PolyArchive

Po prostu Julia Hartwig Na wszystko przyjdzie pora Ale nie przyjdzie czas wskrzeszenia pierwszych nadziei i pierwszych miłości ani utrwalenia w słowach tego co przebiega ci przez głowę jak wiatr i bywa przeczuciem jakiejś ważnej prawdy lecz umyka tak szybko jakoby swawoliło Przychodzi jednak nieodwołalnie pora kiedy po kolei tracić zaczynasz wszystko co kochałeś i […]

Sonnet XXV by George Santayana As in the midst of battle there is room For thoughts of love, and in foul sin for mirth; As gossips whisper of a trinket’s worth Spied by the death-bed’s flickering candle-gloom; As in the crevices of Caesar’s tomb The sweet herbs flourish on a little earth: So in this […]

The Letter by Dana Gioia         And in the end, all that is really left Is a feeling—strong and unavoidable— That somehow we deserved something better. That somewhere along the line things Got fouled up. And that letter from whoever’s In charge, which certainly would have set Everything straight between us and […]

Lines Lost among Trees Billy Collins   These are not the lines that came to me while walking in the woods with no pen and nothing to write on anyway. They are gone forever, a handful of coins dropped through the grate of memory, along with the ingenious mnemonic I devised to hold them in […]

Man Carrying Thing Wallace Stevens The poem must resist the intelligence Almost successfully. Illustration: A brune figure in winter evening resists Identity. The thing he carries resists The most necessitous sense. Accept them, then, As secondary (parts not quite perceived Of the obvious whole, uncertain particles Of the certain solid, the primary free from doubt, […]

  Twigs –Taha Muhammad Ali Neither music, fame, nor wealth, not even poetry itself, could provide consolation for life’s brevity, or the fact that King Lear is a mere eighty pages long and comes to an end, and for the thought that one might suffer greatly on account of a rebellious child. My love for […]

Happiness by Jane Kenyon There’s just no accounting for happiness, or the way it turns up like a prodigal who comes back to the dust at your feet having squandered a fortune far away. And how can you not forgive? You make a feast in honor of what was lost, and take from its place […]

The Harvest Bow By Seamus Heaney As you plaited the harvest bow You implicated the mellowed silence in you In wheat that does not rust But brightens as it tightens twist by twist Into a knowable corona, A throwaway love-knot of straw. Hands that aged round ashplants and cane sticks And lapped the spurs on […]

The Underground Seamus Heaney There we were in the vaulted tunnel running, You in your going-away coat speeding ahead And me, me then like a fleet god gaining Behind you before you turned to a reed Or some new white flower japped with crimson As the coat flapped wild and button after button Sprang off […]

Digging Seamus Heaney Between my finger and my thumb The squat pen rests; snug as a gun. Under my window, a clean rasping sound When the spade sinks into gravelly ground: My father, digging. I look down Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds Bends low, comes up twenty years away Stooping in rhythm through […]