Recently Added
A Red, Red Rose
Comin Thro’ The Rye
1951
Autobiographia Literaria
A Quiet Poem
Morning
Lines For The Fortune Cookies
Poets
Charles Bukowski
The History Of One Tough Motherfucker
he came to the door one night wet thin beaten and terrorized a white cross-eyed tailless cat I took him in and fed him and
The Shower
we like to shower afterwards (I like the water hotter than she) and her face is always soft and peaceful and she’ll wash me first
So You Want To Be A Writer
if it doesn’t come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don’t do it. unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your
Yes Yes
when God created love he didn’t help most when God created dogs He didn’t help dogs when God created plants that was average when God
Edgar Allan Poe
Ulalume
The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crispéd and sere— The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in
To The River
Fair river! in thy bright, clear flow Of crystal, wandering water, Thou art an emblem of the glow Of beauty- the unhidden heart- The playful
To The Lake
In spring of youth it was my lot To haunt of the wide world a spot The which I could not love the less- So
To One In Paradise
Thou wast all that to me, love, For which my soul did pine- A green isle in the sea, love, A fountain and a shrine,
Rabindranath Tagore
Where The Mind Is Without Fear
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high Where knowledge is free Where the world has not been broken up into
When Day Is Done
If the day is done, if birds sing no more, if the wind has flagged tired, then draw the veil of darkness thick upon me,
Waiting
The song I came to sing remains unsung to this day. I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument. The time
Vocation
When the gong sounds ten in the morning and I walk to school by our lane. Every day I meet the hawker crying, “Bangles, crystal
Rumi
The Ship Sunk In Love
Should Love’s heart rejoice unless I burn? For my heart is Love’s dwelling. If You will burn Your house, burn it, Love! Who will say,
The Interest Without The Capital
The lover’s food is the love of the bread; no bread need be at hand: no one who is sincere in his love is a
Stay Close, My Heart
Stay close, my heart, to the one who knows your ways; Come into the shade of the tree that allays has fresh flowers. Don’t stroll
Love is The Master
Love is the One who masters all things; I am mastered totally by Love. By my passion of love for Love I have ground sweet
William Butler Yeats
Summer And Spring
We sat under an old thorn-tree And talked away the night, Told all that had been said or done Since first we saw the light,
The Ballad Of Father Gilligan
The old priest Peter Gilligan Was weary night and day For half his flock were in their beds Or under green sods lay. Once, while
The Empty Cup
A crazy man that found a cup, When all but dead of thirst, Hardly dared to wet his mouth Imagining, moon-accursed, That another mouthful And
The Death Of The Hare
I have pointed out the yelling pack, The hare leap to the wood, And when I pass a compliment Rejoice as lover should At the
Dylan Thomas
Ballad Of The Long-Legged Bait
The bows glided down, and the coast Blackened with birds took a last look At his thrashing hair and whale-blue eye; The trodden town rang
Elegy
Too proud to die; broken and blind he died The darkest way, and did not turn away, A cold kind man brave in his narrow
Ears In The Turrets Hear
Ears in the turrets hear Hands grumble on the door, Eyes in the gables see The fingers at the locks. Shall I unbolt or stay
How Shall My Animal
How shall my animal Whose wizard shape I trace in the cavernous skull, Vessel of abscesses and exultation’s shell, Endure burial under the spelling wall,
Sylvia Plath
A Red, Red Rose
O my Luve’s like a red, red rose That’s newly sprung in June: O my Luve’s like the melodie That’s sweetly play’d in tune! As
Comin Thro’ The Rye
O, Jenny’s a’ weet, poor body, Jenny’s seldom dry: She draigl’t a’ her petticoatie, Comin thro’ the rye! Comin thro’ the rye, poor body, Comin
1951
Alone at night in the wet city the country’s wit is not memorable. The wind has blown all the trees down but these anxieties remain
Autobiographia Literaria
When I was a child I played by myself in a corner of the schoolyard all alone. I hated dolls and I hated games, animals
T. S. Eliot
Whispers Of Immortality
Webster was much possessed by death And saw the skull beneath the skin; And breastless creatures under ground Leaned backward with a lipless grin. Daffodil
To Walter de la Mare
The children who explored the brook and found A desert island with a sandy cove (A hiding place, but very dangerous ground, For here the
The Waste Land
Part 1 – Burial of the Dead April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull
The Song Of The Jellicles
Jellicle Cats come out tonight, Jellicle Cats come one come all: The Jellicle Moon is shining bright— Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball. Jellicle Cats