Poems

He has no problembelieving angelstravel the highwaybetween Providence and heaven.The pastor told himand the man never lies.Besides, what are the stars forif not to light the way? He’s the perfect child,his mother says.Not that good at schoolworkbut he sings in the choir.And does his choreseven if he can’t multiplyand divide so well.He obeys the rulesgoverning TV timewithout … [Read more...] about The Good Child, By: John Grey

Feel for the wrongs to universal kenDaily exposed, woe that unshrouded lies;And seek the Sufferer in his darkest den,Whether conducted to the spot by sighsAnd moanings, or he dwells (as if the wrenTaught him concealment) hidden from all eyesIn silence and the awful modestiesOf sorrow; feel for all, as brother Men!Rest not in hope want's icy chain to thawBy casual boons and … [Read more...] about Miscellaneous Sonnets, 1842 – III – Feel For The Wrongs To Universal Ken, By: William Wordsworth

I suppose I first knew about it whenYou and I (so inseparable)Became separate then.When the light of romance began to diminishAnd my mind wandered now and again. So, when I failed to remember a dateYou had stamped on your heart,Send a bouquet too late,You sent scores of subtle reminders for days;Empty bed and a mouth full of hate. I knew then that I should have … [Read more...] about John’s Revenge, By: Paul White

The most alluring clouds that mount the skyOwe to a troubled element their forms,Their hues to sunset. If with raptured eyeWe watch their splendour, shall we covet storms,And wish the Lord of day his slow declineWould hasten, that such pomp may float on high?Behold, already they forget to shine,Dissolve and leave, to him who gazed, a sigh.Not loth to thank each moment for its … [Read more...] about Miscellaneous Sonnets, 1842 – II – The Most Alluring Clouds That Mount The Sky, By: William Wordsworth

'A poet'! He hath put his heart to school,Nor dares to move unpropped upon the staffWhich Art hath lodged within his hand must laughBy precept only, and shed tears by rule.Thy Art be Nature; the live current quaff,And let the groveler sip his stagnant pool,In fear that else, when Critics grave and coolHave killed him, Scorn should write his epitaph.How does the Meadow-flower … [Read more...] about Miscellaneous Sonnets, 1842 – I – ‘A Poet’! He Hath Put His Heart To School, By: William Wordsworth