Your Favorite Poems

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Poem: "Morning Swim," by Maxine Kumin from Selected Poems 1960-1990 (Norton).
Morning Swim
Into my empty head there come
a cotton beach, a dock wherefrom
I set out, oily and nude
through mist, in chilly solitude.
There was no line, no roof or floor
to tell the water from the air.
Night fog thick as terry cloth
closed me in its fuzzy growth.
I hung my bathrobe on two pegs.
I took the lake between my legs.
Invaded and invader, I
went overhand on that flat sky.
Fish twitched beneath me, quick and tame.
In their green zone they sang my name
and in the rhythm of the swim
I hummed a two-four-time slow hymn.
I hummed "Abide With Me." The beat
rose in the fine thrash of my feet,
rose in the bubbles I put out
slantwise, trailing through my mouth.
My bones drank water; water fell
through all my doors. I was the well
that fed the lake that met my sea
in which I sang "Abide With Me."

[ProfPacker]

Love Poem to a Butch Woman
BY DEBORAH A. MIRANDA
This is how it is with me:
so strong, I want to draw the egg
from your womb and nourish it in my own.
I want to mother your child made only
of us, of me, you: no borrowed seed
from any man. I want to re-fashion
the matrix of creation, make a human being
from the human love that passes between
our bodies. Sweetheart, this is how it is:
when you emerge from the bedroom
in a clean cotton shirt, sleeves pushed back
over forearms, scented with cologne
from an amber bottle—I want to open
my heart, the brightest aching slit
of my soul, receive your pearl.
I watch your hands, wait for the sign
that means you’ll touch me,
open me, fill me; wait for that moment
when your desire leaps inside me.

[ProfPacker]

Hold Back

Stinging my brain like a million sharp needles
Under my skin’s confines
You rise up against me
Full and warm with dripping wet desires
I fight the urges back
To just take you now
Ripping against the mental confines
To tear you apart
I hold back every ounce
Until I cannot take it any longer
Bent, twisted thoughts
Must I take you with force and lash
Swift crushing blows
Like waves crashing on rocky shores
Deafened ears can only hear
One whimper from far below…

[ProfPacker]

New Age
via Linebreak by J. P. Dancing Bear on 3/22/11
As surely as architects fall in love
with angles and lines I come to you

adjusting my buttons and lapel fascinated
by the hover of your dress

as though you floated into the room
a jellyfish a single bulb

She's not on the same field of play
they'd all whispered to me

yet I lean forward closer to you
and away from my secured counsel

As you speak whole cities blossom
within my chest a new age

out of the slow bone and flesh existence
and here ideas are rivering through

As surely as highways pulse between
major metropolises sex is a subtext

I imagine sliding down each ravine
and ripple within your dress

the touch of your hand changes
an avenue of traffic lights to green lust

With you I dream of new equations
how y might multiply with x

a new proof effervescing beneath our
formalities I don't care who's watching

I come to you wanting to build structures
together not to gaze dumbly into your eyes

[ProfPacker]

poet Robert Frost#2 on top 500 poetsPoet's PagePoemsCommentsStatsE-BooksBiographyQuotationsShare on FacebookShare on Twitter
Poems by Robert Frost : 114 / 138 « The PastureThe Rose Family »
The Road Not Taken




Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost

[ProfPacker]

By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea;
But we loved with a love that was more than love-
I and my Annabel Lee;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsman came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
Went envying her and me-
Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we-
Of many far wiser than we-
And neither the angels in heaven above,
Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,
In the sepulchre there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
Edgar Allan Poe

[ProfPacker]

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say,
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honey bees.
I say,
It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say,
It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman

Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need of my care,
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
Maya Angelou

[Fancy]

Mary Oliver ~ The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

[Talon]

On the Eve of 1947
by Walter Benton



With four and some years lost playing war . . . cancel another.
Cross out a year of seasons, of nights and mornings___
a wasted year
of radio and movie evenings . . . Sundays of pointless solitaire.

