Red Riding Hood
On the wide lawn the snow lay deep,
Ridged o’er with many a drifted heap;
The wind that through the pine-trees sung
The naked elm-boughs tossed and swung;
While, through the window, frosty-starred,
Against the sunset purple barred,
We saw the sombre crow flap by,
The hawk’s gray fleck along the sky,
The crested blue-jay flitting swift,
The squirrel poising on the drift,
Erect, alert, his broad gray tail
Set to the north wind like a sail.
It came to pass, our little lass,
With flattened face against the glass,
And eyes in which the tender dew
Of pity shone, stood gazing through
The narrow space her rosy lips
Had melted from the frost’s eclipse:
“Oh, see,” she cried, “the poor blue-jays!
What is it that the black crow says?
The squirrel lifts his little legs
Because he has no hands, and begs;
He’s asking for my nuts, I know;
May I not feed them on the snow?”
Half lost within her boots, her head
Warm-sheltered in her hood of red,
Her plaid skirt close about her drawn,
She floundered down the wintry lawn;
Now struggling through the misty veil
Blown round her by the shrieking gale;
Now sinking in a drift so low
Her scarlet hood could scarcely show
Its dash of color on the snow.
She dropped for bird and beast forlorn
Her little store of nuts and corn,
And thus her timid guests bespoke:
“Come, squirrel, from your hollow oak,—
Come, black old crow,—come, poor blue-jay,
Before your supper’s blown away!
Don’t be afraid, we all are good;
And I’m mamma’s Red Riding-Hood!”
O Thou whose care is over all,
Who heedest even the sparrow’s fall,
Keep in the little maiden’s breast
The pity which is now its guest!
Let not her cultured years make less
The childhood charm of tenderness,
But let her feel as well as know,
Nor harder with her polish grow!
Unmoved by sentimental grief
That wails along some printed leaf,
But prompt with kindly word and deed
To own the claims of all who need,
Let the grown woman’s self make good
The promise of Red Riding-Hood!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Squirrel Said
The Squirrel said.
'Attention all! '
He stands tall.
On a wooden fence,
in suspense.
Their Squirrel Head,
Their squirrel said,
'My nuts are gone,
My nuts are gone! '
Did you check under your bed?
Another squirrel joking said,
'Of course I did! ' the squirrel said,
'I am the Squirrel head'.
Maybe you forgot you've ate,
Autumn now, it's not too late,
Just look for more, Squirrel Head,
An elderly wise squirrel said.
Red Riding-Hood
Sweet little myth of the nursery story--
Earliest love of mine infantile breast,
Be something tangible, bloom in thy glory
Into existence, as thou art addressed!
Hasten! appear to me, guileless and good--
Thou are so dear to me, Red Riding-Hood!
Azure-blue eyes, in a marvel of wonder,
Over the dawn of a blush breaking out;
Sensitive nose, with a little smile under
Trying to hide in a blossoming pout--
Couldn't be serious, try as you would,
Little mysterious Red Riding-Hood!
Hah! little girl, it is desolate, lonely,
Out in this gloomy old forest of Life!--
Here are not pansies and buttercups only--
Brambles and briers as keen as a knife;
And a Heart, ravenous, trails in the wood
For the meal have he must,--Red Riding-Hood!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jack Frost & The Hooded Crow
Through long december nights we talk in words of rain or snow
While you, through chattering teeth, reply and curse us as you go.
Why not spare a thought this day for those who have no flame
To warm their bones at christmas time?
Say jack frost and the hooded crow.
Now as the last broad oak leaf falls, we beg: consider this ---
Theres some who have no coin to save for turkey, wine or gifts.
No childrens laughter round the fire, no family left to know.
So lend a warm and a helping hand ---
Say jack frost and the hooded crow.
As holly pricks and ivy clings,
Your fate is none too clear.
The lord may find you wanting, let your good fortune disappear.
