Words That Move

The Return: “She Collected Dictionaries” by Jan Owen

admin — Sun, 20 May 2012 04:33:44 +0000

by Jan Owen

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What Is a Person by Elizabeth Arnold

admin — Sat, 19 May 2012 21:34:57 +0000

Read this poem by Elizabeth Arnold from the May 2012 issue of Poetry magazine.

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The Rain by Robert Creeley

admin — Sat, 19 May 2012 13:04:39 +0000

All night the sound had

come back again,

and again falls

this quiet, persistent rain.

What am I to myself

that must be remembered,

insisted upon

so often? Is it

that never the ease,

even the hardness,

of rain falling

will have for me

something other than this,

something not so insistent—

am I to be locked in this

final uneasiness.

Love, if you love me,

lie next to me.

Be for me, like rain,

the getting out

of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-

lust of intentional indifference.

Be wet

with a decent happiness.

Robert Creeley, “The Rain” from Selected Poems of Robert Creeley. Copyright © 1991 by the Regents of the University of California. Reprinted with the permission of the University of California Press.

Source: Selected Poems of Robert Creeley (University of California Press, 1991)

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Green Rain

admin — Sat, 19 May 2012 07:30:58 +0000

Green Rain by Mary Webb

“Into the scented woods we’ll go
And see the blackthorn swim in snow.
High above, in the budding leaves,
A brooding dove awakes and grieves”…

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Ozymandias By Percy Bysshe Shelley

admin — Sat, 19 May 2012 02:32:56 +0000

By Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Ace by Cally Conan-Davies

admin — Fri, 18 May 2012 23:34:58 +0000

Read this poem by Cally Conan-Davies from the May 2012 issue of Poetry magazine.

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Saturday Market by Charlotte Mew

admin — Fri, 18 May 2012 13:05:37 +0000

Bury your heart in some deep green hollow

Or hide it up in a kind old tree;

Better still, give it the swallow

When she goes over the sea.

In Saturday’s Market there’s eggs a ’plenty

And dead-alive ducks with their legs tied down,

Grey old gaffers and boys of twenty—

Girls and the women of the town—

Pitchers and sugar-sticks, ribbons and laces,

Poises and whips and dicky-birds’ seed,

Silver pieces and smiling faces,

In Saturday Market they’ve all they need.

What were you showing in Saturday Market

That set it grinning from end to end

Girls and gaffers and boys of twenty—?

Cover it close with your shawl, my friend—

Hasten you home with the laugh behind you,

Over the down—, out of sight,

Fasten your door, though no one will find you,

No one will look on a Market night.

See, you, the shawl is wet, take out from under

The red dead thing—. In the white of the moon

On the flags does it stir again? Well, and no wonder!

Best make an end of it; bury it soon.

If there is blood on the hearth who’ll know it?

Or blood on the stairs,

When a murder is over and done why show it?

In Saturday Market nobody cares.

Then lie you straight on your bed for a short, short weeping

And still, for a long, long rest,

There’s never a one in the town so sure of sleeping

As you, in the house on the down with a hole in your breast.

Think no more of the swallow,

Forget, you, the sea,

Never again remember the deep green hollow

Or the top of the kind old tree!

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The Rambler

admin — Fri, 18 May 2012 03:31:32 +0000

The Rambler by Thomas Hardy

“I do not see the hills around,
Nor mark the tints the copses wear;
I do not note the grassy ground
And constellated daisies there”…

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What This Is by Cally Conan-Davies

admin — Fri, 18 May 2012 01:35:19 +0000

Read this poem by Cally Conan-Davies from the May 2012 issue of Poetry magazine.

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Kindness

admin — Fri, 18 May 2012 00:33:41 +0000

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