter Revard The creatures that we met this morning marvelled at our green skins and scarlet eyes. They lack antennae and can’t be made to grasp your proclamation that they are our lawful food…
Children in Wartime
Children in Wartime By Isobel Thrilling Sirens ripped open the warm silk of sleep; we ricocheted to the shelter moated by streets that ran with darkness. People said it was a storm, but flak had not the right sound for…
Cherokee Rose
Cherokee Rose By Marc McCord Seven petals for seven tribes growing on the trail where they cried. Center of gold for the land white men stole. Four thousand of my ancestors died. The trail was long, the journey harsh crossing…
Life In Our Village
Life In Our Village By Markwei Martie In our little village When elders are around, Boys must not look at girls And girls must not look at boys Because the elders say That is not good. Even when night comes…
Break of Day
Break of Day By John Donne ‘Tis true, ‘tis day, what though it be? O wilt thou therefore rise from me? Why should we rise because ‘tis light? Did we lie down because ‘twas night? Love, which in spite of…
Departmental
Departmental By Robert Frost An ant on the tablecloth Ran into a dormant moth Of many times his size. He showed not the least surprise. His business wasn’t with such. He gave it scarcely a touch, And was off on…
Bully
Bully By Martin Espada In the school auditorium, the Theodore Roosevelt statue is nostalgic for the Spanish-American war each fist lonely for a saber, or the reins of anguish-eyed horses, or a podium to clatter with speeches glorying in the…
Bullocky
Bullocky By Judith Wright Beside his heavy-shouldered team thirsty with drought and chilled with rain, he weathered all the striding years till they ran widdershins in his brain: Till the long solitary tracks etched deeper with each lurching load were…
Written by Himself
Written by Himself By Gregory Pardlo I was born in minutes in a roadside kitchen a skillet whispering my name. I was born to rainwater and lye; I was born across the river where I was borrowed with clothespins, a…
Sir Patrick Spens
Sir Patrick Spens By Scottish Anonymous The King sits in Dunfermline town, Drinking the blood-red wine; “O where shall I get a skeely skipper To sail this ship or mine?” Then up and spake an eldern knight, Sat at the…
September Twelfth, 2001
September Twelfth, 2001 By X. J. Kennedy Two caught on film who hurtle from the eighty-second floor, choosing between a fireball and to jump holding hands, aren’t us. I wake beside you, stretch, scratch, taste the air, the incredible joy…
September 1, 1939
September 1, 1939 By W. H. Auden I sit in one of the dives On Fifty-second Street Uncertain and afraid As the clever hopes expire Of a low dishonest decade: Waves of anger and fear Circulate over the bright And…