All homely comforts blown away and all thats left to show
Is to share your joy at christmas time
With jack frost and the hooded crow.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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SONG On: Animal Love
There lived a girl called Lovina,
Whose animal-love was great;
Tall, she was and so much lean, ah!
She sang songs for a treat.
She had a sister, with whom she fought,
Right from her child-hood days!
Both were aged, a year’s diff’rence;
And so they fight-her mother says.
She did her home-work, in a short time,
Dreamt while her mother cooks!
In argument, she was so good,
And loved to read animal-books.
Once there fell down, a small Squirrel,
As she stood ‘neath a Mango-tree;
She laid it gently in a box,
The Squirrel-babe was no more free!
She fed the Squirrel, fruit and nut,
And lullabied it to a sleep;
The baby Squirrel loved her much,
Their friendship grew so deep.
She sang to it and fondled it,
And talked to it whenever free;
She kept it cosy, neat and clean;
Her holidays, went off in glee!
One day, the Squirrel fell so ill;
Perhaps, it thought of its mother!
So, you must set the Squirrel free;
Her doctor-uncle advised her.
With Squirrel ill, her heart turned sad,
Poor Lovina, could not sleep well;
For long, she kept awake and cried;
Was the Squirrel ill ‘cause it fell?
The poor girl prayed, all night and day;
She prayed to God to make it well;
And wished, she could become a fay!
Her life now seemed to look like hell!
She kissed her Squirrel, one more time;
Her Uncle let it up a tree;
The Squirrel squeaked and wagged its tail;
And jumped with joy, away, afree!
Lovina too now wept with joy;
Her pet-Squirrel seemed quite alright!
Her heart leapt like the Squirrel, Boy!
Her Uncle’s words were quite correct.
But Lovina missed her Squirrel;
She visited the Mango-tree;
She hopes to meet her pet some day,
Her friend, never turned up to see!
Ye love your God through animals!
Ye love thy sister first, then else;
Man hath a soul, animals don’t,
“Love thy neighbour, ”the Poet tells!
specially dedicated to my neice Rubina, an animal-lover herself, a true incident in her life!
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black Crow
Theres a crow flying
Black and ragged
Tree to tree
Hes black as the highway thats leading me
Now hes diving down
To pick up on something shiny
I feel like that black crow
Flying
In a blue sky
I took a ferry to the highway
Then I drove to a pontoon plane
I took a plane to a taxi
And a taxi to a train
Ive been traveling so long
Howm I ever going to know my home
When I see it again
Im like a black crow flying
In a blue, blue sky
In search of love and music
My whole life has been
Illumination
Corruption
And diving, diving, diving, diving.
Diving down to pick up on every shiny thing
Just like that black crow flying
In a blue sky
I looked at the morning
After being up all night
I looked at my haggard face in the bathroom light
I looked out the window
And I saw that ragged soul take flight
I saw a back crow flying
In a blue sky
Oh Im like a black crow flying
In a blue sky
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Li'l Red Riding Hood
[howls]
Who's that I see walkin' in these woods?
Why it's Little Red Ridin' Hood
Hey there Little Red Riding Hood
You sure are lookin' good
You're everything a big bad wolf would want
Listen to me [howl]
Little Red Ridin' Hood
I don't think even big girls should
Go walkin' in these spooky old woods alone
[howls]
What big eyes you have
The kind of eyes that drive wolves mad
So, just to see that you don't get chased
I think I ought to walk with you for a way
What full lips you have
They're sure to lure someone bad
So, untill you get to grandma's place
I think you ought to walk, with me and be safe
I'm gonna keep my sheep suit on
Till I'm sure that you've been shown
That I can be trusted walkin' with you alone
[howls]
Little Red Ridin' Hood
I'd like to hold you if I could
But you might think I'm a big bad wolf, so I won't
[howls]
What a big heart I have
The better to love you with
Little Red Ridin' Hood
Even bad wolves can be good
I'll try to be satisfied
Just to walk close by your side
Maybe you'll see things my way
Before we get to grandma's place
Little Red Ridin' Hood
You sure are lookin' good
You're everything a big bad wolf could want
[howls]
(Baaa)
song performed by by Bowling For Soup
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Crow
He sees the stormy anger of the world
And wants no part of it at all
And as the weeping leaves of autumn curl
He feels the savage winter call
See far below the dust of conflict settles on the hill
Where there was no escape before
And as he spreads his wings and soars up to another level
He brings the icy prophecies of war
Black crow, black crow, tell me where you really go
When you fly into the sunset, high in evening sky,
Black crow, black crow, tell me what you really know
Will we flourish in this hurricane, or will we fall and die?
