Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

Fair flower of fifteen springs, that still
Art scarcely blossomed from the bud,
Yet hast such store of evil will,
A heart so full of hardihood,
Seeking to hide in friendly wise
The mischief of your mocking eyes.

If you have pity, child, give o’er;
Give back the heart you stole from me,
Pirate, setting so little store
On this your captive from Love’s sea,
Holding his misery for gain,
And making pleasure of his pain.

Another, not so fair of face,
But far more pitiful than you,
Would take my heart, if of his grace,
My heart would give her of Love’s due;
And she shall have it, since I find
That you are cruel and unkind.

Nay, I would rather that it died,
Within your white hands prisoning,
Would rather that it still abide
In your ungentle comforting.
Than change its faith, and seek to her
That is more kind, but not so fair.
...

Because the shad
are swimming
in our waters now,

breaching the skin
of the river with their
tarnished silvery fins,

heading upstream
straight for our tables

...

Standing in black water,
will you help yourself to think about
implosion in humanity?

This is a period of calm.
Homeless thoughts were very agitated.
A cyclone without an eye.

Nobody gives you a
safe anchor for future landfall

...

Who can live in heart so glad
As the merry country lad?
Who upon a fair green balk
May at pleasure sit and walk,
And amid the azure skies
See the morning sun arise;
While he hears in every spring
How the birds do chirp and sing;
Or before the hounds in cry
See the hare go stealing by;
Or along the shallow brook
Angling with a baited hook,
See the fishes leap and play
In a blessed sunny day;
Or to hear the partridge call
Till she have her covey all;
Or to see the subtle fox,
How the villain plies the box,
After feeding on his prey
How he closely sneaks away
Through the hedge and down the furrow,
Till he gets into his burrow;
Then the bee to gather honey,
And the little black hair'd coney
On a bank for sunny place
With her forefeet wash her face:
Are not these, with thousands moe
Than the courts of kings do know,
The true pleasing-spirits sights
That may breed true love's delights?
...

The little clock dings the night on the roof.
It hurries towerd the mystery of luck.
I don't know where these things are hidden
what is not behind is silence on the face
of a plaque dividing the barrel from the wall.
They intend to porpose a lower voice to sing a voice higher.
That at night one's life full of bits of wood
is silent is passing between the veins
much paints falls on the world indoors.
You are finished hearing throught a filter

...

We depart and leave only memories behind,
Unending deeds of omission still pursuing,
Names that labor hour will never again find
Hurrying time with activities up and doing.

Sailing on life's solemn line, a forlorn figure
Seeing every opportunity now left behind
Some had run but most was in the future
Fulfilment to come in visions of the mind.


...

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!

Chorus - For auld land syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne,
We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint stowp!
And surely I'll be mine!
And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

Chorus...

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou'd the gowans fine;
But we've wander'd mony a weary fit
Sin' auld lang syne.

Chorus...

We twa hae paidl'd in the burn,
Frae morning sun till dine;
But seas between us briad hae roar'd
Sin' auld lang syne.

Chorus...

...

Here I am in the garden laughing
an old woman with heavy breasts
and a nicely mapped face

how did this happen
well that's who I wanted to be

at last a woman
in the old style sitting
stout thighs apart under

...

Be brave enough to walk away
And don't look back
Be brave to say goodbye
Be brave enough to go your way
Be brave not to tell a lie.

Remember how the whole mess started
It was a beautiful spring day like today
The humming birds were antsy and enchanted
And the squirrels were crossing the freeway.

...