from Collected Poems 1956-1976 by David Wagoner

Gift Wrapping by David Wagoner

Already imagining her
Unwrapping it, I fold the corners,
Putting paper and ribbon between her
And this small box. I could hand it over
Out in the open: why bother to catch her eye
With floss and glitter?
Looking manhandled, it lies there
Like something lost in the mail, the bow
On backwards. And minutes from now,
She will have seen what it is.
But between her guesswork
And the lifting of the lid, I can delay
All disappointments: the give and take
Of love is in the immediate present
Again, though I can't remember myself
What's in it for her.

The Damp by John Donne

WHEN I am dead, and doctors know not why,
            And my friends' curiosity
Will have me cut up to survey each part,
When they shall find your picture in my heart,
            You think a sudden damp of love
            Will thorough all their senses move,
And work on them as me, and so prefer
Your murder to the name of massacre,

Poor victories ; but if you dare be brave,
            And pleasure in your conquest have,
First kill th' enormous giant, your Disdain ;
And let th' enchantress Honour, next be slain ;
            And like a Goth and Vandal rise,
            Deface records and histories
Of your own arts and triumphs over men,
And without such advantage kill me then,

For I could muster up, as well as you,
            My giants, and my witches too,
Which are vast Constancy and Secretness ;
But these I neither look for nor profess ;
            Kill me as woman, let me die
            As a mere man ; do you but try
Your passive valour, and you shall find then,
Naked you have odds enough of any man.

The Computation by John Donne

For the first twenty years, since yesterday, 
I scarce believed, thou couldst be gone away, 
For forty more, I fed on favours past, 
And forty on hopes, that thou wouldst, they might last. 
Tears drowned one hundred, and sighs blew out two, 
A thousand, I did neither think, nor do, 
Or not divide, all being one thought of you;
 Or in a thousand more, forgot that too. 
Yet call not this long life; but think that I      
Am, by being dead, immortal; can ghosts die?

"Shoulders" by Naomi Shihab Nye from Red Suitcase

Shoulders

by Naomi Shihab Nye

A man crosses the street in rain,
stepping gently, looking two times north and south,
because his son is asleep on his shoulder.

No car must splash him.
No car drive too near to his shadow.

This man carries the world's most sensitive cargo
but he's not marked.
Nowhere does his jacket say FRAGILE,
HANDLE WITH CARE.

His ear fills up with breathing.
He hears the hum of a boy's dream
deep inside him.

We're not going to be able
to live in this world
if we're not willing to do what he's doing
with one another.

The road will only be wide.
The rain will never stop falling.

Anthem For Doomed Youth by Wilfred Owen

What passing-bells for these who die as cattle? 
Only the monstrous anger of the guns. 
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle 
Can patter out their hasty orisons. 
No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells; 
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, 
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells; 
And bugles calling for them from sad shires. 
What candles may be held to speed them all? 
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes 
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes. 
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall; 
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds, 
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds. 

Our Little Lord by George McDonald

Our little Lord, we give thee praise,
     that Thou hast deigned to take our ways.
Born of Mary, a man to be,
     and all the angels sing to thee.
The eternal Father's Son He lay,
     cradled in a crib of hay.
The everlasting God appears
     in our frail flesh and blood and tears.
What the globe could not enwrap,
     nestled lies in Mary's lap.
Just a baby, very wee,
     yet the Lord of all the world is He.
   –Martin Luther 

They were looking for a king
To slay their foes and lift them high;
Thou cam'st, a little baby thing
That made a woman cry.

December by Gary Johnson

December

by Gary Johnson

A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye
Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves,
And also the partridge in a pear tree
And the golden rings and the turtle doves.
In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue
Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled,
Enduring the cold and also the flu,
Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled.
Not much triumph going on here—and yet
There is much we do not understand.
And my hopes and fears are met
In this small singer holding onto my hand.
           Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark
           And are there angels hovering overhead? Hark.

From Eating the Honey of Words by Robert Bly

Waking on the Farm

by Robert Bly

I can remember the early mornings—how the stubble,
A little proud with frost, snapped as we walked.

How the John Deere tractor hood pulled heat
Away from our hands when we filled it with gas.

And the way the sun brought light right out of the
      ground.
It turned on a whole hill of stubble as easily as a single
      stone.

Breathing seemed frail and daring in the morning.
To pull in air was like reading a whole novel.

The angleworms, turned up by the plow, looked
Uneasy like shy people trying to avoid praise.

For a while we had goats. They were like turkeys
Only more reckless. One butted a red Chevrolet.

When we washed up at noon, we were more ordinary.
But the water kept something in it of the early
      morning.

The Broken Heart by John Donne

He is stark mad, whoever says,    That he hath been in love an hour,
Yet not that love so soon decays,
    But that it can ten in less space devour ;
Who will believe me, if I swear
That I have had the plague a year?
    Who would not laugh at me, if I should say
    I saw a flash of powder burn a day?

Ah, what a trifle is a heart,
    If once into love's hands it come !
All other griefs allow a part
    To other griefs, and ask themselves but some ;
They come to us, but us love draws ;
He swallows us and never chaws ;
    By him, as by chain'd shot, whole ranks do die ;
    He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry.

If 'twere not so, what did become
    Of my heart when I first saw thee?
I brought a heart into the room,
    But from the room I carried none with me.
If it had gone to thee, I know
Mine would have taught thine heart to show
    More pity unto me ; but Love, alas !
    At one first blow did shiver it as glass.

