Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

'Sir, I admit your general rule,
That every poet is a fool.
But you yourself may serve to show it,
Every fool is not a poet.'
...

Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
Those air -conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
Tinned minds, tinned breath.


...

Is this how I was?
Wrapped with the softest blanket,
Shown the highest quality of affection,
I'm sure this is how I was.

All I remember is being fed,
But suddenly it's been done by me.
I've gradually been strengthened,
Even kisses aren't given anymore.


...

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other's welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.
...

A lover prayed to Eros in this wise:-

Since my love loves not me, Eros! I pray
That thou wilt take this torturing love away.
But since she is so fair, still let mine eyes
Unloving, joy in her, her beauty prize;
Still let her clear voice ring as pure and gay
To my calm heart as mating birds in May.
The words went up the blue Thessalian skies.


...

Come, let me tell you a story
One of woe of a mahogany
It was born alone in a dying wood
Through rain, heat, and flying soot
Stayed one alone for a century
Begging high and low to fill its belly

And there it grew, strong and firm
Brave and unbattered by the world's cruel turns
And slowly and slowly its love grew

...

The mysteries remain,
I keep the same
cycle of seed-time
and of sun and rain;
Demeter in the grass,
I multiply,
renew and bless
Bacchus in the vine;
I hold the law,
I keep the mysteries true,
the first of these
to name the living, dead;
I am the wine and bread.
I keep the law,
I hold the mysteries true,
I am the vine,
the branches, you
and you.
...

I hear an army charging upon the land,
And the thunder of horses plunging, foam about their knees:
Arrogant, in black armour, behind them stand,
Disdaining the reins, with fluttering whips, the charioteers.

They cry unto the night their battle-name:
I moan in sleep when I hear afar their whirling laughter.
They cleave the gloom of dreams, a blinding flame,
Clanging, clanging upon the heart as upon an anvil.


...

Please stay
and let me narrate
a story of neglect
and constant regret
as I promise to let you take
a sip of my mixed emotions cocktail
that will leave your mind in a maze
as soon as you picture his face.
I really hope you stay because I'll need someone to pray
as I prepare to slay

...