While children lose their souls and so much more
To ragged armies of the field
A vicious fanfare cries appeasing hungry savages
To trigger that their fate is surely sealed
I wonder where that black crow sleeps as day beckons the night
Or if he even sleeps at all
I wonder what he thinks of all the human traffic far below
Thats struggled on the road so, so long
Tell me black crow, black crow (solely? ) you pass above
Understanding everything but you know nothing at all
Black crow black crow, tell me what you really know
Do you understand the pain that we feel down here at all
song performed by by Jamiroquai
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Squirrel
Here I am, I’m the squirrel!
I store nuts in a hole,
Before it gets too cold.
I scurry from tree to tree,
Collecting all the nuts that be.
I put them in holes near and far,
So that I forget where many are!
Look up at me and I’ll give you some cheek,
Then run up a branch without a creak.
Some probably think I am a nut,
Burying like I have no head, but;
God made me,
And that is just who I will be.
See me here, see me there,
I’m everywhere!
I’m the squirrel!
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ingerid Sletten
Ingerid Sletten of Sillejord
Neither gold nor silver did own,
But a little hood of gay wool alone,
Her mother had given of yore.
A little hood of gay wool alone,
With no braid nor lining, was here;
But parent love made it ever dear,
And brighter than gold it shone.
She kept the hood twenty years just so:
"Be it spotless," softly she cried,
"Until I shall wear it once as bride,
When I to the altar go."
She kept the hood thirty years just so:
"Be it spotless," softly she cried,
"Then wear it I will, a gladsome bride,
When it to our Lord I show."
She kept the hood forty years just so,
With her mother ever in mind.
"Little hood, be with me to this resigned,
That ne'er to the altar we'll go."
She steps to the chest where the hood has lain,
And seeks it with swelling heart;
She guides her hand to its place apart,--
But never a thread did remain.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Waiting For the Snow
Waiting for the Snow
When the leaves turn golden
And the geese fly south
Where will I be?
When the wind turns cold
And the bear is in hiding
Where will I be?
When the streams are frozen
And the rabbits’ color turning
Where will I be?
When the leaves begin to fall
And the northern cardinals stay
Where will I be?
When the nuts fall down
And squirrels store walnuts
Where will I be?
When the corn is harvested
And the deer seek shelter
Where will I be?
When the grass is brown
And the pheasants are flying
Where will I be?
I will be riding before the wind
And winging t’ward the sun
Flying from the snow
I will be waiting for spring
And sleeping till then
Hiding from the snow
I will be hiding till I’m white
And searching the ground for food
Waiting for the snow
I will be looking for berries
And singing merrily
Waiting for the snow
I will be saving acorns
And jumping form tree to tree
Waiting for the snow
I will be searching fields for corn
And hiding in thickets
Waiting for the snow
I will be hiding under grass
And calling out loud
Waiting for the snow
In The Snow
in the snow i walk looking at everything coated in beautiful white
thoughts run through my head so many i cannot count
as i watch the snow fall i realize that its as beautiful as life itself
as i watch the snow fall i think of her and how i wish she could be beside me to see what i see just one last time
i cant help but wonder if she thought of me
in the snow there is something in the air i know i feel it so nice
there is something about the snow and the air that makes me think of you
as i get where i want to go
and step inside
snowflakes fall gentally off my hood
as i pound my feet the snow falls off and i become warm
the snow and ice that clazes me melts and falls
i know i will have to walk in the snow again
poem by Sandy Vanity
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blue Mesa
Blue Mesa
Land of the Sioux and Crow
Blue Mesa
No matter where I go
You will always be
Home, sweet, home to me
Blue Mesa.
