Author: Unknown
Don't grieve, Mum:
every so often
your house,
like a tree in autumn,
loses its sons.
Watered by your tears,
warmed by your love,
each week, fortnight or
month, like a
spring-kissed elm,
we bud forth
once more.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2010
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Author: Unknown
Despondent, she creaks to and
fro, to and fro, upon the
porch, her bony hands stroking
the tomcat curled in sleep on
her lap. Hours it's been since
he left. Stealing under the
branches, dark with bats, rowing
across the river, its cold
surface flecked with scum, he'll
be in the city while she, creaking
to and fro, to and fro, beholds
the raw red face of dawn.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2010
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Author: Unknown
Yes, the
new garden
is
blossoming.
Flowers, plants and trees
absorb the
fine golden
warmth,
and spread
their varied
hues in
unity.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2010
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Author: Unknown
Outlaws mount the
hillside, their boots
drenched with dew.
Rooks caw, moles
delve. Hunched at
a yew, Robin's aware
it cannot yield
the kind of shaft
to win the heart
of Lady Marian. Etched
with frost, the air
receives his sighs.
His men lay an
easier trap.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2010
About this poem:
This was inspired by my favourite film, "The Adventures of Robin Hood" (1938), starring Errol Flynn as Robin Hood and Olivia de Havilland as Maid Marian. The home in which I live was once known as Sherwood. I'd like to take up archery!
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Author: Unknown
In stone sleeps the cat
dreaming of Oriental
days and nights of fish
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2010
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Author: Unknown
William Blake sets to engraving
illustrating rhymes
Wordsworth recollects the Alps
Shelley tinkles chimes
Coleridge sees in dream a maid
Keats will go to Rome
Byron longs to fight for Greece
first he censures home
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2010
About this poem:
My snapshot of the six great Romantic poets.
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Author: Unknown
In humid gloom
she weaves her doom;
by moon's faint rays,
she spins to lay
her silken trap
of which one snap
will bring to naught
what she has sought:
namely a fly
that has to die
so that it can
perfect her plan.
Flawless her art,
weaving one part
of subtlest doom
in fetid gloom.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2010
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Author: Unknown
i.m. Aunt Marjorie
The day of her funeral it
snowed, the only day of the
year on which there was
snow. The cortege crawled to
the chapel. Afterwards in
the cemetery, we
clustered in groups,
recalling the clusters who
kept watch by her bed. 'A
lovely service so it was,'
people kept saying, and
the snow lay there like
confetti.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2010
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Author: Unknown
From the balcony,
Daniel Fisher,
moon-eyed, lovelorn,
baritoned 'Crawfish,'
his raven hair
slicker than
the shingled shore,
laved with eve's
waves, crisply
lisping. Here and
there fireflies
swayed greenly. Creole
throats echoed, throbbed,
the gloaming hummed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2010
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Author: Unknown
combs the sun's beams through her locks
dapples moonshine on her cheeks
sets brilliant stars upon her wrists
and stings her neck and arms with
musk and, bloodying her lips with gloss,
she steps from her apartment
strutting through the streets on clouds
alluring with coy glances
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2010
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Author: Unknown
Haunting the grass
a butterfly
alights
upon its
rain-bent blades.
Daisies bathe its
tawny wings
in shadow.
Seconds pass.
Then
up and
away it flies,
freckling through the
haze. A
blackbird's voice,
flute-soft, clear,
accompanies its
breeze-borne flight to
other grass blades
and
other flowers.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2010
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Author: Unknown
A chord of wings,
and the barn owl
glides before the
eyes of stars.
Behind the hills
the sun dips its
amber face, sizzles
into the Atlantic.
From his den the
fox pads, longing to
sink his fangs into
a hen's plump neck.
Men carrying shirts
on their sunburnt arms
tramp home to their
wives, plates, beds.
Laid to rest, their
scythes have shorn
acres of golden hair
from the earth's pate.
On to the road, pocked
with stones and cool
with dust, the risen moon
casts men's shadows.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2010
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This is a list of Snowfox9's Poems. Click here for Snowfox9's Poem List
Snowfox9 Poetry (14)