The Fog by William H Davies

The Fog
by William H Davies


I saw the fog grow thick,
Which soon made blind my ken;
It made tall men of boys,
And giants of tall men.

It clutched my throat, I coughed;
Nothing was in my head
Except two heavy eyes
Like balls of burning lead.

And when it grew so black
That I could know no place,
I lost all judgment then,
Of distance and of space.

The street lamps, and the lights
Upon the halted cars,
Could either be on earth
Or be the heavenly stars.

A man passed by me close,
I asked my way, he said,
"Come, follow me, my friend"—
I followed where he led.

He rapped the stones in front,
"Trust me," he said, "and come";
I followed like a child—
A blind man led me home.


How sometimes we can lose our way, wonderful metaphor using the fog. A link to read more is here. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/W._H._Davies

Sentimental story by Nichita Stanescu

Sentimental story
by Nichita Stanescu


Then we met more often.
I stood at one side of the hour,
you at the other,
like two handles of an amphora.
Only the words flew between us,
back and forth.
You could almost see their swirling,
and suddenly,
I would lower a knee,
and touch my elbow to the ground
to look at the grass, bent
by the falling of some word,
as though by the paw of a lion in flight.
The words spun between us,
back and forth,
and the more I loved you, the more
they continued, this whirl almost seen,
the structure of matter, the beginnings of things.


Awesome poem on the power and love of words. A link to learn more about this poet is here. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nichita_Stănescu

A Celebration of Charis: I. His Excuse for Loving

BY BEN JONSON

Let it not your wonder move,

Less your laughter, that I love.

Though I now write fifty years,

I have had, and have, my peers;

Poets, though divine, are men,

Some have lov'd as old again.

And it is not always face,

Clothes, or fortune, gives the grace;

Or the feature, or the youth.

But the language and the truth,

With the ardour and the passion,

Gives the lover weight and fashion.

If you then will read the story,

First prepare you to be sorry

That you never knew till now

Either whom to love or how;

But be glad, as soon with me,

When you know that this is she

Of whose beauty it was sung;

She shall make the old man young,

Keep the middle age at stay,

And let nothing high decay,

Till she be the reason why

All the world for love may die.

Great old poem on love and aging. A link to learn more is here. 

http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/jonson/

Wish by Henri de Regnier

Wish 
by Henri de Regnier


I'd like to show your eyes the plains
And a forest green and ruddy,
Far off and soft
Under clear skies on the horizon,
Or some hills
With lovely slopes
So changing and supple and misty,
Seeming to melt in the sweetness of the air,
Either hills
Or forest.
I'd like
For you to hear
Strong, vast, deep, and tender,
The great dull voice of the sea
That moans
Like Love;
And once in a while
Right next to you,
In the interval,
I'd like you to hear
Right next to you
A dove
In the silence
Both soft and weak
Like Love a trifle in the shadows,
I'd like you to hear
The gushing of a spring
For your hands I'd like some flowers,
And for your steps
I'd like a little path, grassy and sandy
Going up a bit and coming down,
Turning and seeming
To approach the limits of silence.
A very little sandy path
Where your steps would leave faint marks,
Our steps
Together.


I think this is a sweet, beautiful poem. A link to read more is here. http://allpoetry.com/Henri_de_Regnier

Like Snow by Robert Graves

Like Snow
by Robert Graves


She, then, like snow in a dark night,
Fell secretly. And the world waked
With dazzling of the drowsy eye,
So that some muttered 'Too much light',
And drew the curtains close.
Like snow, warmer than fingers feared,
And to soil friendly;
Holding the histories of the night
In yet unmelted tracks.


I ran across this one today and loved it. A link to learn more is here.http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/robert-graves

The Gossips by Theodore Roethke

The Gossips
by Theodore Roethke

The vulturine necks stretch out; the mean eyes bunch,
Float over hedges, witch-like, branch after branch,
Droop down from grimy windows; lust to lynch;

Or narrow to a dark reptilian stare,
Glide, poison-fanged, from bridge tea to the store.
The victim walks, his curdled spine aware.

Whatever could this bumbling man have done
That these cold venomous eyes should merge as one,
Freeze and transfix him like an evil sun?

Written around 1943 but just as relevant today. To read more 
I've included a link. http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/theodore-roethke

Of the last verses in the book by Edmund Waller

Of the Last Verses in the Book

BY EDMUND WALLER

When we for age could neither read nor write,

The subject made us able to indite.

The soul, with nobler resolutions deckt,

The body stooping, does herself erect:

No mortal parts are requisite to raise

Her, that unbodied can her Maker praise.

The seas are quiet, when the winds give o’er,

So calm are we, when passions are no more:

For then we know how vain it was to boast

Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost.

Clouds of affection from our younger eyes

Conceal that emptiness, which age descries.

The soul’s dark cottage, batter’d and decay’d,

Lets in new light through chinks that time has made;

Stronger by weakness, wiser men become

As they draw near to their eternal home:

Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view,

That stand upon the threshold of the new.

This is a great old poem. I can contemplate this one, I especially like the 13 and 14 lines. A link to read more is here. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edmund_Waller