Moonlight shines as
Purple shadows fall
Silence broken by the lonesome
Cototes call on:
Blue Mesa
Land of the Sioux and Crow
Blue Mesa
No matter where I go
You will always be
Home, sweet, home to me
Blue Mesa.
Herds of buffalo
Graze peacefully
I can almost hear
Those black hills callin' me to:
Blue Mesa
Land of the Sioux and Crow
Blue Mesa
No matter where I go
You will always be
Home, sweet, home to me
Blue Mesa.
Ridin' high above the prairie floor
With every passin' day
I swear I love you more:
Blue Mesa
Land of the Sioux and Crow
Blue Mesa
No matter where I go
You will always be
Home, sweet, home to me
Blue Mesa.
Blue Mesa
Land of the Sioux and Crow
Blue Mesa
No matter where I go
You will always be
Home, sweet, home to me
Blue Mesa.
You will always be
Home, sweet, home to me
Blue Mesa...
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Drifting
drift like a leaf
carried by the flow of the river
drift like a feather
riding on the current of the wind
drift like a vagabond
on the alleys of the foreign land
drift like boat
without its rudder and engine
drift like a space craft
deep into the black hole of this universe
there is this feeling
of letting go and saying yes and not wanting to know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Three Little Pigs
The animal I really dig,
Above all others is the pig.
Pigs are noble. Pigs are clever,
Pigs are courteous. However,
Now and then, to break this rule,
One meets a pig who is a fool.
What, for example, would you say,
If strolling through the woods one day,
Right there in front of you you saw
A pig who'd built his house of STRAW?
The Wolf who saw it licked his lips,
And said, 'That pig has had his chips.'
'Little pig, little pig, let me come in!'
'No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!'
'Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!'
The little pig began to pray,
But Wolfie blew his house away.
He shouted, 'Bacon, pork and ham!
Oh, what a lucky Wolf I am!'
And though he ate the pig quite fast,
He carefully kept the tail till last.
Wolf wandered on, a trifle bloated.
Surprise, surprise, for soon he noted
Another little house for pigs,
And this one had been built of TWIGS!
'Little pig, little pig, let me come in!'
'No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!'
'Then I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!'
The Wolf said, 'Okay, here we go!'
He then began to blow and blow.
The little pig began to squeal.
He cried, 'Oh Wolf, you've had one meal!
Why can't we talk and make a deal?
The Wolf replied, 'Not on your nelly!'
And soon the pig was in his belly.
'Two juicy little pigs!' Wolf cried,
'But still I'm not quite satisfied!
I know how full my tummy's bulging,
But oh, how I adore indulging.'
So creeping quietly as a mouse,
The Wolf approached another house,
A house which also had inside
A little piggy trying to hide.
'You'll not get me!' the Piggy cried.
'I'll blow you down!' the Wolf replied.
'You'll need,' Pig said, 'a lot of puff,
And I don't think you've got enough.'
Wolf huffed and puffed and blew and blew.
The house stayed up as good as new.
'If I can't blow it down,' Wolf said,
I'll have to blow it up instead.
I'll come back in the dead of night
And blow it up with dynamite!'
Pig cried, 'You brute! I might have known!'
Then, picking up the telephone,
He dialed as quickly as he could
The number of red Riding Hood.
'Hello,' she said. 'Who's speaking? Who?
Oh, hello, Piggy, how d'you do?'
Pig cried, 'I need your help, Miss Hood!
Oh help me, please! D'you think you could?'
'I'll try of course,' Miss Hood replied.