And this . . . the richest of our expectant time,
with youth enough still to be strong and years just right to be
wiser than we really are___

and never a greater need for the therapy of love.

We built a house and locked ourselves out.
We kindled a fire and sought chance firesides for warmth.
We lighted a lamp then followed jack-o'-latern in the night.

I wonder . . . some late day, when all your world
has shrunk into a pinch of dust between a miser's fingers____

will remembering comfort you, my dear ?

[Soon]

Originally Posted by Fancy

Mary Oliver ~ The Journey

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice--
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
"Mend my life!"
each voice cried.
But you didn't stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do--
determined to save
the only life you could save.

I taught this poem this year. Love it. Thank you for reminding me how wonderful it is!

[ProfPacker]

In 1943 Althea was a welder
very dark
very butch
and very proud
loved to cook, sew, and drive a car
and did not care who knew she kept company with a woman
who met her every day after work
in a tight dress and high heels
light-skinned and high-cheekboned
who loved to shoot, fish, play poker
and did not give a damn who knew her ‘man’ was a woman.

Althea was gay and strong in 1945
and could sing a good song
from underneath her welder’s mask
and did not care who heard her sing her song to a woman

Flaxie was careful and faithful
mindful of her Southern upbringing
watchful of her tutored grace
long as they treated her like a lady
she did not give a damn who called her a ‘bulldagger.’

In 1950 Althea wore suits and ties
Flaxie’s favorite colors were pink and blue
People openly challenged their flamboyance
but neither cared a fig who thought them ‘queer’ or ‘funny.’

When the girls bragged over break of their sundry loves
Flaxie blithely told them her old lady Althea took her dancing
every weekend
and did not give a damn who knew she clung to a woman.

When the boys on her shift complained of their wives,
Althea boasted how smart her ‘stuff’ Flaxie was
and did not care who knew she loved the mind of a woman.

In 1955 when Flaxie got pregnant
and Althea lost her job
Flaxie got herself on relief
and did not care how many caseworkers
threatened midnight raids.

Althea was set up and sent to jail
for writing numbers in 1958.
Flaxie visited her every week with gifts
and hungered openly for her thru the bars
and did not give a damn who knew she waited for a woman.

When her mother died in 1968 in New Orleans
Flaxie demanded that Althea walk beside her at the funeral procession
and did not care how many aunts and uncles knew she slept with a woman.

When she died in 1970
Flaxie’s fought Althea’s proper family not to have her laid out in lace
and dressed the body herself
and did not care who knew she’d made her way with a woman.

by Cheryl Clarke

[ProfPacker]

Want

She wants a house full of cups and the ghosts
of last century's lesbians;p I want a spotless
apartment, a fast computer.p She wants a woodstove,
three cords of ash, an axe;p I want
a clean gas flame.p She wants a row of jars:
oats, coriander, thick green oil;
I want nothing to store.p She wants pomianders,
linens, baby quilts, scrapbooks.p She wants Wellesley
reunions.p I want gleaming floorboards, the river's
reflection.p She wants shrimp and sweat and salt;
she wants chocolate.p I want a raku bowl,
steam rising from rice.p She wants goats,
chickens, children.p Feeding and weeping.p I want
wind from the river freshening cleared rooms.
She wants birthdays, theaters, flags, peonies.
I want words like lasers.p She wants a mother's
tenderness.p Touch ancient as the river.
I want a woman's wit swift as a fox.
She's in her city, meeting
her deadline; I'm in my mill village out late
with the dog, listening to the pinging wind bells thinking
of the twelve years of wanting, apart and together.
We've kissed all weekend; we want
to drive the hundred miles and try it again.


