while I think on thee, dear friend, / All losses are restor d and sorrows end. // When to the sessions of sw

Transcription

1 ng I sought, / And with old woes new wail my dear time s waste: / Then can I drown an eye, unus d to flo recious friends hid in death s dateless night, / And weep afresh love s long since cancell d woe, / And moan nse of many a vanish d sight: / Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, / And heavily from woe to woe The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, / Which I new pay as if not paid before. / But if the while I th ee, dear friend, / All losses are restor d and sorrows end. // When to the sessions of sweet silent though mon up remembrance of things past, / I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, / And with old woes new ear time s waste: / Then can I drown an eye, unus d to flow, / For precious friends hid in death s dateless ni d weep afresh love s long since cancell d woe, / And moan the expense of many a vanish d sight: / Then c e at grievances foregone, / And heavily from woe to woe tell o er / The sad account of fore-bemoaned moa ch I new pay as if not paid before. / But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, / All losses are restor d ws end. //When to the sessions of sweet silent thought / I summon up remembrance of things past, / I ack of many a thing I sought, / And with old woes new wail my dear time s waste: / Then can I drown an d to flow, / For precious friends hid in death s dateless night, / And weep afresh love s long since canc / And moan the expense of many a vanish d sight: / Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, / And hea woe to woe tell o er / The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, / Which I new pay as if not paid before. / while I think on thee, dear friend, / All losses are restor d and sorrows end. //When to the sessions of sw t thought / I summon up remembrance of things past, / I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, / And w oes new wail my dear time s waste: / Then can I drown an eye, unus d to flow, / For precious friends hi h s dateless night, / And weep afresh love s long since cancell d woe, / And moan the expense of many a vani : / Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, / And heavily from woe to woe tell o er / The sad account of f oaned moan, / Which I new pay as if not paid before. / But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, / All lo estor d and sorrows end. //When to the sessions of sweet silent thought / I summon up remembrance of th / I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, / And with old woes new wail my dear time s waste: / Then c n an eye, unus d to flow, / For precious friends hid in death s dateless night, / And weep afresh love s long s ell d woe, / And moan the expense of many a vanish d sight: / Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, / A ily from woe to woe tell o er / The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, / Which I new pay as if not p re. / But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, / All losses are restor d and sorrows end. //When to ons of sweet silent thought / I summon up remembrance of things past, / I sigh the lack of many a thi ht, / And with old woes new wail my dear time s waste: / Then can I drown an eye, unus d to flow, / For prec ds hid in death s dateless 7 night, may / And weep afresh 2015 love s long since cancell d woe, / And moan the expens y a vanish d sight: / Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, / And heavily from woe to woe tell o er / The unt of fore-bemoaned moan, / Which I new pay as if not paid before. / But if the while I think on thee, d d, / All losses are restor d and sorrows end. //When to the sessions of sweet silent thought / I summon mbrance of things past, / I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, / And with old woes new wail my dear ti e: / Then can I drown an eye, unus d to flow, / For precious friends hid in death s dateless night, / And w h love s long since cancell d woe, / And moan the expense of many a vanish d sight: / Then can I griev ances foregone, / And heavily from woe to woe tell o er / The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, / Whi pay as if not paid before. / But Pocket if the while I think on thee, Poems dear friend, / All losses are restor d and sorrows e en to the sessions of sweet silent thought / I summon up remembrance of things past, / I sigh the lack of m ng I sought, / And with old Love woes new this wail my poem? dear time s waste: Pass / Then it on can I drown an eye, unus d to flo recious friends hid in death s dateless night, / And weep afresh love s long since cancell d woe, / And moan nse of many a vanish d sight: poetryireland.eigseeireann / Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, / And heavily from woe to woe The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, / Which I new pay as if not paid before. / But if the while I th ee, dear friend, / All losses #PoetryDayIrl are restor d and sorrows / //When to the sessions of sweet silent though mon up remembrance of things past, / I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, / And with old woes new ear time s waste: / Then can I drown an eye, unus d to flow, / For precious friends hid in death s dateless ni d weep afresh love s long since cancell d woe, / And moan the expense of many a vanish d sight: / Then c e at grievances foregone, / And heavily from woe to woe tell o er / The sad account of fore-bemoaned moa ch I new pay as if not paid before. / But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, / All losses are restor d ws end. //When to the sessions of sweet silent thought / I summon up remembrance of things past, / I ack of many a thing I sought, / And with old woes new wail my dear time s waste: / Then can I drown an d to flow, / For precious friends hid in death s dateless night, / And weep afresh love s long since canc / And moan the expense of many a vanish d sight: / Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, / And hea woe to woe tell o er / The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, / Which I new pay as if not paid before. / while I think on thee, dear friend, / All losses are restor d and sorrows end. // When to the sessions of sw t thought / I summon up remembrance of things past, / I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, / And w oes new wail my dear time s waste: / Then can I drown an eye, unus d to flow, / For precious friends hi h s dateless night, / And weep afresh love s long since cancell d woe, / And moan the expense of many a vani : / Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, / And heavily from woe to woe tell o er / The sad account of f oaned moan, / Which I new pay as if not paid before. / But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, / All lo estor d and sorrows end. // When to the sessions of sweet silent thought / I summon up remembrance of th / I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, / And with old woes new wail my dear time s waste: / Then c n an eye, unus d to flow, / For precious friends hid in death s dateless night, / And weep afresh love s long s ell d woe, / And moan the expense of many a vanish d sight: / Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, / A ily from woe to woe tell o er / The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, / Which I new pay as if not p re. / But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, / All losses are restor d and sorrows end. // When to ons of sweet silent thought / I summon up remembrance of things past, / I sigh the lack of many a thi ht, / And with old woes new wail my dear time s waste: / Then can I drown an eye, unus d to flow, / For prec ds hid in death s dateless night, / And weep afresh love s long since cancell d woe, / And moan the expens