Yet nothing can to nothing fall,
    Nor any place be empty quite ;
Therefore I think my breast hath all
    Those pieces still, though they be not unite ;
And now, as broken glasses show
A hundred lesser faces, so
    My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore,
    But after one such love, can love no more.

Did Christ O'er Sinners Weep by Benjamin Beddome

Did Christ o’er sinners weep,
And shall our cheeks be dry?
Let floods of penitential grief
Burst forth from every eye.

The Son of God in tears
The wondering angels see:
Be thou astonished, O my soul;
He shed those tears for thee.

He wept that we might weep;
Each sin demands a tear;
In heaven alone no sin is found,
And there’s no weeping there.

from A Se­lect­ion of Hymns from the Best Au­thors, by John Rippon, 1787.

from The Corsair by Lord Byron

Oh! too convincing—dangerously dear.
In woman’s eye the unanswerable tear!
That weapon of her weakness, she can wield,
To save, subdue—at once her spear and shield.

The Bait by John Donne

COME live with me, and be my love,And we will some new pleasures prove
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
With silken lines and silver hooks.

There will the river whisp'ring run
Warm'd by thy eyes, more than the sun ;
And there th' enamour'd fish will stay,
Begging themselves they may betray.

When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
Each fish, which every channel hath,
Will amorously to thee swim,
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth,
By sun or moon, thou dark'nest both,
And if myself have leave to see,
I need not their light, having thee.

Let others freeze with angling reeds,
And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
Or treacherously poor fish beset,
With strangling snare, or windowy net.

Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
The bedded fish in banks out-wrest ;
Or curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies,
Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.

For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,
For thou thyself art thine own bait :
That fish, that is not catch'd thereby,
Alas ! is wiser far than I.

Sonnet 14 by William Shakespeare

To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned,
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived:
   For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
   Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.

Three Things to Remember by William Blake

A Robin Redbreast in a cage, 
Puts all Heaven in a rage. 

A skylark wounded on the wing 
Doth make a cherub cease to sing. 

He who shall hurt the little wren 
Shall never be beloved by men. 

The Apparition by John Donne

When by thy scorn, O murderess, I am dead, 
And that thou think’st thee free 
From all solicitation from me,
 Then shall my ghost come to thy bed, 
And thee, feigned vestal, in worse arms shall see; 
Then thy sick taper will begin to wink, 
'And he, whose thou art then, being tired before, '
Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think'
 Thou call’st for more,     
 'And in false sleep will from thee shrink,
 And then poor aspen wretch, neglected thou 
Bathed in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie
 A verier ghost than I; 
What I will say, I will not tell thee now,
 Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent, 
I had rather thou shouldst painfully repent, 
Than by my threatenings rest still innocent

The Pig and the Inebriate, –Traditional song

How well I do remember
Twas in the bleak December
As I was strolling down the streets in a manly pride
When my heart began to flutter
And I fell into a gutter
And a pig came up and laid down by my side
As I lay there in the gutter
My heart still all a flutter
A man passing by did chance to say,
"You can tell a man that boozes by the company he chooses"
And the pig got up and slowly walked away.
   

“The More Loving One” from Homage to Clio by W. H. Auden

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well
That, for all they care, I can go to hell….
Were all stars to disappear or die,
I should learn to look at an empty sky
And feel its total dark sublime,
Though this might take me a little time.

The Floorless Room by Gerlett Burgess

Wish that my room had a floor!
I don't so much care for a door,
But this crawling around
Without touching the ground
Is getting to be quite a bore!

The Little Orphan Annie by James Whitcomb Riley

Little Orphan Annie’s come to my house to stay.To wash the cups and saucers up and brush the crumbs away.To shoo the chickens from the porch and dust the hearth and sweep,and make the fire and bake the bread to earn her board and keep.While all us other children, when the supper things is done,we sit around the kitchen fire and has the mostest fun,a listening to the witch tales that Annie tells about

and the goblins will get ya if ya don’t watch out!

Once there was a little boy who wouldn’t say his prayers,and when he went to bed at night away up stairs,his mammy heard him holler and his daddy heard him bawl,and when they turned the covers down,he wasn’t there at all!They searched for him in the attic roomand cubby hole and pressand even up the chimney flu and every wheres, I guess,but all they ever found of him was just his pants and round-abouts

and the goblins will get ya if ya don’t watch out!!

 Once there was a little girl who always laughed and grinnedand made fun of everyone, of all her blood and kin,and once when there was company and the old folks was there,she mocked them and she shocked them and said, she didn’t care.And just as she turned on her heels and to go and run and hide,there was two great big black things a standing by her side.They snatched her through the ceiling fore she knew what shes about,

and the goblins will get ya if ya don’t watch out!! 

  When the night is dark and scary,and the moon is full and creatures are a flying and the wind goes Whoooooooooo,you better mind your parents and your teachers fond and dear,and cherish them that loves ya, and dry the orphans tearsand help the poor and needy ones that cluster all about,

or the goblins will get ya if ya don’t watch out!!! 

The Dark Side of Love by unknown author

Is there no other way, O God,

Except through sorrow, pain and loss,
To stamp Christ’s likeness on my soul,
No other way except the cross?
And then a voice stills all my soul,
As stilled the waves of Galilee.
Can’st thou not bear the furnace,
If midst the flames I walk with thee?
I bore the cross, I know its weight;
I drank the cup I hold for thee.
Can’st thou not follow where I lead?
I’ll give thee strength, lean hard on Me!