Poems Rethabile Likes

Insomnia by Linda Pastan Insomnia I remember when my body was a friend. when sleep like a good dog came when summoned. The door to the future had not started to shut, and lying on my back between cold sheets did not feel like a rehearsal. Now what light is left comes up—a stain in the east, and sleep, reluctant as a busy doctor, gives me a little of its time. Poet: Linda Pastan Source: @Inward Bound Poetry Books: @AbeBooks Sleep like a good dog came when summoned Please take a moment to read the guidelines . Use this form...

The Country of Marriage by Wendell Berry The Country of Marriage I. I dream of you walking at night along the streams of the country of my birth, warm blooms and the nightsongs of birds opening around you as you walk. You are holding in your body the dark seed of my sleep. II. This comes after silence. Was it something I said that bound me to you, some mere promise or, worse, the fear of loneliness and death? A man lost in the woods in the dark, I stood still and said nothing. And then there rose in me, like the earth’s empowering brew rising in root and branch, the words of a dream of you I did not know I had dreamed. I was a wanderer who feels the solace of his native land under his feet again and moving in his blood. I went on, blin...

Poverty by Henry Lawson Poverty I hate this grinding poverty, To toil, and pinch, and borrow, And be for ever haunted by The spectre of to-morrow. It breaks the strong heart of a man, It crushes out his spirit, Do what he will, do what he can, However high his merit! I hate the praise that Want has got From preacher and from poet, The cant of those who know it not To blind the men who know it. The greatest curse since man had birth, An everlasting terror: The cause of half the crime on earth, The cause of half the error. Poet: Henry Lawson Source: @Ironbark Resources Books: @AbeBooks The cause of half the crime on earth ...

Digging by Edward Thomas Digging To-day I think Only with scents, —scents dead leaves yield, And bracken, and wild carrot’s seed, And the square mustard field; Odours that rise When the spade wounds the root of tree, Rose, currant, raspberry, or goutweed, Rhubarb or celery; The smoke’s smell, too, Flowing from where a bonfire burns The dead, the waste, the dangerous, And all to sweetness turns. It is enough To smell, to crumble the dark earth, While the robin sings over again Sad songs of Autumn mirth. Poet: Edward Thomas Source: @Herald Scotland Books: @AbeBooks Odours that rise when the spade wounds the root of tree ...

Your Clothes by Judith Kroll Your Clothes Of course they are empty shells, without hope of animation. Of course they are artifacts. Even if my sister and I should wear some, or if we give others away, they will always be your clothes without you, as we will always be your daughters without you. Poet: Judith Kroll Source: @Poetry Foundation Books: @AbeBooks Of course they are empty shells Please take a moment to read the guidelines . Use this form to sign up and receive poems. Check out my latest book "Mbe...

Eve & Adam by Rethabile Masilo Eve & Adam This is a reading of this poem because this poem yearns to be read. ‘Read me’, it says to girls passing with clay-pots on their heads, bangles on wrists. Monica read it to Bill, pausing between lines for this poem to sink in, the way Camilla kissed Charles with her tongue when this poem revealed itself to her. And so this poem is barred from Poems on the Underground. This poem is read by women whose husbands haven fallen to cancer, voices trailing the lines like sound behind light, or mechanical waves chasing photons, or the sound of an aeroplane you can no longer see. Our neighbour kept reciting this poem every day till the moon of her mind moved into her window, and she lay in the arms of a gentleman’...

A Blessing by James Wright A Blessing Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota, Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass. And the eyes of those two Indian ponies Darken with kindness. They have come gladly out of the willows To welcome my friend and me. We step over the barbed wire into the pasture Where they have been grazing all day, alone. They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness That we have come. They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other. There is no loneliness like theirs. At home once more, They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness. I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms, For she has walked over to me And nuzzled my left hand. She is black and white, Her mane falls wi...

If You Must Hide Yourself From Love by Christopher Salerno If You Must Hide Yourself From Love It is important to face the rear of the train as it leaves the republic. Not that all departing is yearning. First love is a factory. We sleep in a bed that had once been a tree. Nothing is forgot. Yet facts, over time, lose their charm, warned a dying Plato. You have to isolate the lies you love. Are we any less photorealistic? I spot in someone's Face- book sonogram a tiny dictum full of syllogisms. One says: all kisses come down to a hole in the skull, toothpaste and gin; therefore your eyes are bull, your mouth is a goal. Poet: Christopher Salerno Source: Poets.org Books: @Abebooks Tooth...

A Cure of Souls by Denise Levertov A Cure of Souls The pastor of grief and dreams guides his flock towards the next field with all his care. He has heard the bell tolling but the sheep are hungry and need the grass, today and every day. Beautiful his patience, his long shadow, the rippling sound of the flock moving along the valley. Poet: Denise Levertov Source: @Voetica Books: @AbeBooks Beautiful his patience, his long shadow Please take a moment to read the guidelines . Use this form to sign up and receive poem...

Stone by Charles Simic Stone Go inside a stone That would be my way. Let somebody else become a dove Or gnash with a tiger’s tooth. I am happy to be a stone. From the outside the stone is a riddle: No one knows how to answer it. Yet within, it must be cool and quiet Even though a cow steps on it full weight, Even though a child throws it in a river; The stone sinks, slow, unperturbed To the river bottom Where the fishes come to knock on it And listen. I have seen sparks fly out When two stones are rubbed, So perhaps it is not dark inside after all; Perhaps there is a moon shining From somewhere, as though behind a hill— Just enough light to make out The strange writings, the star-charts On the inner walls. Poet: C...

Ghosts by Ella Wheeler Wilcox Ghosts There are ghosts in the room. As I sit here alone, from the dark corners there They come out of the gloom, And they stand at my side and they lean on my chair There’s a ghost of a Hope That lighted my days with a fanciful glow, In her hand is the rope That strangled her life out. Hope was slain long ago. But her ghost comes to-night With its skeleton face and expressionless eyes, And it stands in the light, And mocks me, and jeers me with sobs and with sighs. There’s the ghost of a Joy, A frail, fragile thing, and I prized it too much, And the hands that destroy Clasped its close, and it died at the withering touch. There’s the ghost of a Love, Born with joy, reared with hope, died in pain and unrest, But he tow...

The Meaning of Trees by Shivanee Ramlochan The Meaning of Trees Split the trunk of an ancient one. Count the rings like hidden weddings brought to light. Know I’ve been wanting to come to die here, for the longest while. My brown limbs as roots. White men I’ve longed for have walked face-first into the rainforest and misunderstood it so beautifully. Sonnets to the otherness they find dripping from the stems of their long fingers. After I fuck them, will you eat them raw? Trees, I want to die and die in you. No other arms. No other branches coroneting the sky. No other aviaries for corbeau and kiskadee. Kiss me. Before I was awaiting death in the life I hold now, plump and feral as a grass-fed lamb, I was Yours. I planned how I would construct my funerary bower ...