Poems about holes (35 Poems)
Touching His Wounds (Raymond A. Foss Poem)
Fingers reach out touch the holes, the scars, the deep gaping spear wound feel where the nails pierced his hands, where the cruel knife confirmed his death in order to believe Needing to feel the pain He bore, for him, … Continue reading
My Father’s Belt (Raymond A. Foss Poems)
Fifteen year and more After he is gone, A regular reminder of my father Goes around my waist, through the loops Holding me together, at least a bit His belt, wide, leather, with holes We each stretched Weathered brown leather … Continue reading
His Shop (Raymond A. Foss Poem)
There was something about it the way he had things just so, from the start a level, freshly cut boards of equal length masonry bits a Black and Decker drill a stud gun set the peg board, all the separate … Continue reading
Pittypat and Tippytoe (Eugene Field Poem)
All day long they come and go– Pittypat and Tippytoe; Footprints up and down the hall, Playthings scattered on the floor, Finger-marks along the wall, Tell-tale smudges on the door– By these presents you shall know Pittypat and Tippytoe. How … Continue reading
The Owl Describing her Young Ones (Anne Kingsmill Finch Poem)
Why was that baleful Creature made, Which seeks our Quiet to invade, And screams ill Omens through the Shade? ‘Twas, sure, for every Mortals good, When, by wrong painting of her Brood, She doom’d them for the Eagle’s Food: Who … Continue reading
The Wounded Breakfast (Russell Edson Poem)
A huge shoe mounts up from the horizon, squealing and grinding forward on small wheels, even as a man sitting to breakfast on his veranda is suddenly engulfed in a great shadow, almost the size of the night . . … Continue reading
Adolescence II (Rita Dove Poem)
Although it is night, I sit in the bathroom, waiting. Sweat prickles behind my knees, the baby-breasts are alert. Venetian blinds slice up the moon; the tiles quiver in pale strips. Then they come, the three seal men with eyes … Continue reading
Elegy IX: The Autumnal (John Donne Poem)
No spring nor summer Beauty hath such grace As I have seen in one autumnall face. Young beauties force our love, and that’s a rape, This doth but counsel, yet you cannot ‘scape. If ’twere a shame to love, here … Continue reading
Elegy XVIII: Love’s Progress (John Donne Poems)
Who ever loves, if he do not propose The right true end of love, he’s one that goes To sea for nothing but to make him sick. Love is a bear-whelp born: if we o’erlick Our love, and force it … Continue reading
The last excuse (Ivan Donn Carswell Poem)
What is left now that we’ve used the last excuse, what is left to justify excess. The rhetoric at best was very thin when things began, but to suggest we must remain and play the hand we’re dealt by Forces … Continue reading