Round the cape of a sudden came the sea,
And the sun looked over the mountain's rim:
And straight was a path of gold for him,
And the need of a world of men for me.
“Parting at Morning” by Robert Browning [w/ Audio]
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Tag Archives: Lyric
Pigeons [Lyric Poem]
There’s a writhing pile of pigeons —
Not two or a few or a smidgen —
You can raise their clout, and call them doves,
But I’m glad they're not on the wires above.
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Millipede [Lyric Poem]
I saw, crawling out of the weeds,
One quickstepping millipede.
But, going daft, it's bow and stern
Started to clash, and - as each turned -
It tied itself in a knot.
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Wasp [Lyric Poem]
I look straight upward and I see
A wasp nest hanging over me:
By a mere twig it's dangling,
And this, my nerves, is jangling.
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Ostrich [Lyric Poem]
For the Ostrich, I feel quite bad:
The bird's great gift, it never had.
But, a flighted one, I don't wish to see;
I'd hate to have a falling one land on me.
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“Shiloh: A Requiem” by Herman Melville [w/ Audio]
Skimming lightly, wheeling still,
The swallows fly low
Over the field in clouded days,
The forest-field of Shiloh--
Over the field where April rain
Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain
Through the pause of night
That followed the Sunday fight
Around the church of Shiloh--
The church so lone, the log-built one,
That echoed to many a parting groan
And natural prayer
Of dying foemen mingled there--
Foemen at morn, but friends at eve--
Fame or country least their care:
(What like a bullet can undeceive!)
But now they lie low,
While over them the swallows skim,
And all is hushed in Shiloh.
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“Of Glory not a Beam is left” (1685) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]
Of Glory not a Beam is left
But her Eternal House --
The Asterisk is for the Dead,
The Living, for the Stars --
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Giraffe Headbutts [Lyric Poem]
I was warned giraffes like to give headbutts.
I told the man, "You must be nuts!
Even if true, my head 's far too low."
"That's why we built a tower, now up you go!"
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Buffalo [Lyric Poem]
Never punch a Buffalo!
They may seem dim and kind of slow,
But they hold a grudge to the last,
And - besides - you're not exactly fast!
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“The Poets light but Lamps –” (930) by Emily Dickinson [w/ Audio]
The Poets light but Lamps --
Themselves -- go out --
The Wicks they stimulate
If vital Light
Inhere as do the Suns --
Each Age a Lens
Disseminating their
Circumference --
Tiger Riding for Beginners 