Poems about mat (31 Poems)
The Song of Hiawatha: X (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Poem)
X. Hiawatha’s Wooing “As unto the bow the cord is, So unto the man is woman, Though she bends him, she obeys him, Though she draws him, yet she follows, Useless each without the other!” Thus the youthful Hiawatha Said … Continue reading
A Song of Kabir (Rudyard Kipling Poem)
Oh, light was the world that he weighed in his hands! Oh, heavy the tale of his fiefs and his lands! He has gone from the guddee and put on the shroud, And departed in guise of bairagi avowed! Now … Continue reading
Endymion: Book III (John Keats Poem)
There are who lord it o’er their fellow-men With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen Their baaing vanities, to browse away The comfortable green and juicy hay From human pastures; or, O torturing fact! Who, through an idiot blink, will see … Continue reading
Hyperion (John Keats Poem)
BOOK I Deep in the shady sadness of a vale Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon, and eve’s one star, Sat gray-hair’d Saturn, quiet as a stone, Still as the silence round about … Continue reading
A Thought or Two on Reading Pomfret’s (James Henry Leigh Hunt Poems)
I have been reading Pomfret’s “Choice” this spring, A pretty kind of–sort of–kind of thing, Not much a verse, and poem none at all, Yet, as they say, extremely natural. And yet I know not. There’s an art in pies, … Continue reading
Conquistador (Alec Derwent Hope Poem)
I sing of the decline of Henry Clay Who loved a white girl of uncommon size. Although a small man in a little way, He had in him some seed of enterprise. Each day he caught the seven-thirty train To … Continue reading
The Grauballe Man (Seamus Heaney Poem)
As if he had been poured in tar, he lies on a pillow of turf and seems to weep the black river of himself. The grain of his wrists is like bog oak, the ball of his heel like a … Continue reading
the ordinary again (Rg Gregory Poem)
(1) the ordinary you are not interested in me a receiver of food and a giver of shit my brain knuckled under i have rendered the skills of my limbs to generations of caesars and caesar’s gods have siphoned off … Continue reading
September On Jessore Road (Allen Ginsberg Poem)
Millions of babies watching the skies Bellies swollen, with big round eyes On Jessore Road–long bamboo huts Noplace to shit but sand channel ruts Millions of fathers in rain Millions of mothers in pain Millions of brothers in woe Millions … Continue reading
Brought to the Throne of Grace (Raymond A. Foss Poem)
The paralyzed man unable to move lying on the mat Brought to the throne of grace, of glory brought before the living God Lowered from the heavens a messenger of sorts the means to share God’s power Freed from him … Continue reading