By Andrew Frisardi
PRIMEAt dawn, the shapes of cypresses in fog
Were fingers pointing up from graves, as if what's born…
Were fingers pointing up from graves, as if what's born…
Explore Poems: Holidays
Showing 1-20 of 565 poems
- By Charles ReznikoffIn a world where each man must be of use
and each thing useful, the rebellious Jews
light not one light… - By Charles ReznikoffThe Jewess, Hadassah, takes the name of the moon-goddess, Esther;
her kinsman, Mordecai, whatever his… - By Charles ReznikoffThis was a season of our fathers' joy:
not only when they gathered grapes and the fruit of trees
in Israel… - By Richard BrautiganI saw thousands of pumpkins last night
come floating in on the tide,
bumping up against the rocks and
rolling… - By Felicia Dorothea HemansSee’st thou yon gray gleaming hall,
Where the deep elm-shadows fall?
Voices that have left the earth
… - By Chana BlochOn the holiest day we fast till sundown.
I watch the sun stand still
as the horizon edges toward it. Four… - By Lindsay TurnerSome yellow sunflowers open down the street,
A ladder is open beneath someone’s apple tree.
Beneath … - By William Butler YeatsMidnight has come and the great Christ Church bellAnd many a lesser bell sound through the room;And …
- By Karyna McGlynn& Memphis is out in Full Fang!
Skeletons skip down our pitted streets.
Whole families with matching hobo stipple
roam tragicomically through the sprawling
candy deserts: polka-dot bandanas
on sticks, flapping Chaplinesque shoes.
Unclaimed pumpkins pile high
behind razor wire. The air's thick
with caw & trouble. Our... - By Robert DuncanThis is the way it is. We see
three ages in one: the child Jesus
innocent of Jerusalem and Rome
- magically at home in joy -
that’s the year from which
our inner persistence has its force.
The second, Bergman shows us,
carries forward image after... - By Edwina Attleefrom here
I can see a rave and a jingling bell
an early morning settling around the edges
of the car boot sale and the football match
knocking gently at the sides of the exhibition
soap in the bath
apple in the water butt
the church is... - By Frank Marshall DavisThe thin cool fingers of the wind
Caress your tall loveliness;
The wind kisses
Each shining strand of spun brightness
About your head
Then sends a shimmering waterfall
About the face of you;
I think the summer sun
Would be jealous of your hair,
O Golden Goddess,
Did he not... - By Sharon OldsI love the conversations we have
after making love—of course it’s just me, making
love to myself, talking to you,
loving you—though I do not really
know you, so I guess not loving you—
craving the dream of knowing you.
“When will I be able to... - By Sharon OldsAnother Grand Jury
does not hand
an indictment down (“I Can’t Breathe”), and for a
moment it seems as if I could be dreaming,
the helicopters there in the dream,
the sharp, loud
sounds of the chopping
of the air, the cutting it in thousands of pieces,
fissioning... - By Angela JacksonBefore the doctor told me
I could not leave her,
Not even for fifteen minutes,
Twice a week
I would rumble-race out of that house,
Wind-zip down the street to the el,
Jump on to 87th,
Haul-dash to the gym,
Stomp the treadmill
For forty-five minutes,
Then pull heavy arms
And... - By Dorothea LaskyLipstick is one of the very finest elixirs
It has a soft consistency
And can write on glass
Red rum is sweet
And candied
With cherries from the
Bottom of the bottle
We sip it so gracefully
I am in love again
His name is something
But who can remember
Memory... - By Safia Elhillowhen i think of us i think of the lakewater
near longtown, what might not technically
constitute a lake but i prefer that word for
the open mouth of its vowel, how it called
us to its throat & held us there, in the... - By Charif ShanahanThe open air had the predictable sparkle
After two months not only indoors
But flat on my back, waiting, mostly,
For the neck they kept cutting open to heal
So that when they wheeled me out through double
Doors and the tram passed across my... - By Terrance HayesThe rain falling on a night
in mid-December,
I pull to my father’s engine
wondering how long I’ll remember
this. His car is dead. He connects
jumper cables to his battery,
then to mine without looking in
at me and the child. Water...