Love Poem By John Frederick Nims My clumsiest dear, whose hands shipwreck vases, At whose quick touch all glasses chip and ring, Whose palms are bulls in china, burs in linen, And have no cunning with any soft thing Except…
Tag: poem analysis
Legacies
Legacies By Nikki Giovanni her grandmother called her from the playground “yes, ma’am” “i want chu to learn how to make rolls” said the old woman proudly but the little girl didn’t want to learn how because she knew even…
Harvest at Mynachlog
Harvest at Mynachlog By Gillian Clarke At last the women come with baskets, The older one in flowered apron, A daisied cloth covering the bread And dappled china, sweet tea In a vast can. The women stoop Spreading their cups…
Wild Bees
Wild Bees By James K. Baxter Often in summer, on a tarred bridge plank standing, Or downstream between willows, a safe Ophelia drifting In a rented boat — I had seen them come and go, Those wild bees swift as…
We and They
We and They By Rudyard Kipling Father and Mother, and Me, Sister and Auntie say All the people like us are We, And every one else is They. And They live over the sea, While We live over the way,…
Cargo Hulks
Cargo Hulks By Peter Tower Ramshackle barges limp the coastal passages carrying hogfuel and sulphur to the ever-hungry mills— food for the insatiable bellies of the digesters, ammunition for the smokestacks to vomit at the gulls. Cargo hulks stripped of…
Call It A Good Marriage
Call It A Good Marriage By Robert Graves Call it a good marriage – For no one ever questioned Her warmth, his masculinity, Their interlocking views; Except one stray graphologist Who frowned in speculation At her h’s and her s’s,…
Cactus
Cactus By K. Satchidanandan Thorns are my language. I announce my existence with a bleeding touch. Once these thorns were flowers. I loathe lovers who betray. Poets have abandoned the deserts to go back to the gardens. Only camels remain…
No Loser, No Weeper
No Loser, No Weeper By Maya Angelou “I hate to lose something,” then she bent her head, “even a dime, I wish I was dead. I can’t explain it. No more to be said. ‘Cept I hate to lose something.…
Bye-Child
Bye-Child By Seamus Heaney He was discovered in the henhouse where she had confined him. He was incapable of saying anything. When the lamp glowed, A yolk of light In their back window, The child in the outhouse Put his…
Summons
Summons By Robert Francis Keep me from going to sleep too soon Or if I go to sleep too soon Come wake me up. Come any hour Of night. Come whistling up the road. Stomp on the porch. Bang on…
What is Success
What is Success By Ralph Waldo Emerson What is Success? To laugh often and much; To win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children; To earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false…
Ol’ Higue
Ol’ Higue By Mark McWatt You think I like all this stupidness gallivanting all night without skin burning myself out like cane –fire To frighten the foolish? And for what? A few drops of baby blood? You think I wouldn’t…
The Shepherd and His Flock
The Shepherd and His Flock By Mbuyiseni Oswald Mtshali The rays of the sun are like a pair of scissors cutting the blanket of the dawn from the sky. The young shepherd drives the master’s sheep from the paddock into…
The Runaway
The Runaway By Robert Frost Once when the snow of the year was beginning to fall, We stopped by a mountain pasture to say, ‘Whose colt?’ A little Morgan had one forefoot on the wall, The other curled at his…
Subway Wind
Subway Wind By Claude McKay Far down, down through the city’s great gaunt gut The gray train rushing bears the weary wind; In the packed cars the fans the crowd’s breath cut, Leaving the sick and heavy air behind. And…
Last Lesson of the Afternoon
Last Lesson of the Afternoon By D. H. Lawrence When will the bell ring, and end this weariness? How long have they tugged the leash, and strained apart, My pack of unruly hounds! I cannot start Them again on a…
The Panic Bird
The Panic Bird By Robert Phillips just flew inside my chest. Some days it lights inside my brain, but today it’s in my bonehouse, rattling ribs like a birdcage. If I saw it coming, I’d fend it off with machete…
Stolen Rivers
Stolen Rivers By Phillippa Yaa de Villiers for Chiwoniso Maraire We Africans came to Berlin to sing and recite poetry. We had an agenda: remembering our anthems of loss, galloping, consuming, the pillage, the cries like forest fires, like haunted…
Southern History
Southern History By Natasha Trethewey Before the war, they were happy, he said. quoting our textbook. (This was senior-year history class.) The slaves were clothed, fed, and better off under a master’s care. I watched the words blur on the…