Poems about rock (51 Poems)
Giant Toad (Elizabeth Bishop Poem)
I am too big. Too big by far. Pity me. My eyes bulge and hurt. They are my one great beauty, even so. They see too much, above, below. And yet, there is not much to see. The rain has … Continue reading
Cape Breton (Elizabeth Bishop Poem)
Out on the high “bird islands,” Ciboux and Hertford, the razorbill auks and the silly-looking puffins all stand with their backs to the mainland in solemn, uneven lines along the cliff’s brown grass-frayed edge, while the few sheep pastured there … Continue reading
North Haven (Elizabeth Bishop Poem)
I can make out the rigging of a schooner a mile off; I can count the new cones on the spruce. It is so still the pale bay wears a milky skin; the sky no clouds except for one long, … Continue reading
Giant Snail (Elizabeth Bishop Poem)
The rain has stopped. The waterfall will roar like that all night. I have come out to take a walk and feed. My body–foot, that is–is wet and cold and covered with sharp gravel. It is white, the size of … Continue reading
Song For The Rainy Season (Elizabeth Bishop Poem)
Hidden, oh hidden in the high fog the house we live in, beneath the magnetic rock, rain-, rainbow-ridden, where blood-black bromelias, lichens, owls, and the lint of the waterfalls cling, familiar, unbidden. In a dim age of water the brook … Continue reading
The Imaginary Iceberg (Elizabeth Bishop Poem)
We’d rather have the iceberg than the ship, although it meant the end of travel. Although it stood stock-still like cloudy rock and all the sea were moving marble. We’d rather have the iceberg than the ship; we’d rather own … Continue reading
At His Grave (Alfred Austin Poem)
LEAVE me a little while alone, Here at his grave that still is strown With crumbling flower and wreath; The laughing rivulet leaps and falls, The thrush exults, the cuckoo calls, And he lies hush’d beneath. With myrtle cross and … Continue reading
Love Song to My Neighborhoods (Kelli Russell Agodon Poem)
Sometimes I stroll through forests just sprayed for the gypsy moths. I throw a rock into the bushes to distract the hunters. Deer me. I am writing to my hazards. Open gutter to the lake, green oil, paint dumped- I … Continue reading
Opening the Geode (Julie Hill Alger Poem)
When the molten earth seethed in its whirling cauldron nobody watched the pot from a tall wooden stool set out in windy space beyond flame’s reach; and when the spattering mush steamed, gurgled, boiled over, mounded up in smoking hills … Continue reading
The House Of Dust: Part 04: 06: Cinema (Conrad Aiken Poem)
As evening falls, The walls grow luminous and warm, the walls Tremble and glow with the lives within them moving, Moving like music, secret and rich and warm. How shall we live to-night, where shall we turn? To what new … Continue reading