'What's on your mind...?' 'A Wolf!' Pig cried.
'I know you've dealt with wolves before,
And now I've got one at my door!'
'My darling Pig,' she said, 'my sweet,
That's something really up my street.
I've just begun to wash my hair.
But when it's dry, I'll be right there.'
A short while later, through the wood,
Came striding brave Miss Riding Hood.
The Wolf stood there, his eyes ablaze,
And yellowish, like mayonnaise.
His teeth were sharp, his gums were raw,
And spit was dripping from his jaw.
Once more the maiden's eyelid flickers.
She draws the pistol from her knickers.
Once more she hits the vital spot,
And kills him with a single shot.
Pig, peeping through the window, stood
And yelled, 'Well done, Miss Riding Hood!'
Ah, Piglet, you must never trust
Young ladies from the upper crust.
For now, Miss Riding Hood, one notes,
Not only has two wolfskin coats,
But when she goes from place to place,
She has a PIGSKIN TRAVELING CASE.
poem by Roald Dahl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf
As soon as Wolf began to feel
That he would like a decent meal,
He went and knocked on Grandma's door.
When Grandma opened it, she saw
The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin,
And Wolfie said, 'May I come in?'
Poor Grandmamma was terrified,
'He's going to eat me up!' she cried.
And she was absolutely right.
He ate her up in one big bite.
But Grandmamma was small and tough,
And Wolfie wailed, 'That's not enough!
I haven't yet begun to feel
That I have had a decent meal!'
He ran around the kitchen yelping,
'I've got to have a second helping!'
Then added with a frightful leer,
'I'm therefore going to wait right here
Till Little Miss Red Riding Hood
Comes home from walking in the wood.'
He quickly put on Grandma's clothes,
(Of course he hadn't eaten those).
He dressed himself in coat and hat.
He put on shoes, and after that,
He even brushed and curled his hair,
Then sat himself in Grandma's chair.
In came the little girl in red.
She stopped. She stared. And then she said,
'What great big ears you have, Grandma.'
'All the better to hear you with,'
the Wolf replied.
'What great big eyes you have, Grandma.'
said Little Red Riding Hood.
'All the better to see you with,'
the Wolf replied.
He sat there watching her and smiled.
He thought, I'm going to eat this child.
Compared with her old Grandmamma,
She's going to taste like caviar.
Then Little Red Riding Hood said, '
But Grandma, what a lovely great big
furry coat you have on.'
'That's wrong!' cried Wolf.
'Have you forgot
To tell me what BIG TEETH I've got?
Ah well, no matter what you say,
I'm going to eat you anyway.'
The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers.
She whips a pistol from her knickers.
She aims it at the creature's head,
And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead.
A few weeks later, in the wood,
I came across Miss Riding Hood.
But what a change! No cloak of red,
No silly hood upon her head.
She said, 'Hello, and do please note
My lovely furry wolfskin coat.'
poem by Roald Dahl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Early Occult Memory Systems Of The Lower Midwest
In his fifth year the son, deep in the backseat
of his father's Ford and the mysterium
of time, holds time in memory with words,
night, this night, on the way to a stalled rig south
of Kiowa Creek where the plains wind stacks
the skeletons of weeds on barbed-wire fences
and rattles the battered DeKalb sign to make
the child think of time in its passing, of death.
Cattle stare at flat-bed haulers gunning clumps
of black smoke and lugging damaged drill pipe
up the gullied, mud-hollowed road. Road, this
road. Roustabouts shouting from the crow's nest
float like Ascension angels on a ring of lights.
Chokecherries gouge the purpled sky, cloud-
swags running the moon under, and starlight
rains across the Ford's blue hood. Blue, this blue.
Later, where black flies haunt the mud tank,
the boy walks along the pipe rack dragging
a stick across the hollow ends to make a kind
of music, and the creek throbs with frog songs,
locusts, the rasp of tree limbs blown and scattered.