2 Sonnet XXX When to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time s waste: Then can I drown an eye, unus d to flow, For precious friends hid in death s dateless night, And weep afresh love s long since cancell d woe, And moan the expense of many a vanish d sight: Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restor d and sorrows end. william shakespeare pocket poems 1 /10

3 My Papa s Waltz The whiskey on your breath Could make a small boy dizzy; But I hung on like death: Such waltzing was not easy. We romped until the pans Slid from the kitchen shelf; My mother s countenance Could not unfrown itself. The hand that held my wrist Was battered on one knuckle; At every step you missed My right ear scraped a buckle. You beat time on my head With a palm caked hard by dirt, Then waltzed me off to bed Still clinging to your shirt. theodore roethke pocket poems 2 /10

4 A Healing That first day of springtime thaw when the ice began to melt and pour down the mountains, I walked to the top of the old mining road to hear all the slow loosening and letting go; the kick-back of copper and clay from my heels, the steady blasts following like the sound of another person s footfall on the shale, spirited behind me; the streams that thundered down to disappear again underground so the whole place was all tremble and go, lightening into a stiller and clearer air. I loved the copper-lit, the downhill skid and slack, the water roaring out of time, turning back with so much sound and rush that it seemed to be gathering strength from ore and dust and clay, under the shade of that green and beaten ground. leanne o sullivan pocket poems 3 /10

5 Team Photo One joker up on tiptoe at the back; centre, the proud captain, holding ball. Arms folded in a swagger, we were ready for anything the world could hurl at us. Pirate beards, teen-idol hair the glamour: we were sure to knock em dead in the bar after. Boots crusting with pitch-muck and tradition; the jerseys that on fired-up afternoons we d sworn we d die for. And (not in picture) the all-in-this-together of it, lingering here like the reek of Deep Heat in the changing-room as players take the field to scattered cheers. john o donnell from On Water pocket poems 4 /10

6 Love at Last Sight pocket poems 5 /10 We met at Listowel Writers Week. Morning, noon and night She wore pale blue, textures of, bolts of. Even when she was sporting saffron Or emerald, her hue was blue. When it came time To grimace goodbye, she Proferring a mottled hand Did complain: We will never see each other again. One of the three most self-contained women I ever knew. She was eighty-two. paul durcan from Praise in Which I Live and Move and Have My Being

7 Sunflowers Foot soldiers in a long-drawn-out campaign, slumped under orders, heedless of the stakes, when news of broken ranks comes dripping through. Come another way: passengers herded on a platform. See how they shoulder each other, bearing up, streaming towards what unsoiled air there is beyond their grasp. In the height of the here and now, summer presses on us spoils of chocolate, coffee, wine. The boot is crammed, the children are a half-inch taller, gilded, sound asleep. vona groarke pocket poems 6 /10

8 You Interrupt Purr and whistle, a change of gears, the milk float, next-door s shift and the chorus of robin, tit and blackbird: all have read our waking up. Nearly 5, you said, and it s already bright. The children stirred, but didn t wake: things could be worse. Real coffee for an early start. The word for this is long-lost, beyond use: it ll be years, and what harm, before it gets a chance. You interrupt, It s not like this: it s the same as before ; birdsong, the steaming kettle... Upstairs first one, then the other begins to call. Is this enough? Will that be alright? You ll go in a while; the traffic s still light. john mcauliffe pocket poems 7 /10

9 pocket poems 8 /10 The Second Coming Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the Second coming is at hand. The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born? william butler yeats

10 Promhadh pinn Carraig a bhriseann tonn. An stuaic seo i lár m intinne faoi ndear an turscar thart orm. Cos ar an Sceilg, Cos eile ar a bruach. Ach ní féidir an dá chois a thabhairt i dtír gan tú a bheith istigh rompu. Scailp charraige Scailp cheoigh Scailp uaignis. Seachain an Spiorad Naomh nó is báirnigh is beatha duit. An rud is doilí le duine ná a bhás b fhéidir gurb é lár a leasa é, arsa Cuimín nuair a rug maighdean mhara air. biddy jenkinson pocket poems 9 /10

11 Thanks After we went for a fast walk on the path along the lake shore after you brought me a vitamin and after we swam in a pool, me naked, you wearing only a thin tee shirt and now that you are slicing a watermelon on the kitchen counter with a beach towel wrapped around your waist, I need to thank you for giving me a break from writing poems in which the speaker, as we like to call him, can do nothing line after line and stanza after stanza but lament his loneliness in the rain. billy collins pocket poems 10 /10