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In The Bayou

Lazy and slow, through the snags and trees
Move the sluggish currents, half asleep;
Around and between the cypress knees,
Like black, slow snakes the dark tides creep-

Don Marquis
Mowgli’s Song


The Song of Mowgli-I, Mowgli, am singing. Let
the jungle listen to the things I have done.

Rudyard Kipling
A Stone For A Heart

The Broken and The Hurt
Walking in the pavements
The whole body shakin'
Eyes in undecided movements

Demetrius White
Beauty Of Nature

A captivating sight,
Makes you forget your plight,

Salma Hatim
Is The Night Shift The Right Shield?

Is the night shift,
The right shield,
To be aware
and be away,

Francis Ngwenya
The Old Pond

Following are several translations
of the 'Old Pond' poem, which may be
the most famous of all haiku:


Matsuo Basho
Tortoise Shout

I thought he was dumb, said he was dumb,
Yet I've heard him cry.
First faint scream,
Out of life's unfathomable dawn,

D. H. Lawrence
The Ballad Of Blasphemous Bill

I took a contract to bury the body of blasphemous Bill MacKie,
Whenever, wherever or whatsoever the manner of death he die-
Whether he die in the light o' day or under the peak-faced moon;
In cabin or dance-hall, camp or dive, mucklucks or patent shoon;

Robert Service
A Dialogue Of Self And Soul

My Soul. I summon to the winding ancient stair;
Set all your mind upon the steep ascent,
Upon the broken, crumbling battlement,
Upon the breathless starlit air,

William Butler Yeats
Summer Images

Now swarthy Summer, by rude health embrowned,
Precedence takes of rosy fingered Spring;
And laughing Joy, with wild flowers prank'd, and crown'd,
A wild and giddy thing,

John Clare
Summer Evening

The frog half fearful jumps across the path,
And little mouse that leaves its hole at eve
Nimbles with timid dread beneath the swath;
My rustling steps awhile their joys deceive,

John Clare
A Dedication

They are rhymes rudely strung with intent less
Of sound than of words,
In lands where bright blossoms are scentless,
And songless bright birds;

Adam Lindsay Gordon
Loving And Liking - Irregular Verses - Addressed To A Child (by My Sister)

There's more in words than I can teach:
Yet listen, Child! I would not preach;
But only give some plain directions
To guide your speech and your affections.

William Wordsworth
Mogg Megone - Part Iii.

Ah! weary Priest! - with pale hands pressed
On thy throbbing brow of pain,
Baffled in thy life-long quest,
Overworn with toiling vain,

John Greenleaf Whittier
Before The Rain

BEFORE the rain, low in the obscure east,
Weak and morose the moon hung, sickly gray;
Around its disc the storm mists, cracked and creased,
Wove an enormous web, wherein it lay

Madison Julius Cawein
Johnnie's First Moose

De cloud is hide de moon, but dere's plain-
tee light above,
Steady Johnnie, steady-kip your head down

William Henry Drummond
Frog And Toad

Hopping frog, hop here and be seen,
I'll not pelt you with stick or stone:
Your cap is laced and your coat is green;
Good bye, we'll let each other alone.

Christina Rossetti
A Dedication To The Author Of Holmby House

They are rhymes rudely strung with intent less
Of sound than of words,
In lands where bright blossoms are scentless,
And songless bright birds;

Adam Lindsay Gordon
Ba Vi

The clouds are always there
ringing three peaks
busy with lightning &
thunder grumbling-

S. K. Kelen
Growing Up

Little Tommy Tadpole began to weep and wail,
For little Tommy Tadpole had lost his little tail;
And his mother didn't know him as he wept upon a log,
For he wasn't Tommy Tadpole, but Mr. Thomas Frog.

Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
The Bath

Hang garlands on the bathroom door;
Let all the passages be spruce;
For, lo, the victim comes once more,
And, ah, he struggles like the deuce!

R. C. Lehmann

Once on a time did Eucritus and I
(With us Amyntas) to the riverside
Steal from the city. For Lycopeus' sons
Were that day busy with the harvest-home,

Jon Corelis Theocritus
To The Miami

Kiss me, Miami, thou most constant one!
I love thee more for that thou changest not.
When Winter comes with frigid blast,
Or when the blithesome Spring is past

Paul Laurence Dunbar
Upon The Frog

The frog by nature is both damp and cold,
Her mouth is large, her belly much will hold;
She sits somewhat ascending, loves to be
Croaking in gardens, though unpleasantly.

John Bunyan

He sat among the woods, he heard
The sylvan merriment: he saw
The pranks of butterfly and bird,
The humours of the ape, the daw.

Andrew Lang

City acclaimed from far-off days
Fair, and baptized in field of flowers,
Once more I scan, with eager gaze,
Your soaring domes, your storied towers.

