For My Poems, Written So Early
For my poems, written so early
That I didn't even know I was a poet,
Hurled like drops from a fountain,
Like sparks from rockets,
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Marina Ivanovna Tsvetaeva
To The Whore Who Took My Poems
some say we should keep personal remorse from the
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
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Charles Bukowski
As The Poems Go
As the poems go into the thousands you
realize that you've created very
it comes down to the rain, the sunlight,
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Charles Bukowski
See the fur coats go by!
The morning is like the inside of a snow-apple.
I will curl myself cushion-shape
On the window-seat;
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Hilda Conkling
Modern Poetry
How I hate those modern Poems
Vaguer, looser than a dream!
Pointless things that look like poems
Only, to some held-back theme!
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Charles Harpur
Judson Stoddard
On a mountain top above the clouds
That streamed like a sea below me
I said that peak is the thought of Buddha,
And that one is the prayer of Jesus,
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Edgar Lee Masters
The Planet On The Table
Ariel was glad he had written his poems.
They were of a remembered time
Or of something seen that he liked.

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Wallace Stevens
The Spring
(After Rilke)

Spring has returned! Everything has returned!
The earth, just like a schoolgirl, memorizes
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Delmore Schwartz
The Indications
THE indications, and tally of time;
Perfect sanity shows the master among philosophs;
Time, always without flaw, indicates itself in parts;
What always indicates the poet, is the crowd of the pleasant company
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Walt Whitman
Revolt In The Ranks
I have just spent one-hour-and-a-half
handicapping tomorrow's
when am I going to get at the poems?
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Charles Bukowski
Io! Io! Tamuz!
The Dryad staiids in my court-yard
With plaintive, querulous crying.
(Tamuz. Io! Tamuz!)
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Ezra Pound
Her—”last Poems”

Her-”last Poems”-
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Emily Dickinson
Poems are holy things. Eternal Truth,
Borrowing the robes of song and lovely grown,
In them her glory unto man proclaims
And fills his longing soul. They softly speak
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Freeman E. Miller
This Is It : Spoken Word Poem
Am no longer that kid,that bro,
No longer that pro,whom you expect to blow,No longer that man in the mirror,
I rife with symbolism,
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Samuel Miyienda
The Cover of the Book
The cover of the book
is astral violet,
& within it
are poems,
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Erica Jong
Her&Mdash;"Last Poems"

Her—"last Poems"—
Poets—ended—Silver—perished—with her Tongue—
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Emily Dickinson
Open Stage Poetry Reading
After the one that sings, and after the one
that can make up poems of a kind right on the spot;
after a girl who didn't . . . walk very well,
took five minutes to get from her seat to the stage
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Eric Torgersen
There is a chimp named Ai who can count to five.
There's a poet named Ai whose selected poems Vice
just won the National Book Award.
The name 'Ai' is pronounced 'I'
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Denise Duhamel
The Truce Between The Sexes
For a long time unhappy
with my man,
I blamed men,
blamed marriage, blamed
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Erica Jong
THEY shall arise in the States,
They shall report Nature, laws, physiology, and happiness;
They shall illustrate Democracy and the kosmos;
They shall be alimentive, amative, perceptive;
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Walt Whitman

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