The great horse people, his father, these sounds,
these shapes saved from time's dark creek as the car
moves across the moving earth: world, this world.
poem by B.H. Fairchild
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Purple Stain
To finger paint is not a sin
I put my middle finger in
Your monthly blood is what I win
I'm in your house now let me spin
Python power straight from Monty
Celluloid loves got a John Frusciante
Spread your head and spread the blanket
She's too free and I'm the patient
Black and white a red and blue
Things that look good on you
And if I scream don't let me go
A purple stain - I know
Knock on wood we all stay good
'Cause we all live in Hollywood
With Dracula and Darla Hood
Unspoken words were understood
Up to my ass in alligators
Let's get it on with the alligator haters
Did what you did - did what you said
What's the point yo what's the spread
Black and white a red and blue
Things that look good on you
And if I scream don't let me go
A purple stain - I know
And if I call for you to stay
Come hit the funk on your way
It's way out there but I don't care
'Cause this is where - I go
Knock on wood we all stay good
'Cause we all live in Hollywood
With Dracula and Darla Hood
Unspoken words were understood
It's way out there
But I don't care
'Cause this is what
I want to wear
Knock on wood we all stay good
'Cause we all live in Hollywood
To finger paint is not a sin
I put my middle finger in
Your monthly blood is what I win
I'm in your house now let me spin
Feather light but you can't move this
Farley is an angel and I can prove this
Purple is a stain upon my pillow
Let's Sleep weeping willow
Black and white a red and blue
Things that look good on you
And if I scream don't let me go
A purple stain - I know
And if I call for you to stay
Come hit the funk on your way
It's way out there but I don't care
'Cause this is where - I go
Knock on wood we all stay good
'Cause we all live in Hollywood
With Dracula and Darla Hood
Unspoken words were understood
It's way out there
But I don't care
'Cause this is what
I want to wear
Knock on wood we all stay good
'Cause we all live in Hollywood
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers from Californication
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Intaglio - Frank Denz
In the roar of the storm, in the wild bitter voice of the tempest-whipped sea,
The cry of my darling, my child, comes ever and ever to me;
And I stand where the haggard-faced wood stares down on a sinister shore,
But all that is left is the hood of the babe I can cherish no more.
A little blue hood, with the shawl of the girl that I took for my wife
In a happy old season, is all that remains of the light of my life;
The wail of a woman in pain, and the sob of a smothering bird,
They come through the darkness again —
in the wind and the rain they are heard.
Oh, women and men who have known the perils of weather and wave,
It is sad that my sweet ones are blown under sea without shelter of grave;
I sob like a child in the night, when the gale on the waters is loud —
My darlings went down in my sight, with neither a coffin nor shroud.
In the whistle of wind, and the whirl of ominous fragments of wreck,
The wife, with her poor little girl, saw death on the lee of the deck;
But, sirs, she depended on me — she trusted my comforting word;
She is down in the depths of the sea — my love, with her beautiful bird.
In the boat I was ordered to go — I was not more afraid than the rest,
But a husband will falter, you know, with the love of his life at his breast;
My captain was angry a space, but soon he grew tender in tone —
Perhaps there had flashed by his face a wife and a child of his own.
I was weak for some moments, and cried; but only one hope was in life;
The hood upon baby I tied — I fastened the shawl on my wife.
The skipper took charge of the child — he stuck to his word till the last;
But only this hood on the wild, bitter shore of the sea had been cast.
In the place of a coward, who shook like a leaf in the quivering boat,
A seat by the rowlocks I took; but the sea had me soon by the throat,
The surge gripped me fast by the neck — in a ring, and a roll, and a roar,
I was cast like a piece of the wreck, on a bleak, beaten, shelterless shore.
And there were my darlings on board for the rest of that terrible day,
And I watched and I prayed to the Lord, as never before I could pray.
The windy hills stared at the black, heavy clouds coming over the wave;
My girl was expecting me back, but where was my power to save?