Alfred Austin
The Vicar

SOME years ago, ere time and taste
Had turnĂ¢??d our parish topsy-turvy,
When Darnel Park was Darnel Waste,
And roads as little known as scurvy,

Winthrop Mackworth Praed
Old Pardon, The Son Of Reprieve

You never heard tell of the story?
Well, now, I can hardly believe!
Never heard of the honour and glory
Of Pardon, the son of Reprieve?

Banjo Paterson
The Lonesome Little Shoe

The clock was in ill humor; so was the vase. It was all on account of the little shoe that had been placed on the mantel-piece that day, and had done nothing but sigh dolorously all the afternoon and evening.

"Look you here, neighbor," quoth the clock, in petulant tones, "you are sadly mistaken if you think you will be permitted to disturb our peace and harmony with your constant sighs and groans. If you are ill, pray let us know; otherwise, have done with your manifestations of distress."


Eugene Field
The Boy Next Door

There's a boy who lives next door;
And this boy is just as bad
As a boy can be; and poor!
He's so poor it makes me sad

Madison Julius Cawein
The Carver

See, as the carver carves a rose,
A wing, a toad, a serpent's eye,
In cruel granite, to disclose
The soft things that in hardness lie,

Conrad Potter Aiken
A Grief Ago

A grief ago,
She who was who I hold, the fats and the flower,
Or, water-lammed, from the scythe-sided thorn,
Hell wind and sea,

Dylan Thomas
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

B H Fairchild
Recollections After An Evening Walk.

Just as the even-bell rang, we set out
To wander the fields and the meadows about;
And the first thing we mark'd that was lovely to view,
Was the sun hung on nothing, just bidding adieu:

John Clare

Pale season, watcher in unvexed suspense,
Still priestess of the patient middle day,
Betwixt wild March's humored petulance
And the warm wooing of green kirtled May,

Archibald Lampman
Captain Craig Ii

Yet that ride had an end, as all rides have;
And the days coming after took the road
That all days take,-though never one of them
Went by but I got some good thought of it

Edwin Arlington Robinson
The Bonfires

We know the Rocket's upward whizz;
We know the Boom before the Bust.
We know the whistling Wail which is
The Stick returning to the Dust.

Rudyard Kipling
The Singing-woman From The Wood’s Edge

What should I be but a prophet and a liar,
Whose mother was a leprechaun, whose father was a friar?
Teethed on a crucifix and cradled under water,
What should I be but the fiend's god-daughter?

Edna St. Vincent Millay
The Blue Scarf

Pale, with the blue of high zeniths, shimmered over with silver, brocaded
In smooth, running patterns, a soft stuff, with dark knotted fringes,
it lies there,
Warm from a woman's soft shoulders, and my fingers close on it, caressing.

Amy Lowell
Frog Autumn

Summer grows old, cold-blooded mother.
The insects are scant, skinny.
In these palustral homes we only
Croak and wither.

Sylvia Plath
I Ask You

What scene would I want to be enveloped in
more than this one,
an ordinary night at the kitchen table,
floral wallpaper pressing in,

Billy Collins
My Mother


Reg wished me to go with him to the field,
I paused because I did not want to go;

Claude Mckay
A Thought Or Two On Reading Pomfret’s “choice”

I have been reading Pomfret's “Choice” this spring,
A pretty kind of-sort of-kind of thing,
Not much a verse, and poem none at all,
Yet, as they say, extremely natural.

James Henry Leigh Hunt
The Frog

Contemptuous of his home beyond
The village and the village pond,
A large-souled Frog who spurned each byeway,
Hopped along the imperial highway.

Christina Rossetti
Face Lift

You bring me good news from the clinic,
Whipping off your silk scarf, exhibiting the tight white
Mummy-cloths, smiling: I'm all right.
When I was nine, a lime-green anesthetist

Sylvia Plath

This war's a waste of slurry, and its at-
mosphere is mud,
All is bog from here to sunset. Wadin'

Edward George Dyson
The Death Of Captain Ward

'Twas about the beginning of the past century
Billy Bowls was pressed into the British Navy,
And conveyed on board the "Waterwitch" without delay,
Scarce getting time to bid farewell to the villagers of Fairway.

William Topaz Mcgonagall
Dyke Side

The frog croaks loud, and maidens dare not pass
But fear the noisome toad and shun the grass;
And on the sunny banks they dare not go
Where hissing snakes run to the flood below.

John Clare

Who knows the heart of the Christian? How does he reason?
What are his measures and balances? Which is his season
For laughter, forbearance or bloodshed, and what devils move him
When he arises to smite us? I do not love him.

Rudyard Kipling