Citatepedia^®.com

Farmer, Dying

for Hank and Nancy

Seven thousand acres of grass have faded yellow
from his cough. These limp days, his anger,
legend forty years from moon to Stevensville,
lives on, just barely, in a Great Falls whore.
Cruel times, he cries, cruel winds. His geese roam
unattended in the meadow. The gold last leaves
of cottonwoods ride Burnt Fork creek away.
His geese grow fat without him. Same old insult.
Same indifferent rise of mountains south,
hunters drunk around the fire ten feet from his fence.

What's killing us is something autumn. Call it
war or fever. You know it when you see it: flare.
Vine and fire and the morning deer come half
a century to sip his spring, there, at the far end
of his land, wrapped in cellophane by light.
What lives is what he left in air, definite,
unseen, hanging where he stood the day he roared.

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Hugo
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Lavender Pond

Never a swallow wets his wing
In Lavender Pond from Spring to Spring;
Never a lily, pure and chill,
Holds her cup for the dews to fill;
Never a willow, gnarled and hoar,
Bends his bough to a reedy shore;
Never a fragrant flower spike blows there,
Never a lordly King-staff grows there,
Slender and straight where sedges shiver
And glistening Mayflies glance and quiver,
In Lavender Pond by London River.

But the Baltic barques the come and go
With their old pump-windmills turning slow,
And the tall Cape Horners rest and ride
Like stately swans on the murky tide,
And the ocean tramps all red and rusted,
Worn and weathered and salt-encrusted,
Gather and cluster near and far,
Derrick and funnel, mast and spar,

[...] Read more

poem by Cicely Fox Smith
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Sea and Shore

‘Why do you tear at
My towers and my turrets,
My walls and my pillars
My barrs and my beach;
And mutter like musings
Of untoward poets,
And scatter your silences
Out of my reach? ’

‘Why do you surge and
Assault in your anger
The fortress I built for
My lady asleep,
And slowly dismiss each
Dispute you remember
By wearing each stone
From the base of the Keep? ’

‘What is the torment that
Claws at the crofters,

[...] Read more

poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Orchid Atop The Manipal Hill!

Blossomed an Orchid, atop a small hill!
Amidst wild grass, shrubs and wild life that kill;
The hill-top’s plateau underwent much change,
In a short span of time, in varied range;
The landscape into a township became,
The wilderness vanished, buildings came;
Made from the hill’s laterite, rose to fame,
And etched for itself an especial name!
It was harder than the hardest known brick;
The local manpower built it up quick;
No longer did the Tigers, Leopards prowl;
Nor could you hear the Hyena’s howl!
A Citadel had sprung up on the hill;
Just one man’s missionary zeal, vision still;
Did make this amazing reality,
Happen with his unique effort, mighty;
A medical-man turned business-man!
The pioneer of the Manipal-group
Of Educational Institutions;
Who broke records with his string of ventures,

[...] Read more

poem by John Celes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Gratification

We occasionally get a few gleams of encouragement while struggling through the trials
of life.A number of years ago a person employed by the Dominion Government to give
sketches of the various towns in Canada, and especially to describe the power of the
various streams and the number of streams in each town or neighborhood ; he came to us,
as we had written rhymes on the rivers and creeks. Years afterwards we were informed by
persons who came from Britain, as the book was to encourage emigration,that my name was
the only one they had ever heard of in Ingersoll until they came here.The celebrated
Spaulding, manufacturer and inventor of prepared glue, was in town a few days ago. He
expressed to a gentleman in town that he was gratified with a conversation he had with
me on poetic themes. As there is no natural affinity or adhesion binding glue to poetry,
we might say we discovered that the inventor possessed a refined and cultivated mind
and a fund of American humor.An old lady expressed herself very warmly after reading my
Canadian romance, that it was a true history of herself and husband ; that 35 years ago
they were not worth a dollar,and now they had 500 acres paid for of good land. The
reason why we alluded to this is:-Some have no faith that there is anything worthy of
commemorating in their own country, but consider worthy themes for either song or story
are three thousand miles across the Atlantic.

poem by James McIntyre
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Gypsy Woman

Gypsy Woman

Madam Bushka she called herself
As she pulled a book from the shelf
Look into the crystal ball
It will reveal it all

Let me read the lines in your hand
Look on and I’ll tell you a story young man
Sit, sit this won’t take long
Words to my ears like a love song

Look here and you will see
Your past, present, and your future history
Look into my eyes I was told
She saw I was hurting, bitter, and cold

Hatred, contempt she saw in my heart
These ill feelings shall tear you apart
Live and let die she said to me

[...] Read more

poem by Wilfred Mellers
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Proud Farmer

[In memory of E. S. Frazee, Rush County, Indiana]

Into the acres of the newborn state
He poured his strength, and plowed his ancient name,
And, when the traders followed him, he stood
Towering above their furtive souls and tame.

That brow without a stain, that fearless eye
Oft left the passing stranger wondering
To find such knighthood in the sprawling land,
To see a democrat well-nigh a king.

He lived with liberal hand, with guests from far,
With talk and joke and fellowship to spare, —
Watching the wide world's life from sun to sun,
Lining his walls with books from everywhere.
He read by night, he built his world by day.
The farm and house of God to him were one.
For forty years he preached and plowed and wrought —

[...] Read more

poem by Vachel Lindsay
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Park Life

Situated in a city, where life is all race, race, race,
Hyde Park is a sea of calm, with a much slower pace.
Acres of parkland are shrouded in bright sunlight,
And it has to be said, it really is a wonderful sight.

A skater skilfully negotiates a long line of cones.
People sit texting and chatting on mobile phones.
A couple cool off in the waters of the Serpentine:
Oblivious to bystanders, their two bodies entwine.

Watching a grey squirrel, some folk stand and stare,
But for these cute creatures, some do not much care.
Upon the bandstand, students rehearse Shakespeare,
Adding a touch of culture to this lovely atmosphere.

At the ticket office, for the boats, there is a long queue:
The rowing boats and pedalos, folk are all dying to use.
A large flock of seagulls, so very skilful in their flight,
Are eager for food, and, over it, they very viciously fight.

[...] Read more

poem by Angela Wybrow
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Dirge

Knows he who tills this lonely field
To reap its scanty corn,
What mystic fruit his acres yield
At midnight and at morn?

In the long sunny afternoon,
The plain was full of ghosts,
I wandered up, I wandered down,
Beset by pensive hosts.

The winding Concord gleamed below,
Pouring as wide a flood
As when my brothers long ago,
Came with me to the wood.

But they are gone,— the holy ones,
Who trod with me this lonely vale,
The strong, star-bright companions
Are silent, low, and pale.

[...] Read more

poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

At Parting II

AND you could leave me now--
After the first remembered whispered vow
Which sings for ever and ever in my ears--
The vow which God among His Angels hears--
After the long-drawn years,
The slow hard tears,
Could break new ground, and wake
A new strange garden to blossom for your sake,
And leave me here alone,
In the old garden that was once our own?

How should I learn to bear
Our garden's pleasant ways and pleasant air,
Her flowers, her fruits, her lily, her rose and thorn,
When only in a picture these appear--
These, once alive, and always over-dear?
Ah--think again: the rose you used to wear
Must still be more than other roses be
The flower of flowers. Ah, pity, pity me!

[...] Read more

poem by Edith Nesbit
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!