Poetry

This page collects poems that I found moving or memorable.

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, And Mourners to and fro Kept treading - treading - till it seemed That Sense was breaking through -

And when they all were seated, A Service, like a Drum - Kept beating - beating - till I thought My mind was going numb -

And then I heard them lift a Box And creak across my Soul With those same Boots of Lead, again, Then Space - began to toll,

As all the Heavens were a Bell, And Being, but an Ear, And I, and Silence, some strange Race, Wrecked, solitary, here -

And then a Plank in Reason, broke, And I dropped down, and down - And hit a World, at every plunge, And Finished knowing - then -

— Emily Dickinson

I waited so long for love

I waited so long for love and suddenly, here it is standing in the garden, hands full of heirlooms hot from the sun.

Soon, we’ll make a supper of them. Salted slabs between slices of bread. Your beard silvers. My hips ripen. The mail piles up.

Phone calls go unanswered. Forgive us. Our mouths are full of tomatoes. We are so busy being small and hungry and alive.

— Joy Sullivan

Pluton

Aştept primăvara: vreau să fiu dus de un pluton suav la primul zid şi împuşcat cu muguri şi când voi muri să-mi înflorească toate rănile, să vină toate albinele la rănile mele şi să mă transporte pe aripi către tărâmul de polen unde merită să ajung cu flori cu tot, cu tristeţe cu tot, cu primăvară cu tot, acum şi-n veacul vecilor.

— Adrian Păunescu

All that is gold does not glitter

All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king.

— J. R. R. Tolkien

I sit beside the fire and think

I sit beside the fire and think of all that I have seen of meadow-flowers and butterflies in summers that have been;

Of yellow leaves and gossamer in autumns that there were, with morning mist and silver sun and wind upon my hair.

I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be when winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see.

For still there are so many things that I have never seen: in every wood in every spring there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago and people who will see a world that I shall never know.

But all the while I sit and think of times there were before, I listen for returning feet and voices at the door.