From COLD RIVER (Painted Leaf Press, 1997)

[ProfPacker]

Excerpts - My Lover is a Woman
Night On The Town

When I step into my red silk panties and swivel into
the matching strapless bra my butch bought me for Valentine's Day

When I slide on my black mesh stockings with toes pointed,
sitting on the edge of the bed like some Hollywood movie queen

When I shimmy into my spandex dress that sparkles and turns
over the tops of my thighs like a disco ball over a snappy crowd

When I puff on my pink clouds of blush, brush my eyelashes
long and lush, smear my lips and nails richer than ruby red

When I step into my sky high heels, snap on some shiny earrings
and slip seventeen silver bracelets halfway up my arm

When I dab my shoulders and neck, earlobes and wrists,
cleavage and thighs with thick, musky perfume

When I curl my hair into ringlets that dip over one eye
and bounce off my shoulder like a Clairol girl gone wild

When I turn from the mirror, pick up my purse
and announce to my butch that I'm ready to go

When I see her kick the door shut, hear her
declare, "We're not going anywhere, tonight"

When I whine and say, "But we never go out,"
following her back to the bedroom, my lips in a pout

When I give in and let her have her way
with me pretending that wasn't my plan all along

©1996 Lesléa Newman

[Talon]

Samurai Song
By Robert Pinsky




When I had no roof I made
Audacity my roof.
When I had no supper
My eyes dined.

When I had no eyes I listened.
When I had no ears I thought.
When I had no thought I waited.


When I had no father I made
Care my father.
When I had no mother I embraced order.

When I had no friend I made
Quiet my friend. When I had no enemy
I opposed my body.

When I had no temple I made
My voice my temple. I have
no priest, my tongue is my choir.

When I've had no means
Fortune is my means. When I have
Nothing, death will be my fortune.

Need is my tactic, detachment
Is my strategy. When I had
No lover I courted my sleep.

[Fancy]

Christmas Bells

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime,
A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
And with the sound
The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
And made forlorn
The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
“There is no peace on earth,” I said:
“For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men!”

[Talon]

On Thought in Harness
By Edna St. Vincent Millay



My falcon to my wrist
Returns
From no high air.
I sent her towards the sun that burns
Above the mist,
But she has not been there.

Her talons are not cold, her beak
Is closed upon no wonder,
Her head stinks of its hood, her feathers reek
Of me, that quake at the thunder.

Degraded bird, I give you back your eyes forever, ascend now
whither you are tossed,
Forsake this wrist, forsake this rhyme,
Soar, eat ether, see what has never been seen,
depart, be lost,
But climb.

[Fancy]

Still I Rise - Maya Angelou


You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

Maya Angelou

[EnchantedNightDweller]

Wiliam Wordsworth - Daffodills

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

[Cailin]

My favorite writers will always be Poe, Dickenson, and Lovecraft

My favorite poem is anonymous, tho

Early late one night,
2 dead boys got up to fight
Back to back
They faced each other
Drew their swords and shot one another
The deaf policeman heard the noise
And came to arrest the 2 dead boys
If you dont think this story to be true
Ask the blind man
He saw it too

Theres a slightly longer version out there, but this is the one we learned in school. The only
Poem ive ever memorized

[Talon]

The Sea~

by Tu Yun-Hsieh




Because you are infinitely deep and immense
The melancholic dark blue, a bit mysterious,
Has become your natural complexion.

As night descends, the scattered fishing lights
Vanish from the horizon: the sorrow, filling your bosom,
Condenses into loneliness, hard and black as coal.

The stars in heaven and the lighthouses on shore perhaps
Will comfort you, but you only feel this is too much ado.
Thus you turn to lean on the beaches and sigh, still more
silent.

Only the sun and moon can make you glitter,
Can make your inexhaustible gold, silver, and
jewels.

As light breezes plume your pride with crested glory.

When the buffeting wind excites you,
You roll and roar in frenzy, waving back and forth
The white blossoms plucked from your heart.

But all these are only for an instant.
The permanent is the infinite silence
And that immense, melancholic dark blue.

Sometimes you reach into a delicate bay or lake
Where there are turf, cattle, and youthful laughter,
But it only makes you realize that this is not your world.