Poems Rethabile Likes

Preludes by T.S. Eliot | Poems Rethabile Likes Preludes by T.S. Eliot I The winter evening settles down With smell of steaks in passageways. Six o'clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty shower wraps The grimy scraps Of withered leaves about your feet And newspapers from vacant lots; The showers beat On broken blinds and chimney-pots, And at the corner of the street A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps. And then the lighting of the lamps. II The morning comes to consciousness Of faint stale smells of beer From the sawdust-trampled street With all its muddy feet that press To early coffee-stands. With the other masquerades That time resumes, One thinks of all the hands That are raising dingy sh...

Excerpted Sequences by Jumoke Verissimo | Poems Rethabile Likes Excerpted Sequences by Jumoke Verissimo 011011011-a remember the first sign of goodbye tiptoed across unfolded and folded we are lost so much now it will not happen again 011011011-b pause something calcified how can the world not end? damn saboteurs causing panic to fight again have they forgotten we haven’t healed? Poet: @JumokeVerissimo Online: @Poems.com Bo...

The Silken Tent by Robert Frost | Poems Rethabile Likes The Silken Tent by Robert Frost She is as in a field a silken tent At midday when a sunny summer breeze Has dried the dew and all its ropes relent, So that in guys it gently sways at ease, And its supporting central cedar pole, That is its pinnacle to heavenward And signifies the sureness of the soul, Seems to owe naught to any single cord, But strictly held by none, is loosely bound By countless silken ties of love and thought To everything on earth the compass round, And only by one's going slightly taut In the capriciousness of summer air Is of the slightest bondage made aware. Poet: @RobertFrost Online: ...

Flying at Night by Ted Kooser | Poems Rethabile Likes Flying at Night by Ted Kooser Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations. Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies like a snowflake falling on water. Below us, some farmer, feeling the chill of that distant death, snaps on his yard light, drawing his sheds and barn back into the little system of his care. All night, the cities, like shimmering novas, tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his. Poet: @TedKooser Online: @CompassionCamp Book(s): @ThriftBooks Guidelines ☼ Archive ☼ Random Poem ☼ Priv...

A Song of Redemption by Geoffrey Philp | Poems Rethabile Likes A Song of Redemption by Geoffrey Philp "No matter where you come from, as long as you're a black man, you're an African." ~Peter Tosh "Brown man, wha de I a defend?" greeted me in the afternoons while I unlaced my cleats after a game of scrimmage—skins versus shirts—when that wizened Wailer beardsman, locksman, Rastaman, Seeco, sweat dripping from hands that had taught Bob percussion, schooled me in the teachings of Marcus. Those were hard lessons when with all the drills I had practiced with my coaches, those years of privileged innocence, I still couldn’t touch the ball when Seeco shielded it with his spindly legs that had trod through the hills of Babylon, and scam...

Mending Wall by Robert Frost | Poems Rethabile Likes Mending Wall by Robert Frost Something there is that doesn’t love a wall, That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it, And spills the upper boulders in the sun; And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. The work of hunters is another thing: I have come after them and made repair Where they have left not one stone on a stone, But they would have the rabbit out of hiding, To please the yelping dogs. The gaps I mean, No one has seen them made or heard them made, But at spring mending-time we find them there. I let my neighbor know beyond the hill; And on a day we meet to walk the line And set the wall between us once again. ...

Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley | Poems Rethabile Likes Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley I met a traveller from an antique land, Who said—"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert… Near them, on the sand, Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown, And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command, Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal, these words appear: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair! Nothing beside remains. Rou...