Ah! where was my power, when Death was glaring at me from the reef?
I cried till I gasped for my breath, aloof with a maddening grief.
We couldn’t get back to the deck: I wanted to go, but the sea
Dashed over the sides of the wreck, and carried my darling from me.
Oh, girl that I took by the hand to the altar two summers ago,
I would you were buried on land — my dear, it would comfort me so!
I would you were sleeping where grows the grass and the musical reed!
For how can you find a repose in the toss of the tangle and weed?
The night sped along, and I strained to the shadow and saw to the end
My captain and bird — he remained to the death a superlative friend:
In the face of the hurricane wild, he clung with the babe to the mast;
To the last he was true to my child — he was true to my child to the last.
The wind, like a life without home, comes mocking at door and at pane
In the time of the cry of the foam — in the season of thunder and rain,
And, dreaming, I start in the bed, and feel for my little one’s brow —
But lost is the beautiful head; the cradle is tenantless now!
My home was all morning and glow when wife and her baby were there,
But, ah! it is saddened, you know, by dresses my girl used to wear.
I cannot re-enter the door; its threshold can never be crossed,
For fear I should see on the floor the shoes of the child I have lost.
There were three of us once in the world; but two are deep down in the sea,
Where waif and where tangle are hurled — the two that were portions of me;
They are far from me now, but I hear, when hushed are the night and the tide,
The voice of my little one near — the step of my wife by my side.
poem by Henry Kendall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Exile
These hills are sandy. Trees are dwarfed here. Crows
Caw dismally in skies of an arid brilliance,
Complain in dusty pine-trees. Yellow daybreak
Lights on the long brown slopes a frost-like dew,
Dew as heavy as rain; the rabbit tracks
Show sharply in it, as they might in snow.
But it’s soon gone in the sun — what good does it do?
The houses, on the slope, or among brown trees,
Are grey and shrivelled. And the men who live here
Are small and withered, spider-like, with large eyes.
Bring water with you if you come to live here —
Cold tinkling cisterns, or else wells so deep
That one looks down to Ganges or Himalayas.
Yes, and bring mountains with you, white, moon-bearing,
Mountains of ice. You will have need of these
Profundities and peaks of wet and cold.
Bring also, in a cage of wire or osier,
Birds of a golden colour, who will sing
Of leaves that do not wither, watery fruits
That heavily hang on long melodious boughs
In the blue-silver forests of deep valleys.
I have now been here — how many years? Years unnumbered.
My hands grow clawlike. My eyes are large and starved.
I brought no bird with me, I have no cistern
Where I might find the moon, or river, or snow.
Some day, for lack of these, I’ll spin a web
Between two dusty pine-tree tops, and hang there
Face downward, like a spider, blown as lightly
As ghost of leaf. Crows will caw about me.
Morning and evening I shall drink the dew.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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I Witness A Raven
When the moonlight fractures the patterned frost,
in fragments chiseled into the glass,
shattering and refracting its battery
of light, in silent solace through my window,
I witness a raven through eyes
thick and glazed with sleep.
The night hermit probes his feast
of carrion, picking at entrails, a solitary
meal devoured beneath the round moon’s
undaunted glare, refracting the criss-cross
claw marks on the crust.
The boughs and branches
are furred with frost, casting their shadows
upon dunes of snow. He lifts his hollow
wings, a rancid clump of meat in his beak,
and springs upon a limb, scattering
the snow that’s sprinkled there;
the moon wears a ring
of diffused blue, foretelling snow in the morning,
replenishing the chill in the wind.
The stars that cut the blue-black sky sing
like crystals, but are dulled to wet parchment.
The hesitant dawn is inching its hazy throat
toward the horizon, and the raven, a lone witness
to the dying night. The black pearls of his eyes
shine with a cold luster, untouched
by the palls of weather,
toughened by the glint of his harsh feather.
poem by Caroline Misner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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