There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good,
She was very good indeed,
But when she was bad she was horrid.
“There was a little girl” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [w/ Audio]
2
Category Archives: poem
Old Wasp Nest [Haiku]
old wasp nest:
looks like the whole hive
hulked its way out.
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Jolt [Senryū]
on a narrow ridge,
covered with fine dust,
my foot slips. I’m awake!
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“Earthly Anecdote” by Wallace Stevens [w/ Audio]
Every time the bucks went clattering
Over Oklahoma
A firecat bristled in the way.
Wherever they went,
They went clattering,
Until they swerved,
In a swift, circular line,
To the right,
Because of the firecat.
Or until they swerved,
In a swift, circular line,
To the left,
Because of the firecat.
The bucks clattered.
The firecat went leaping,
To the right, to the left,
And
Bristled in the way.
Later, the firecat closed his bright eyes
And slept.
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The Brave One [Haiku]
one hundred birds
startle at my presence;
one eyeballs me.
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“Placid” [Poetry Style #2] by Sikong Tu [w/ Audio]
It thrives in silence and with calm --
ephemeral and gossamer.
It's ever-flowing harmony,
gliding with a solitary crane,
wisping like the gentle breezes
that rustle and billow one's robe,
trilling softly like a bamboo flute.
How does one become one with it?
A chance meeting, lucked into, but
don't lunge forward, or it'll vanish.
When you think it's attainable,
it twists in your hand and is gone.
NOTE: The late Tang Dynasty poet, Sikong Tu (a.k.a. Ssŭ-k‘ung T‘u,) wrote an ars poetica entitled Twenty-Four Styles of Poetry. It presents twenty-four poems that are each in a different tone, reflecting varied concepts from Taoist philosophy and aesthetics. Above is a translation of the second of the twenty-four poems.
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Embarrassment of Riches [Haiku]
early summer:
birds trudge through green paddies
that they usually prowl.
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One River [Free Verse]
From the water's edge,
I see the spastic, choppy
topography of a river
that looked glassy
from the bridge that
spans it.
Is this one river?
Am I one traveler?
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“Meeting at Night” by Robert Browning [w/ Audio]
I
The grey sea and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startled little waves that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed i' the slushy sand.
II
Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross till a farm appears;
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, thro' its joys and fears,
Than the two hearts beating each to each!
Tiger Riding for Beginners 